FROST
Chapter 73: A Safe Place

Chapter 73: A Safe Place

"I’m so sorry, Sil," Ezekiel murmured softly, guilt etched into his voice.

He stood just behind Theo Glimmerdew—the Arch Healer of Moonstone Academy—whose very presence carried an ethereal stillness.

The sanctum around them was quiet, lit only by soft-glowing orbs that floated above an arched ceiling carved with ancient celestial glyphs. The walls pulsed faintly with healing sigils, and the floor beneath Silvermist’s bed seemed to hum in resonance with her wounded mana.

Silvermist, lying still, simply smiled and gave a gentle nod. She was too distracted—too enchanted—by what floated around her to speak. Hundreds of white, viscous bubbles glided gently in the air, each one glowing with a faint pearlescent shimmer.

They resembled translucent jellyfish, their long tendrils gracefully curling through the space. As they drifted close to her, their delicate filaments wrapped around her arms and legs like silken threads of warmth. Wherever they touched her skin, a soothing heat radiated inward, chasing away the cold burn of Gail’s attacks.

For the first time in hours, she felt a semblance of peace.

Ezekiel watched her with heavy eyes, exhaling slowly. He glanced toward the doorway of the Arcnum Sanctum, where Mila and Adeline stood frozen in place—Adeline’s fists balled, Mila’s lips trembling as she hugged herself tightly.

The two had not left the entrance since Silvermist was brought in, and neither of them dared to interrupt the healer at work.

Elsewhere in the academy, Sebastian, West, and Cullen had followed East, Cloud, and Tim to escort Gail to the sealed disciplinary halls in the North Wing—a grim, rune-locked corridor where punishments were executed in silence.

The aftermath of the courtyard chaos still lingered like a storm cloud. No one had seen Levi since the incident ended. His absence hung over them like a breath no one could release.

Ezekiel sighed again and turned back to Theo, who knelt at Silvermist’s bedside with his long, lavender-streaked hair cascading over one shoulder.

Despite being over 450 years old, Theo appeared youthful, barely older than the apprentices, his eyes a rare, otherworldly mix of peach and violet—a color that only appeared in those blessed by the goddess of life.

"How are her injuries, Theo?" Ezekiel asked carefully, noting the way the healer hadn’t spoken once since the healing began.

Theo did not immediately answer. His slender fingers hovered above Silvermist’s injured hands, unmoving. His brows were furrowed, eyes flicking rapidly as if trying to solve a complex equation unraveling before him.

After a few long seconds, he finally lifted his gaze.

"I was informed her innate mana has been sealed... locked tightly within her core," he said slowly, as if choosing his words with care. "And yet—" he glanced back down at her bruised palms, "—I sense faint traces of mana still active within her."

Ezekiel blinked. "Residual, maybe?"

Theo shook his head. "No. It’s active. It’s alive." He traced a glowing line over her forearm with one finger, and a tiny stream of silver light shimmered up like stardust. "More than that, this magic... it’s not mine. It’s hers. And it’s healing her."

He leaned closer to Silvermist, his voice dropping to a whisper only she could hear, "Whatever you carry within you, child... it’s not sealed completely. Something is watching over you—or something within you is waking."

Silvermist’s breath hitched and far beneath her skin, the smallest shimmer of crimson and black began to pulse like a heartbeat and Theo caught it.

A whisper of movement in her eyes, the faintest twitch in her brow. It wasn’t panic or confusion. No, it was recognition. And though she said nothing, the subtle shift in her expression told Theo everything he needed to know.

She knew.

He studied her for a moment longer, watching the way her lashes fluttered shut, as though trying to lock away the thing stirring beneath her skin. That faint brush of something not quite her, ancient and watchful, still lingered in the air like static. A silent presence threading itself through the cuts and bruises on her body, stitching her back together.

Theo didn’t press. He didn’t need to. The lesser he knows, the easier life would be is for him.

With a graceful motion, he stood up and turned to face Ezekiel, who looked like he’d aged ten years in one day. The weight of helplessness and guilt clung to him like soaked wool.

"She should be fine in no time," Theo said, brushing back a strand of his lavender hair. "Just... let her rest. I heard from East she’s been running nonstop since your Mist Island mission. Honestly, I’m surprised she’s still breathing."

Ezekiel let out another sigh—the fourth one in the last hour—and opened his mouth to respond, only for something soft and cool to brush against his shoulder.

He blinked and turned.

More of the translucent, jellyfish-like healing orbs had floated toward him. Several now hovered close, pulsing with a low, bioluminescent glow. One stretched its tentacle outward, curling it gently around Ezekiel’s wrist.

Theo crossed his arms and gave him a flat look. "Sit down. And don’t say anything."

Ezekiel blinked. "What—?"

"Sit." Theo pointed, and one of the orbs shimmered, transforming midair into a glowing seat woven from light and air. "I mean it, Kiel. You have almost no mana and barely enough energy to keep your eyes open. You’re more wrecked than Miss Evermore over there."

"But I—"

"Goodness me, you’re worse than East." Theo flicked his fingers, and another orb zipped forward to gently push Ezekiel’s knees toward the seat. "Go on. Sit. Let me work."

Grumbling under his breath, Ezekiel reluctantly obeyed. As soon as he lowered himself into the glowing chair, several more of the healing orbs surrounded him, their glowing tendrils brushing over his shoulders, neck, and arms like a soft tide rolling over worn stone.

He glanced sideways at Silvermist, who was still quiet, her breathing now calm. The strange green shimmer beneath her skin had faded, but something had changed. Something unseen, but impossible to ignore.

Theo, meanwhile, stood between the two of them, eyes narrowed slightly, as if mentally taking notes he’d later record in one of his never-ending spell journals.

Whatever was happening to Silvermist, it wasn’t just trauma or mana fatigue. Something else had cracked open within her.

And Theo Glimmerdew had seen enough ancient magic in his life to know when something forgotten had begun to remember itself.

Slowly, Theo turned his gaze to the two girls lingering outside the Arcnum Sanctum. His expression was blank, but there was a faint twitch in his brow that suggested he was running out of patience for anything remotely dramatic.

With all the grace of a royal executioner choosing his next target, he raised a hand and pointed squarely.

"You. The one with the pink hair. Come here."

Mila blinked. Then pointed to herself. "Me?"

Theo stared at her like she’d just asked if water was wet. "Yes. You. Unless there’s another neon flamingo hiding behind you, you’re the only one here with pink hair."

Mila turned to Adeline in a panic. Adeline gave her a supportive pat on the shoulder and then proceeded to nudge her forward like she was sending her into battle.

As Mila walked into the room, she couldn’t help but gawk at Theo up close.

He was tall—taller than most, with an ethereal glow that clung to him like moonlight. His long, pale peach hair flowed like a river down his back, and his lavender eyes glowed faintly with ancient knowledge. He reminded her of Estes.

Only Theo didn’t carry the softness of a sudden love-struck elf—he had the no-nonsense air of a man who absolutely had no intention to wake from his sleep just to tend teenagers involved in some cat fights.

She barely made it two feet before Theo leaned in. Not metaphorically. Literally. He leaned so close their noses practically brushed.

"Marry me,"

she almost blurted out, but she quickly swallowed it. She couldn’t say that. Not in front of Adeline. She had to be a role model. A beacon of sanity.

Theo, completely unfazed by the mental fireworks going off in Mila’s head, moved his gaze from her left eye to her right, and then casually stood up straight.

Mila stood frozen, as if she’d been petrified.

"You have dull eyes," Theo said flatly.

"Wh—what?" Mila stammered.

"Dull. Possibly early-stage cataracts. Or magical afterimage damage. Or maybe you just stared at your reflection too long, I don’t know." He scribbled something quickly into his notebook, the quill moving at light-speed. "Six rooms down, turn left, first door on the right. You’ll meet Miki Dragomir. Arcoptomancer. Magical eye specialist."

He waved vaguely toward the hallway like a bored store clerk. "He’ll poke your eyeballs until they glow again."

"Wait—cataracts?!" Mila gasped.

Mila stood in the middle of the room, emotionally wrecked, clutching her face as she squeaked, "I liked my eyes..."

Theo, already turning away, waved his hand dismissively. "Miki might give you sparkly ones. Or demon eyes. Or night vision. Depends on his mood. Off you go now."

Silvermist lifted a shaky hand. "Can I go next? If I can’t use magic, I at least want night vision. Or laser eyes."

Meanwhile, just beyond the sanctum, at the quiet curve of the corridor where shadows met stone, Amethyst stood, arms crossed, her back pressed against the cold marble wall. The flicker of voices—banter and laughter from within—echoed faintly through the passage.

Her gaze narrowed. "Can’t use magic?" she repeated, brows knitting. "What did she do again this time..."

Just as quickly, her presence flickered. And like smoke caught in a draft, Amethyst left—her mana disappearing into thin air as though she’d never been there at all.

Still outside the sanctum, Adeline stiffened.

She turned toward the corridor, her eyes locked on the space Amethyst had occupied just seconds earlier. She hadn’t heard her—but she felt her. That pulse of mana was unmistakable: sharp, refined, edged with obsession. But it was gone now, swallowed up in a silence that suddenly felt far too still.

Adeline frowned.

No matter how well someone concealed themselves, she could always sense Amethyst’s particular frequency—it carried bitterness like Gail’s. And yet, layered beneath it, like a discordant note in a song, was something else.

A second presence.

Unfamiliar. Ancient. And so carefully veiled that Adeline couldn’t tell if it was near or impossibly far. It didn’t ripple through the air like most magic. It hung, silent and still, like breath caught in a dying throat.

Her eyes scanned the hallway again, heart thrumming as the distant laughter from the room clashed with the cold dread crawling up her spine.

They were talking too calmly inside. If anyone else had sensed it, they weren’t showing it.

"Who is it this time..." she muttered, voice low, barely audible as she stared into nothingness.