FROST
Chapter 63: The Reflection’s Edge

Chapter 63: The Reflection’s Edge

"Well... well... well..." came the voice, dragging itself into the room like a slow-rolling storm. "If it isn’t the great Silvermist, finally back from the dead."

Silvermist didn’t have to look. She already knew who it was.

But she looked anyway—because the dramatic entrance deserved at least a glance.

Gail stood there near the opened door, arms crossed and eyebrow raised. She strolled into the room like she owned the building, her heeled boots clicking across the marble floor.

Without waiting for an invitation—because of course not—she flounced down onto the velvet Victorian couch near Silvermist’s bed, crossing one leg over the other.

"So," Gail began, her voice as smooth and sweet as poison, "how’s the talk-of-the-town doing?"

Silvermist didn’t answer. She was still busy folding Estes’ cloak with painstaking care, as if it were a fragile heirloom and not a slightly bloodstained piece of cloth that smelled faintly of fire and shame.

"I heard you redeemed yourself quite dramatically," Gail continued, leaning back with exaggerated grace. "Is that the kind of treatment Season Apprentices? Hmm? A bit of chaos, some near-death experiences, and poof—back in the good graces of royalty. How convenient."

She let that last word hang in the air like a bad perfume. Gail tilted her head, clearly mocking. "After you almost killed Amethyst. And let’s not forget—your own master. Wow!"

Silvermist sighed, her expression not even flickering. She didn’t grace Gail with a glance. Instead, she focused on tucking the last corner of the cloak under itself with crisp, practiced fingers. There was a small rip at the edge—she’d have to mend that later.

She waited until Gail finished her little monologue, and then—without saying a word—slid the cloak under her pillow, making sure Gail’s overly observant eyes didn’t catch the fabric’s distinct runes. She’d move it to her cabinet later once alone.

Gail was still watching her, waiting for a reaction, likely disappointed at the lack of verbal fireworks.

Silvermist finally scoffed, the smallest flicker of a smirk on her lips. "Ah, yeah. Lucky me."

She rose to her feet with the grace of someone who knew the value of silence, especially when weaponized. She didn’t face Gail, not yet.

"Still chosen," she said with a shrug, "despite being just like this. Silly, isn’t it?" She turned her head just slightly, meeting Gail’s gaze with an eerie calm. "I guess some people fall... and others rise from it."

Gail blinked, her lips pressing into a tight line for the first time.

"Oh," Silvermist added, almost sounded like a hum. "Don’t worry. I’m sure the Guardian will remember your very impressive ability to throw glitter at trees during exams. Truly unforgettable."

Gail’s eyes narrowed. "H-How’d you even know that?"

"Oh, I’m sorry. That was fairy dust, wasn’t it? Or some golden sands. You’re Golden Sands apprentice after all," Silvermist tilted her head, feigning a gasp. "My mistake."

There was a pause.

Then Gail slowly stood, smoothing her skirt with deliberately sharp movements. "You can mock me all you want, Sil, but don’t forget... people like you get one miracle. One. And when it runs out, you’ll fall even harder than the last time."

Silvermist gave her a sweet, tired smile. "Good thing I bounce."

She then flicked her fingers through the air like she was shooing away an annoying fly—or, in this case, an even more annoying Gail.

Let her talk. Silvermist was too preoccupied with more important things.

Any minute now, Ezekiel might already walk through that door with the good news. She could almost see it already—his reluctant smile, telling her that her request has been approved. And then... Frost. She’d finally see Frost again. Her sulking master.

"Things stop bouncing when they get overused, Sil," Gail spoke again in a passive-aggressive tone she mastered far too well. "Don’t say I didn’t warn you."

Silvermist’s daydream popped like a soap bubble.

She slowly turned, her expression still calm but her gaze sharp enough to slice a melon. "I don’t take warnings from troublemakers, Gail. I’m taking it as a threat."

There was a moment of silence between them, and then Silvermist took a step closer—not threatening, just... present.

"Now, if you only skipped training just to taunt me, you better turn your little heels around, get back to the field, train, and maybe—just maybe—make yourself useful for once."

Gail’s nostrils flared just a little, her posture stiffening like a cat caught halfway between offense and confusion.

"Oh, and if it helps," Silvermist added with a tight-lipped smile, "I heard they’re practicing shielding spells today. Might come in handy next time you get knocked over by East’s petals."

Yes, Silvermist had already heard what went down while they were away from Mila—obviously. As if she’d ever miss out on the scandalous saga of a tea brewed from East’s very dramatic petal extraction. Honestly, by the time she heard it, she was halfway convinced it was some kind of floral blood ritual.

Gail looked like she was about to speak another insult, but all that came out was a sharp scoff as she spun on her heel and stomped toward the door, muttering something about favors from royalty.

Once the door slammed behind her, Silvermist exhaled and flopped back onto her bed, rubbing her temples. Thank the stars East had personally spoken to Professor O’Sullivan to excuse her from today’s field training—otherwise, she might’ve hexed someone purely out of spiritual exhaustion.

She suddenly needed to see Frost—badly. The urge hit her like a wave. She wanted to talk to him, hear his voice, anything. But the word East, Cloud, and Sun had used echoed in her mind: hibernation.

"He must’ve been so hard on himself just to make my load less heavy," Silvermist muttered, staring up at the ceiling. She swallowed, feeling the back of her throat burn.

Just as she stared at the intricate, glowing patterns engraved on the ceiling, Silvermist began to feel her eyelids grow heavy. Right. As she thought about it, among the six of them who went to Mist Island, only Mila had managed to get a good rest—thanks to collapsing from exhaustion too many times. Silvermist couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

Ezekiel must have not even slept a wink. He’d been running on fumes ever since they returned. Sebastian and West had a good time back in the island, they should be the one doing Ezekiel’s work.

Slowly, gently, Silvermist drifted off, not realizing when exactly she had fallen asleep. It felt like only a split second had passed before she awoke, but when her eyes fluttered open, she wasn’t lying on her bed anymore.

The familiar comfort of their chamber was gone, replaced by an entirely different space—and the more Silvermist looked around, the more she realized she was standing in the middle of the Cauldron of Resonance.

The burning fire was still there—dancing in the distance, alive and crackling—but it was no longer painful. No heat licked at her skin, no smoke clawed at her throat. As if the place had been stripped of its fury and left behind a memory, flickering gently, softened by time.

It was peaceful—strangely so—until Silvermist noticed the flames drifting sideways, moving as if gravity itself had given up trying to contain them. Her breath hitched as she looked down and realized she wasn’t standing on the ground at all, but on the walls. The very walls of the Cauldron.

And in that instant, she knew exactly what had appeared in this warped, surreal space.

"So, you’re already back so quick," a voice rang out behind Silvermist, sharp and smooth like a blade dragging across glass. She froze.

She knew that voice. That whispering, echoing, everything’s-wrong-about-it voice. A chill crawled down her spine as she slowly turned around—and the first thing she saw were those abyssal eyes.

The creature stood at the heart of the warped space, assembling itself in jagged fragments, like shards of broken glass slotting into place. Each piece clicked and shimmered, slowly forming the outline of her body. Hair flowing like dark smoke, skin too smooth, too perfect—like porcelain trying too hard to be human.

Silvermist’s lips parted, but no words came out. She had seen this creature just a few hours ago—staring back at her from the edges of her consciousness, from the corner of her eye, from the battlefield soaked in fire and fear.

And yet, standing here now, she was just as stunned. Just as shaken. Just as breathless as the first time.

"W-Who are you?" Silvermist finally managed to whisper, the words tumbling out shakily—ones she had meant to ask the first time but couldn’t.

The creature’s grin spread slowly, unnervingly, a smirk that didn’t quite reach those abyssal eyes.

She tilted her head with an almost playful malice. "Isn’t it obvious?" she purred. "I’m you. The one sealed away... the one no one dares to speak of."

Despite the fear prickling at her skin, Silvermist swallowed hard and squared her shoulders, fully turning to face the creature.

"Look! Whoever you are, you’re clearly not me," she said, pointing at her own face, then gesturing to the creature’s mismatched features. "We might look the same, sure—but hello?" She waved her fingers in front of her eyes, then motioned to her hair and skin. "You’re like a corrupted painting. A knock-off. A moody shadow with a flair for drama. Probably just a part of my imagination having a nervous breakdown." She paused, lifting a brow. "A very theatrical part."

"A knock-off..." the creature giggled.

Slowly, she stretched her right arm out to the side, fingers spread like talons preparing to grasp something unseen. Silvermist’s breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak—only watch, frozen in place, as shadows began to stir around the creature’s hand.

At first, it was only a dark swirl—inky smoke curling in elegant, sinister patterns, wisps coiling through the air like living serpents. Then came the hum. A low, bone-deep vibration that pulsed in the walls, the ground, and somewhere deep inside Silvermist’s chest. The smoke thickened, began to shimmer like obsidian oil under moonlight, and then a sound like glass breaking underwater echoed through the warped space.

Right there, in the creature’s outstretched palm, the smoke solidified into a spear—long, sharp, and unnervingly familiar. A black crystal weapon, identical to hers, but dark. Its surface shimmered like a void, and strange, glowing cracks pulsed across its length like veins.

Without a word, the creature surged forward, moving with terrifying speed and precision. Her black crystal spear gleamed in the dim light as she swung it with lethal intent, aiming directly at Silvermist. There was no hesitation—only the pure, cold instinct of someone who knew exactly what she wanted to destroy.

Silvermist barely had time to react. Her heart skipped a beat as the spear’s tip slashed downward with blinding speed, aiming for the spot where she was standing. The air seemed to scream in warning, and for a heartbeat, she was paralyzed by the sheer force of the attack.

But just as the spear’s edge tore through the air, Silvermist’s instincts kicked in. Her body moved before her mind had the chance to catch up.

With a burst of adrenaline, she leaped backward, barely avoiding the strike as the creature’s spear smashed into the ground where she had been standing. The impact sent a shockwave through the air, the ground cracking and splintering beneath the force of the blow. Dust and shards of blackened stone sprayed up in every direction.

Silvermist’s gasped as she landed on her feet, only narrowly escaping a fatal strike. Her pulse raced, the sound of it pounding in her ears. Her eyes locked on the creature, who was already shifting her stance, preparing for another strike. The grin never left her face—if anything, it deepened with cruel amusement.

"What’s wrong? Draw your magic," the creature taunted.

Magic? What magic? She could barely summon anything thanks to sheer luck and prayers. "I should never have called her a knock-off," she mumbled, swallowing.

Before she could make a move, the creature was already in motion again, her spear arcing through the air with a deadly, fluid grace. The tip of the spear was a blur, slicing at Silvermist’s side in a vicious diagonal slash. The force of it was enough to tear through the very air.

Silvermist twisted her body to the side, narrowly dodging the strike, but the tip of the spear grazed her arm, leaving a searing, cold burn in its wake. She gasped, but the pain only fueled her determination. She had no weapon, no advantage—just her wits and the raw power coursing through her, but how did she even able to summon it in the first place?

"Fucking hell, this is not a dream!" Silvermist groaned, her chest heaving as she steadied herself, heart pounding from the close call.

Hearing her curse, the creature let out a cruel laugh, a sound that echoed through the distorted space like it was made of glass breaking. It was a laugh that twisted Silvermist’s insides with its mockery.

"You pulled such arrogance for such a weak little girl," the creature taunted, her voice dripping with venom. Her dark eyes flashed with amusement as she pointed the spear at Silvermist, its sharp tip glowing faintly. "I’m feeling generous, so I’ll give you three strikes. If you can’t summon any magic, I’ll end you."

Silvermist swallowed. This woman had just appeared out of nowhere without any triggers. Silvermist was never ready for this. She had barely even escaped the Cauldron of Resonance with the magic that—she paused. Right! This creature was the one who had lent her that magic.

But why? Why is she trying to kill her now?