FROST
Chapter 84: Linked Magic

Chapter 84: Linked Magic

Back in the West Wing—an extraordinary scene unfolded, hidden from the chaos stirring elsewhere after the simulation test.

Suspended high above the polished marble floor, Tim hovered on a small, flaming cloud, the flame itself woven from Ezekiel’s magic. Tim sat cross-legged, palms resting lightly on his knees, his hair ruffling in the silent, growing pressure of mana around him.

Below, Ezekiel stood firm, feet planted, arms raised slightly forward, his face taut with concentration as he fed a steady stream of magic to sustain Tim’s perch and connection.

Opposite Ezekiel, standing with similar rigidity, was Sebastian, arms lifted in a mirror to Ezekiel’s stance.

Though unseen to the naked eye, an invisible orb of compressed mana crackled between his fingertips—a barrier so fine and intricate it deflected every ambient thread of magic away from Tim’s senses.

No stray current, no whisper of outside influence was allowed to breach his focus aside from the mana essence Cloud and East had gathered from Silvermist, Levi, Cullen, and West from the simulation.

Without this dual support—one providing the direct connection to the flow of time, the other shielding him from interference—Tim would be overwhelmed, lost somewhere between past and present. It was a dance of exacting precision, and only those with mana of ancient, storied origins could perform it.

Both Sebastian and Ezekiel fit that bill in ways most could scarcely imagine.

Cloud and East stood side by side, silent, each wrapped in their own growing unease as they watched the visible toll on the two men below.

Sweat beaded at Sebastian’s temple, trailing down his sharp cheekbones. His usually warm heterochromatic eyes were strained, glowing faintly gold and aquamarine under the exertion.

And Ezekiel, whose magic usually seemed almost limitless, now trembled faintly in his boots, his breathing tight and shallow.

They had no choice. The ritual demanded it... them.

It was no ordinary reading of the past. They were reaching back thousands of years, back to a time when the bonds that tied Silvermist, West, Levi, and Cullen had first been woven into their fates.

And not by accident.

Not by destiny.

By design—or some fluke out of desperation.

The history of their lifeblood was far older than anyone realized.

Sebastian, born of a forbidden union between the Moon and Sun bloodlines—the Lunar God, father of the Lunar King, and the Solar Goddess Helisara—should not have existed.

He was a being of paradox, embodying both light and darkness. And though he had lived a scant fraction of his intended life, he carried inside him 9000 years of locked potential.

Eighteen years ago, it was Tim—young, desperate, and already burdened with the unbearable knowledge of time’s layers—who found Sebastian, trapped in the forgotten pocket of frozen reality. It was Tim who had risked breaking cosmic law to bring him back.

Sebastian’s existence was an anomaly the universe itself wanted to erase.

And yet, here he stood, shielding a boy meant to discover the chains fate had placed on the new generation.

But if Sebastian’s story was complicated—

Ezekiel’s truth was far worse.

Officially, Ezekiel was known as Cloud’s mentor—the legendary swordsman and archmage who helped shape the first generation of mages and sorcerers. He was their second father in all but blood, a protector whose quiet smile had hidden endless wisdom.

Until the War between the Lunar King and the demon, Asmaros which had killed Ezekiel along with the war’s end. It was Tim, once again, who refused to accept it.

Not even twelve years old, Tim had done the unthinkable: he unraveled the very river of time, casting his soul 6,000 years into the past, to the moment Ezekiel was still just a boy of sixteen—wild, reckless, unaware of the greatness or tragedy awaiting him.

Tim found him there.

And stole him forward into the present. The act was entirely forbidden as it would cost the future the reason why Tim’s powers has been limited to only looking at the past and never to meddle with it. Although from time to time, he still breaks some minor rules for the sake of safety.

East’s gaze darkened as he observed Ezekiel now.

However, there was always a price to breaking the world’s rules.

Ezekiel had never truly fit into the modern timeline. He bore memories that weren’t his, instincts that sometimes clashed with their present reality.

And somewhere inside him, buried beneath layers of crafted normalcy, the boy Ezekiel still yearned for the life that Tim had quietly erased in order to save him.

A life that no longer existed.

East clenched his fists behind his back, his voice low so only Cloud could hear.

"He’s nearing the tipping point," he said. "If Tim doesn’t find what we need soon..."

Cloud exhaled slowly, barely a sound. "They’ll both collapse."

It wasn’t just exhaustion at stake. It was obliteration. Magic, when pulled too tightly across time’s weave, could snap back with devastating force. Tim’s very existence could be endangered if he stayed out of sync for too long.

Cloud’s eyes flickered toward Tim, then to Sebastian and Ezekiel.

We’re running out of time, Cloud thought grimly.

Tim’s body began to glow with an eerie, pulsating light—a sure sign that his consciousness was slipping into the deeper currents of memory.

Already, the air tasted different—thicker, charged with the heavy scent of storm and sorrow.

Past and present were beginning to blur. The world around Tim shifted.

The flaming cloud beneath him pulsed once—then shattered into shimmering embers as his soul was thrown backward, slipping through the layers of existence like a stone skipping across an endless black sea.

Everything blurred. The Sanctum, Ezekiel, Sebastian—East, Cloud—All became echoes.

Falling.

Then—Silence.

Tim’s bare feet landed on ash and ruin.

Before him stretched a broken world—no stars, no sun—only the churning black void overhead and the endless remnants of once-great cities crumbling to dust. A realm devoured by war and betrayal.

And in its heart, a creature unlike any other.

There, standing at the epicenter of desolation, was Cecilion—as what the demons calls him.

Not as a man. Not as a beast. But as a living shadow, woven of smoke and fury.

His form twisted and expanded, stretching into the heavens, blotting out what little light remained.

Eyes—if they could even be called that—glowed like dying embers deep within the swirling mist of his body. He was darkness incarnate, born not from mortal sin or natural cruelty, but from the wrath of the gods and goddesses themselves—their hatred, their fear, their final cursed breath after the last great war.

A creature with no flesh.

No blood.

Only hunger.

The world trembled as Cecilion moved, every step a new quake of despair. Demons flocked to him like moths to an endless fire, worshipping his power, offering themselves as vessels for his growing dominion.

And for a long time—he ruled. Until the warrior came.

Tim’s vision sharpened. Across the broken wasteland, a solitary figure approached Cecilion.A warrior in shattered, ancient armor, wielding a blade that hummed with the grief of millions.

The figure was faceless, their features lost to time. Male? Female? God? Mortal?

Tim couldn’t tell.

Only the overwhelming presence—a force so pure, so sorrowful—that even Cecilion recoiled.

They fought. The clash shook the heavens. Rivers boiled. The very sky tore itself open with every blow.

In the end, it was Cecilion who fell. The final strike pierced the core of his being, unraveling the darkness, scattering it like seeds upon the void.

Cecilion was no more.

Or so the world believed.

Tim gasped as the vision splintered again.

Instead of dying truly, Cecilion’s soul shattered into three fragments, each one burning through the fabric of existence, seeking vessels strong enough to contain even a portion of his rage.

The first fragment fell into the hands of a demon whose mana burned violet—rich, seething, and uncontainable. Asmaros.

Tim recognized him instantly. The Demon King, king of the Elven tribe. The very creature the Lunar King had defeated in their great war.

The second fragment—Tim strained to see.

There was someone there. The mana flared crimson, wild and tempestuous. But the figure was veiled, hidden behind countless layers of memory and time. No face. No name.

Only the color—and the promise of destruction.

The third fragment—Tim froze.

It wasn’t just hidden. It was familiar.

The mana shimmered a deep burgundy, old and mournful, coiling in and out of sight like smoke slipping through fingers.

A soul so intricately tied to the world that even time itself resisted showing it.

Tim’s heart pounded. Who are you? he thought. But no answer came. Only a sense of loss. And inevitability.

The vision collapsed around him.

Tim fell backward, gasping as the present seized him again.

Sebastian dropped to one knee, panting, his shield dropping. Ezekiel stumbled, blood running from his nose.

The flaming cloud was gone.

East rushed forward first, catching Tim before he could hit the marble floor. Cloud was a step behind, hands glowing faintly, ready to stabilize his frail body.

Tim’s voice was hoarse, barely a whisper against East’s ear.

"C-Cecilion... a demon born from the gods and goddesses’ wrath t-thousands of years ago. He was the origin," he gripped East’s sleeve, his fingers trembling. "T-This demon is not likely to be killed..."