FROST
Chapter 70: All That’s Left is Silver

Chapter 70: All That’s Left is Silver

"Frost..."

"Frost..."

Silvermist’s voice trembled as it echoed across the quiet void, carried by a wind that never seemed to reach the man walking away from her.

The path he tread was bathed in a strange, ethereal light—soft and white, as if made of fractured moonbeams—and he walked it like he was being pulled by something greater than her, something inevitable.

But she knew that figure. She would recognize him even in the deepest part of her dreams, even if he stood on the other side of time.

It was Frost. It was always him. Yet, this time, he never once looked back.

His strides were slow but steady, like a man following fate without hesitation, while Silvermist—barefoot, breathless—ran after him and yet no matter how close she thought she was getting, the space between them remained stubborn and merciless.

She watched in horror as his short silver hair began to grow—longer, heavier—until it fell past his shoulders, down to his waist. And the color... the color was no longer silver.

It darkened, deepened, turning to midnight black strand by strand. With every step he took away from her, more of that familiar silver strands disappeared, and in turn, Silvermist felt something inside her unravel.

At the same time, her own brown hair—once warm like autumn bark—began to lose its hue. It shimmered, flickered, until it dulled into a silvery white, like a mirror catching the first snow. She didn’t understand it. All she knew was that as his light dimmed, hers grew brighter, but cold—so cold.

"F-Frost..." she cried again, her arms shaking as she reached toward him, her hands trembling in the empty air.

He didn’t turn.

Not once.

Her voice broke. Her knees buckled, but she refused to stop.

"Please, Frost. I need you... please..." she gasped, tears now spilling from her lashes, trailing down her cheeks like silent thunder, "p-please let me reach you."

Frost still didn’t stop. Still didn’t look back. Still walked like a ghost unaware he was being mourned.

Silvermist forced herself forward, her feet scraping against the harsh, glassy floor of that strange place. Her fingers were just inches from the hem of his ivory coat, so close she could almost feel the threads.

And then her toe caught.

Time froze.

She fell.

Her body hit the cold ground with a sickening thud, palms scraped, knees raw, face turned to the side as her silver hair fanned across the frostbitten floor. She tried to lift herself again, but the wind was cruel, and her chest ached from the inside out.

The light from the path ahead was still glowing.

Still warm.

But he was already too far.

She couldn’t see him anymore—just the fading silhouette of the man she kept chasing and for the first time, she wondered... had he ever even heard her voice?

"Frost..." she whispered once more, voice hoarse, barely audible. Her tears hit the ground like broken stars. "Don’t go... Frost, p-please..."

Silvermist reached out, trembling, desperate, her fingertips grazing the hem of his robe—finally, finally—and she clutched it with all her might, like a lifeline, like a prayer not yet answered.

But in the next breath, the world shifted.

A sharp gasp tore from her lips as the light path dissolved around her like mist. Her eyes flew open to an unfamiliar sensation pressing against her hand—and she found herself not gripping a robe, but a hand.

Warm. Steady. Human.

She blinked rapidly, her chest rising and falling in quick, ragged breaths, as her vision adjusted to the soft, dim glow above her.

An ancient ceiling, cracked with age and swirling with faint golden sigils, stared back at her.

What...?

Her wide eyes snapped to her hand, where her fingers were still curled around someone else’s. Her gaze traveled up—and there, sitting beside her bed, was West. His usual calm demeanor had a rare crease of worry etched between his brows. He didn’t move, letting her hold on.

Silvermist’s breath hitched. Her lips parted, but no sound came out—not yet.

She darted her gaze around, her heart thundering in confusion. Ezekiel leaned against the wall near the chamber’s entrance, his arms crossed but his gaze quietly focused on her.

Sebastian sat nearby, elbows on his knees, head resting on clasped hands. Mila was pacing, and Adeline had fallen asleep curled in one of the armchairs, her head resting on Levi’s shoulder, who sat stiff as a statue, but his eyes flickered immediately when he noticed her stirring.

Silvermist was lying on a soft, cushioned bed in the secret room of the Grandmaster’s office, wrapped in velvet sheets and old magic. She wasn’t on the light path anymore.

She was back.

Reality weighed on her chest—but her first instinct wasn’t to breathe or speak. It was to find him. She shot upright, ignoring the sharp protest of her muscles, her silver hair tumbling around her shoulders. "Where—?" Her voice cracked. "Where is he?" Her eyes darted wildly around the room. "Where’s Frost?"

Everyone exchanged glances, but no one answered.

Silvermist’s breath was shallow, frantic, as her eyes swept across the hidden chamber in search of the man who had haunted her dream. She still hadn’t let go of West’s hand—until a familiar figure stepped forward, casting a tall shadow over her.

Ezekiel.

He approached from the foot of the bed with his usual calm dominance, a faint burn still glowing at the edges of his coat from what must have been a recent spell. His crimson eyes flicked down at her pale fingers gripping West’s.

Without a word, he reached down and gently but firmly separated their hands.

Silvermist’s gaze snapped up to him, confused and shaken. West didn’t protest. His expression remained impassive, though he let out a breath and shifted back into the chair beside the bed.

Ezekiel didn’t sit. He stood over her like a statue carved from the very rules he followed—and occasionally broke. But this time, there was something more in his stance. Tension. Calculation.

And he wasn’t looking at her.

He was looking at Levi.

Levi, who sat with a hand over Adeline’s sleeping form, his other clenched into a fist on his knee. His impassive, clueless expression faltered for a second when Ezekiel’s eyes met his. It was brief, but it was enough.

Suspicion.

Ezekiel returned his attention to Silvermist, crouching down to her level, one knee resting on the floor like a knight delivering grim news.

"I’m so sorry, Sil," Ezekiel said in an apologetic tone and concerned. "The Lunar King did not approve the meeting t-that’s why we ended up in that situation earlier."

Silvermist’s heart sank. Her lips parted, but the lump in her throat was too heavy for words.

"We tried," he added, glancing briefly at West, who nodded silently. "He and I... we tried to help you. But the moment we stepped foot past the third door towards the chamber your master has sealed himself, something shifted. The veil didn’t just resist—it fought and we ended up in the barren."

Mila, who had stopped pacing, leaned against the wall near the potion racks, arms crossed, her eyes narrowed in concern but not surprise. She and Adeline had already heard about what happened from Ezekiel. Sebastian remained seated by the arcane shelf, staring into the hearth as if he’d known all along that something like this would happen.

Ezekiel stood slowly now, his arms folding across his chest. Silvermist’s entire body trembled. She sat back on the bed, fingers curling against the sheets. "So it wasn’t... just a dream?"

"No," Ezekiel said without hesitation. "But it wasn’t real either."

A long pause.

"Your soul was pulled somewhere between the seams—too far into the realm of the memory-bound. Perhaps, you’ve seen Frost on a path?" He stared hard. "It was an echo. Of something you’re not supposed to reach. At least that’s what East had said before. It’s like a space where an apprentice and its master could meet when they’re separated. Yet, if I may guess, you had not spoken to Frost, have you?"

Silvermist’s silver hair shimmered under the rune-lit ceiling, one hand clutching onto her chest where she could feel her heart pouncing. "B-But... he was there. That could at least c-count for something, right? A-And if that’s a space for an apprentice and a master, why won’t he show himself to me? I-I just can’t understand any of this, Kiel."

Tears started misting Silvermist’s eyes that she had to look up to stop them from falling.

"I know," Ezekiel said in a hush. "I’m sorry."

And off to the side, Levi remained frozen—but his knuckles white and Ezekiel noticed. He said nothing, but he didn’t look away.

Whatever connection existed between Levi and Silvermist, he was starting to piece it together and it somewhat amused him. He wanted to actually ask himself, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, he had more important things to do.

Silvermist lowered her gaze. She could still feel the phantom brush of Frost’s robes in her hands, the warmth of her tears cooling on her cheeks. But there was nothing left to say—not here, not now.

She swallowed hard, clenched her jaw, and decided not to probe anymore.

Instead, she rolled her shoulders back and quietly stretched out her limbs under the silk sheets, her body still stiff from the dreamlike ordeal. Her brows furrowed. Something felt... off. Subtle, but deeply wrong.

She tried flexing her fingers, then her arms. Slowly, she brought her hand close to her chest and tried summoning a small trace of her mana—just a flicker, even a spark.

Nothing.

No tingle, no warmth, not even a faint hum. It was as though she had become an empty vessel. It’ as though connection to the source has been completely severed.

Her eyes widened in disbelief. She sat up straighter, testing again—desperate for even a hint of energy left inside her. But there was only silence where magic used to live.

It wasn’t drained.

It was gone.

Ezekiel must have noticed the panic tightening her breath. He stepped closer then let out a heavy sigh, as if he had been bracing for this moment.

"East took... precautionary measures," he said, voice low. "To keep you safe. Or more accurately, to keep whatever’s inside you from spilling... out."

Right before they left the barren, East had told him, West, and Sebastian about a theory regarding Silvermist’s mana source and it must have been because of Frost’s origin. He can’t tell yet, so to avoid any more casualties, he had to seal half of her mana; however, since she has been having a hard time using her mana at all, that’s the reason why she couldn’t even summon anything... yet.

Silvermist didn’t speak. She only nodded once, lips pressed into a thin line. The idea that East had seen the risk and acted—without hesitation, without even telling her—should’ve made her angry.

But it didn’t.

Because deep down, she knew he was right. She had done too much damage already. She even placed West and Ezekiel in danger this time.

She stared down at her hands, turning them over as if she’d find something—maybe proof that a spark still lingered in her skin.

But nothing came.

She sank back onto the headboard, her silver hair falling like a curtain around her shoulders, and finally whispered, "I see."

She didn’t cry. Not this time. She wanted to scream, to tear through the spells and storm down to East’s lab and demand answers.

But instead... she kept quiet.

Her thoughts returned to the memory of the Cauldron—how desperate she had been, how much she borrowed from the mana lent to her by that creature, how dangerously close she came to unraveling then.

She was thankful now. Thankful she never told East yet. Thankful none of them saw how she was able to retrieve the Elixir. She doubt any of them can help her with it, aside from Frost. Now, she had been restricted to even see him, but if she could only reach Frost in that space... maybe then, she could ask him how to stop the other her.

If only he’s not shutting her out. It could have been easier. "If only he’s not too sulky..." she mumbled, drawing in a shaky breath, eyes closing as her mind steadied.

"I’ll figure this out myself," she thought. "Without using magic. If I can understand it without feeding it, maybe I can... contain it."

Hopefully. She opened her eyes again, calm now, despite the storm she buried beneath.

And somewhere in the room, Levi’s gaze lingered on her longer than anyone else’s—quiet, unreadable, and just a little too knowing... perhaps.

Finally, Silvermist turned to Levi, and he gasped.There was no greeting, no words—just her gaze, steady and silent, locking onto his. She didn’t blink, didn’t move.

She simply looked at him, as if trying to piece together that didn’t made sense to her the moment she saw her back in the barren. As if making sure he was real and not some figment her mind had conjured out of desperation.

Then, just like that, she exhaled a soft, weary sigh, her shoulders sinking the slightest bit. Without a word, she turned to Ezekiel.

"What time is it anyway?" Silvermist asked.

"Training sessions are done, so you can go back to your chamber right away if you want," Ezekiel replied.

"Will East be back?"

Ezekiel shook his head. "I believe not. He’s off talking to some Guardians about... all this." He waved vaguely. "But don’t worry, nothing’s going to happen to you. Probably."

Silvermist sighed. "How reassuring. "We better go back to our chamber," she said, turning toward Mila and the half-slumped figure of Adeline. "Is it okay to wake her up now?"

Mila nodded and gently nudged Adeline awake.

Silvermist stood up, stretched like a cat, then paused. Her eyes dropped to her clothes—and her eyebrows shot up. Sometime between magical doom and nap time, her uniform had become a full-on frilly nightgown.

"Wait—what the—"

"Calm down," Sebastian interrupted, raising his hands innocently. "It was Mila and Adeline who changed you while we were outside."

Silvermist narrowed her eyes at him, then turned that same suspicious squint to West, who had just so happened to freeze mid-step beside Ezekiel.

"I didn’t do anything," West said, already raising his hands like he was being arrested.

"Yeah..." Silvermist grimaced. "As if I’d believe the two of you after that whole nymph queen suction scandal."

"What’s wrong with getting sucked?" Sebastian asked, placing a hand over his heart like someone had insulted his honor.

"Sebastian!" Mila groaned, instantly shielding Adeline’s ears—even though the kid was still blinking like a confused potato.

"Sucked. Duh! It’s normal to suck and get sucked in the worlds of magic," Sebastian explained, as if that made everything crystal clear.

Mila and Silvermist both took a synchronized step back. Mila even dragged Adeline like she was evacuating her from a crime scene.

Even Levi was cringing. Like physically recoiling.

"You really made it sound..." West muttered to Sebastian, then cleared his throat and looked at the girls. "It is true that the Queen sucked the two of us, but—strictly speaking—she only drained our mana."

He sighed, as if the memory alone was exhausting. "That’s how she enchanted us. By weakening our mana."

"Oh..." Silvermist and Mila blinked in unison.

Silence.

Then Sebastian whispered, "Still sounds kinda hot though."

"Sebastian, I swear—" Mila threatened, clutching Adeline like a human shield.

Ezekiel offered to teleport everyone straight to their chambers, but Silvermist immediately refused. She remembered too well how battered he’d looked after their chaotic journey to Mist Island—his skin pale, his mana threadbare, his usual fire dimmed behind his tired eyes.

Ezekiel didn’t argue. He simply gave her a quiet nod, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and chose instead to walk alongside the others.

Mila, Adeline, and Silvermist led the way, their soft conversation and occasional laughter echoing faintly ahead. Behind them trailed the four men—Sebastian, West, Levi, and Ezekiel—moving at a slower pace, more reserved.

It so happened that Ezekiel ended up walking beside Levi, who had gone unusually quiet. Ezekiel caught the way Levi’s gaze lingered—more than once—on Silvermist as she moved gracefully up the ancient stone staircase leading to the surface of the West Wing.

The stairs were steep and narrow, carved directly into the inner wall like ribs of a sleeping beast. Despite the width of the space, the tall stone walls pressed inward with an almost suffocating presence.

The passage was cloaked in dimness, lit only by the occasional floating lantern that drifted overhead—faint orbs of golden light swaying gently as if moved by invisible sighs.

Even with the glow, shadows danced across the jagged stone, crawling like whispers in the dark. The air felt dense and humid, like something was holding its breath.

There was an unshakable foulness lingering in the space—a stale, heavy scent of old magic and foul mana, the kind that settled into your bones and made your skin itch. Every step up the winding path felt like walking through the throat of some ancient, forgotten creature.

Levi’s stare broke only when Ezekiel, without turning his head, spoke quietly.

"She’s changed," he said, trying to see how would Levi act.

And the way he tensed, unsure if it was a statement, a warning, or something else entirely, made Ezekiel internally giggle. He finally glanced sideways, a small flicker of amusement—or perhaps understanding—in his eyes.

"You’re really something else, Sil..." he thought, smiling.