FROST
Chapter 66: Silvershadow

Chapter 66: Silvershadow

Silvermist stood in the middle of the Cauldron. She could feel her breathing and she kept wincing as it hurts. She could feel the flames started heating up and it exhausts her even more.

She didn’t know how it ended. Not really. Her memories blurred together in a chaotic mess of spinning lights, phantom voices, and the sickening sound of steel meeting flesh. She didn’t know how she was able to pull that up.

Instincts? Probably. That would be the only thing that would explain all of what had happened and somehow, somewhere in that storm of fear and rage purely of instincts, she had struck the final blow.

The spear she had conjured—a dazzling crystal one forged from pure essence—had pierced the chest of her doppelgänger. She remembered the exact moment the spear sank into the other her’s chest.

She remembered how it didn’t resist. How it felt like stabbing into a void. No bones cracking. No blood gushing. Just silence... and then a grin.

That grin. Gods, it still haunted her.

The dark Silvermist grinned as the spear went in, not flinching even when it reached the core of her false heart. Her lips curled in triumph, not agony, as if Silvermist had done exactly what she’d hoped for.

"Well done..." she rasped, her voice slithering like smoke. Then she threw her head back and let out a chilling, unhinged laugh. "You’ve fallen right into my plan."

And just like that, she began to dissolve. Not fall. Not die. Just... vanish. Like ash scattered in the air. Her laugh remained the longest, echoing against the flaming walls of the Cauldron even after her figure had disappeared entirely.

Silvermist stared at where the other her had once stood, her hands still clenched around the shaft of her spear—only, it wasn’t hers anymore.

Her eyes widened.

The once radiant weapon she had wielded was no longer crystalline. Its light was gone. In its place, a weapon of pitch black pulsed with quiet malice, the same twisted weapon her double had fought with. The veins of the spear ran with a faint red glow, like blood barely held beneath translucent skin. The tip gleamed not with magic, but hunger.

"No..." she whispered, staggering backward. Her hands trembled as she let the spear drop, but to her horror, it never hit the ground. It hovered, suspended in mid-air, as though it were tethered to something beyond her understanding.

Silvermist’s heart pounded violently in her chest as she watched the spear slowly rotate in front of her.

Everything around her hummed in horror. Then, from the darkness behind the spear, a shape began to form—shifting, swirling black smoke, coalescing into a vaguely humanoid figure.

The smoke didn’t take a solid form, not completely, but it was enough for her to see its head, its arms, its eyes. The eyes—two burning red orbs—glowed with a scorching intensity, and they fixed on her with an almost cruel curiosity.

"You’re finally able to wield my magic, human..." the voice echoed, not just from one place, but from everywhere, as if it was coming from the depths of her mind and the very air around her.

It was a chorus of voices, distorted and overlapping, some deep, some shrill, all speaking in unison. Each voice carried with it an eerie familiarity, like she had heard them before, but could not place when or where.

Silvermist froze, every muscle in her body locking up in terror. She couldn’t move. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she was certain her heart had stopped beating.

The red eyes burned into her soul, stripping

Silvermist froze, every muscle in her body locking up in terror. She couldn’t move. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she was certain her heart had stopped beating. The red eyes burned into her soul, stripping away every ounce of confidence, leaving only raw fear.

The air abruptly turned icy, and Silvermist flinched. Her breath caught in her throat as the temperature plummeted, her lungs struggling to catch up with the sudden drop. She stood frozen for a moment, her body reacting too slowly to the harsh shift.

The figure stepped closer, the black smoke swirling around it like tendrils of darkness. The closer it got, the colder it became, until the temperature in the Cauldron felt like it had dropped to an impossible chill, locking Silvermist onto the ground. She could feel her breath turning into mist before her face, the ice creeping down her spine.

The figure stepped closer, the black smoke swirling around it like tendrils of darkness. The closer it got, the colder the air became, until the temperature in the Cauldron felt like it had dropped to an impossible chill. She could feel her breath turning into mist before her face, the ice creeping down her spine.

What is this thing? Why does it feel so familiar?

"W-Who... are you?" she asked. The words felt weak in the face of such overwhelming darkness. She was fighting to keep her ground, but the pressure of its gaze made her feel as though she were sinking.

It didn’t respond to her question, instead, a thin, red line appeared on its face. The line curved upwards into a twisted smile. It didn’t scream, didn’t shudder, didn’t even flinch.

It simply hovered away—calm, amused. The grin on its face widened with an unnatural stretch that sent a fresh jolt of dread through Silvermist’s spine.

"The real you..." it said, its voice layered in a chorus of tones. The words didn’t simply echo—they slithered into the marrow of her bones, reverberating through the air like an ancient curse being spoken for the first time in centuries.

"The owner of your soul... Silvershadow."

"Silvershadow?" Silvermist whispered, voice trembling as it left her dry lips. "The... owner of my soul?"

The words sounded ridiculous to her own ears, like something pulled out of a delusion or nightmare, but the weight they carried was undeniable. They rang with a horrible truth that her body recognized even if her mind refused to.

"D-Don’t mess with me," Silvermist groaned, her voice cracking beneath the pressure of fear and disbelief. She took a defiant step forward, her boots crunching against the breaking ground of the Cauldron.

Her breath steamed in the cold, dark air, and her body trembled—not from weakness, but from the surge of fury welling inside her. "I own my soul!"

The figure—still hovering in a curtain of shadow and smoke—tilted its head, amused. Then came the sound.

A giggle.

High-pitched. Mocking. Inhuman.

It echoed around her like a hundred voices laughing all at once, scraping against the edges of sanity.

"Ahh..." it cooed, the air vibrating with malevolent glee. "Then why do you think you are unable to use magic?"

Silvermist’s spine stiffened. She clenched her fists at her sides, brows furrowed in defiance. "I could!" she snapped, spitting out the words with false confidence. "I can! I’ve fought a few and I’ve seen it in my own eyes. I-I’m sure you’ve seen that as well!"

And yet the figure only giggled again, the sound warping into something twisted, something wrong.

"You thought you were using magic," it said with a hiss, voice lowering into something darker. "But you’ve never cast a single spell with your own power. You’ve never even touched your true magic."

The words hit her like a slap.

"What...?" Silvermist whispered, stunned. Her hand automatically reached toward the air beside her, trying to summon the spear she had wielded But the air stayed cold. Dead. Empty.

The figure chuckled again and hovered higher, dragging the light with it. . "All this time," it said, "every ounce of magic you’ve drawn... wasn’t yours. You were using mine."

Silvermist’s swallowed. Despite the cold atmosphere, she could feel sweat beading on her temples. The figure then slowly began to dissipate, drifting into the thickening darkness like smoke through a graveyard.

"I’ll be out soon, impostor," it said, its voice now quieter, like the whisper of death brushing against her ear. "And when that happens... Frost will no longer cease to exist."

Then it vanished, taking the last glimmer of light with it. The air around her collapsed into silence. No more laughter. No more voices. Not even the sound of her own breath. Just an oppressive emptiness that wrapped around her chest like an invisible chain, suffocating and cold.

Her knees buckled.

She didn’t even feel herself fall.

And then—

A flicker. A breath. A surge of light through her lashes.

Silvermist’s eyes snapped open.

The world swam into focus—distant, blurry, but real. The glowing runes, and the familiar scent of their chamber.

Silvermist immediately stood up and ran towards the door. The moment she opened it, Ezekiel was already standing in front of her.

Her lips parted, but no words came out. Her throat was too dry, too raw. Her limbs felt like lead, and for a moment, she thought she was still hallucinating—still trapped in that nightmare where her soul didn’t belong to her. Where some ancient darkness called Silvershadow had laid claim to her very existence.

But the longer she stared at Ezekiel’s pale, furrowed face, the more real everything became—and then she collapsed into his arms.

Her body felt weightless, as though the earth beneath her had disappeared. She could still hear voices around her, muffled like echoes bouncing through a tunnel. She had even spoken—she was sure of it—but her mind couldn’t process anything. All she could think of was Frost.

And then, as fast as everything had gone dark, her senses stirred again. Silvermist’s eyes wobbled open when the strong, familiar scent of wind, dust, and jasmine filled her nose. Slowly, she blinked.

The world came back—blurry at first—but the outlines sharpened enough for her to make out a barren stretch of cracked soil and jagged stone, an empty wasteland where nothing grew, where the ground was dry and lifeless under her trembling fingers.

Just ahead, she saw two figures standing firmly, facing off against another two. Silvermist’s eyes widened in recognition—West and Ezekiel were standing protectively in front of her, bracing themselves against the shrieking wind magic swirling from the figure across from them—East. Behind East stood Sebastian, tense, eyes darting nervously between them.

"West! Kiel! Just give Silvermist already!" Sebastian shouted against the howling gust. His voice cracked with desperation. "We do not need to fight for this. We’re trying to help her!"

Ezekiel, gasping and barely holding himself upright, leaned into West for support. "J-Just let her see Frost! Please!" he groaned.

West gripped Ezekiel’s arm tighter, steadying him.

"How many times do we have to make this clear, Kiel?!" East’s voice boomed, the wind raging around him. "They should not be seeing each other now that both of them are already corrupted!"

Silvermist’s breath caught.

Corrupted?

They must’ve all heard her soft gasp, because in an instant—all eyes turned to her.

"K-Kiel? What’s going on—?" Silvermist’s voice cracked, weak with exhaustion as she tried to steady herself and approach Ezekiel and West.

But then, she felt something, or rather, someone, holding her up from beside her. The support was unexpected, and before she even realized it, she whipped around, ready to push whoever it was away.

The man’s face was so close, it nearly turned into an impromptu forehead collision. Silvermist froze, blinking at the familiar emerald eyes staring back at her. Her breath hitched, and she could feel her pulse quicken in a combination of confusion and irritation.

"L-Levi," she mumbled, her voice barely a whisper, like she was trying to convince herself that she wasn’t hallucinating. "What the son of a fucking bitch are you doing here?!"

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