CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The War Council chamber sat buried deep within Frostforge's heart, a circular room of weathered stone where ancient decisions had shaped the continent's fate for centuries.
Kaine strode in beside Jorik, the weight of their findings pressing against his shoulders like a physical burden.
Around the massive ice-steel table, instructors gathered like storm clouds before thunder—Wolfe at the head, her silver-streaked hair pulled back in a severe knot; Virek with his spider-web scars visible on pale hands; Marr's dark eyes tracking their entrance with military precision.
The air hung thick with unspoken dread, the knowledge that beyond these walls, something vast and ancient surged toward them through black waters—unstoppable as time itself.
"Ember. Report," Wolfe commanded, dispensing with formalities. Her emerald eyes fixed on him with the same uncompromising directness that had intimidated students for decades.
Kaine nodded, placing both palms flat on the ice-steel table. Its surface felt unnaturally cold beneath his forge-callused hands—a reminder of the magic that had gone into its making, the same ancient techniques they now desperately sought to recover.
"The Deep Tide continues to advance through the fjord," he began, his voice steady despite the exhaustion that pulled at him. "The boundary in the water is about a mile from us now, and the coastline has been eroded inward by at least two leagues."
"And the larger entity Ashe reported?" Wolfe asked, her fingers laced together so tightly her knuckles whitened. "This 'mountain' moving beneath the black waters?"
Kaine exchanged a glance with Jorik, whose presence beside him felt both novel and right, as though they'd stood together in councils of war their entire lives rather than being reunited mere weeks ago after years of separation.
"We confirmed its existence," Jorik said, speaking for the first time.
Unlike Kaine, whose years at Frostforge had taught him to address the instructors with a mix of respect and confidence, Jorik's tone carried the edge of someone who no longer recognized their authority.
"Though 'mountain' hardly does it justice.
It's moving slowly but deliberately. At current pace, it will reach Frostforge's fjord within the week. "
A murmur passed through the gathered instructors—not quite panic, but the closest thing to fear Kaine had ever witnessed from these hardened veterans of Northern winters and Warden wars.
"The significant development," Kaine continued, drawing their attention back, "is what we confirmed about the effectiveness of hybrid magic against the Deep Ones."
He described their encounter—how Lyra and Erek had combined storm-calling and cryomancy in ways neither discipline alone had achieved, creating effects that seemed to genuinely harm the creatures that emerged from the black waters.
"The hybrid techniques confused them," Kaine explained, his hands sketching shapes in the air as he spoke. "When faced with pure cryomancy or pure storm magic, they adapt quickly, develop countermeasures. But the combined forms—they struggle to defend against something they can't categorize."
"Like fighting two opponents at once who use different weapons," Marr observed, his dark brown eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
"Exactly," Jorik agreed. "My people have been developing these techniques for months out of necessity. What began as experimentation has become our primary defense."
Silence fell over the chamber as the implications settled among the council.
Kaine watched their faces—these instructors who had spent lifetimes mastering singular magical disciplines, who had built their identities around the purity of their chosen crafts.
He saw the resistance in some expressions, the calculations in others.
Finally, Wolfe spoke, her voice cutting through the quiet with practiced authority. "Do you believe these hybrid techniques will be sufficient to defeat the Deep Ones? To drive back this... mountain?"
Kaine felt the weight of every eye in the room. He could offer false hope—tell them what they wanted to hear—but false hope killed as surely as despair.
"No," he admitted, the word falling heavy as a forge hammer. "They'll wound. They'll slow. They may even repel smaller incursions. But against what's coming? Against the full force of the Deep Tide?" He shook his head. "No. We need something more permanent."
"And what would that be?" Virek asked, the cryomancy instructor's whispering voice barely audible yet somehow filling the chamber.
Kaine drew a deep breath. "Thalia is working on a solution. Something based on what she learned from her experiences with the Founders' Price."
The reaction was immediate and visceral—a ripple of discomfort that passed through the chamber like a physical wave.
Instructors shifted in their seats, exchanged loaded glances, fingers tightened on armrests.
Wolfe's expression hardened into something like stone, while Marr's hand moved unconsciously to the hilt of the ceremonial dagger at his belt.
Kaine had expected this response. The Founders' Price had become a forbidden topic at Frostforge, spoken of only in hushed whispers and veiled references.
He remembered his own first encounter with the term years ago, when his research into the academy's origins had led him to ancient texts where those two words appeared frequently, always sending senior instructors into concerned silence when he mentioned them.
"The Founders' Price," Wolfe repeated, each syllable precise and careful, "has been misunderstood for generations. It has led to... unfortunate interpretations."
"I know," Kaine said, meeting her gaze directly. "But I believe I've pieced together the truth of it. The original texts weren't referring to the sacrifice of unwilling students, as later generations came to believe."
He paused, gathering his thoughts. This was territory he'd spent years exploring, first out of academic curiosity, later with growing urgency as threats mounted against Frostforge. What had begun as historical research had become something far more vital—perhaps the key to their survival.
"The true Founders' Price," he continued, "was the willing sacrifice of three magical practitioners—one from each tradition.
They gave their lives to channel a fusion magic more powerful than anything we've achieved since.
Through this sacrifice, they created the seal that bound the Deep Ones to the abyss. "
"And you believe this information is accurate?" Marr asked, skepticism edging his words.
"I do," Kaine affirmed. "The technique was lost to time—deliberately, perhaps, to prevent others from attempting it without understanding the full cost. As generations passed, other interpretations took root.
The idea of sacrifice remained, but its nature was twisted, corrupted into something dark. "
"That aligns with what I was told during my own training," Wolfe said, her voice softening with memory. "There were tales of an instructor in the previous generation who killed a student in an attempt to strengthen the academy's defenses during a particularly brutal Warden attack."
Kaine nodded grimly. "It didn't work because that's not the true Founders' Price. The magic requires willing sacrifice—three becoming one. Instructor Maven made the same mistake with Thalia years ago."
The memory sent a cold fury through him—Maven's betrayal, how she’d lashed out with an ice-steel sword, denigrating the value of Thalia’s blood even while attempting to spill it within the ritual circle. If they hadn't stopped her…
"And how does Greenspire intend to enact this true Founders' Price?" Virek asked, leaning forward, his scarred hands splayed against the table's surface. "Does she have access to practitioners from all three traditions? Has she recovered the lost techniques?"
The question struck at the heart of Kaine's unease.
What exactly was Thalia planning? Since her awakening from the coma, she had been distant, focused on training with the old root-singer, spending hours on the Crystalline Plateau with Roran at her side.
When he caught glimpses of her, she seemed simultaneously more vibrant and more ethereal, as though part of her remained in the realm of visions she had witnessed while unconscious.
"I don't know the details of her plan," Kaine admitted, the words bitter on his tongue.
There had been a time when he and Thalia shared everything—every discovery, every theory.
That openness had frayed in recent months, strained by unspoken feelings and competing loyalties. "You would need to ask her directly."
He straightened, refocusing on what he could control. "In the meantime, Jorik and I are proposing immediate training in hybrid magic techniques for every fighter at Frostforge. We need to arm as many as possible with these methods before the Deep One reaches our waters."
"How quickly can these techniques be taught?" Marr asked, practical as always.
"The basics?" Jorik considered. "Days, perhaps. Enough to make a difference in battle, at least. The more advanced applications take longer to master."
"Days may be all we have," Solberg observed quietly.
Wolfe nodded, decision made. "Permission granted. We'll post the announcement immediately. Training begins at dawn tomorrow." She fixed Kaine with a penetrating look. "And I will speak with Greenspire about this... other matter."
The meeting concluded with a flurry of logistical details—training grounds to be allocated, schedules to be arranged, fighters to be divided into groups based on their magical affinities.
Throughout it all, Kaine felt a growing unease.
Something in Wolfe's tone when she mentioned speaking to Thalia suggested she knew more than she was revealing. Or perhaps suspected more.
As they exited the chamber, Jorik fell into step beside him, their shoulders nearly brushing in the narrow corridor. For a moment, Kaine was struck by how similar their postures had become despite years apart—both leaning slightly forward, as though perpetually walking into a strong wind.
"You're worried," Jorik observed, his voice low enough that only Kaine could hear.
"Is it possible to teach these techniques in time?" Kaine asked, deflecting from his deeper concerns. "Most people here have spent their entire lives practicing one form of magic, viewing other traditions with suspicion or outright hostility."
Jorik's mouth twisted into a wry smile. "You mean, can we convince proud Northerners to learn from Isle Wardens? Can we persuade cryomancers that storm magic isn't just chaotic destruction? Can we overcome centuries of prejudice in a matter of days?"
"Something like that," Kaine agreed, the corner of his mouth lifting despite everything.
Jorik shrugged, the gesture casual but his eyes serious.
"My group learned because the alternative was death.
Nothing focuses the mind like survival." His gaze swept across the corridor where refugees huddled against walls, their faces bearing the hollow look of those who had seen their homes consumed by darkness.
"These people understand that now. They've seen what's coming. "
"I hope you're right," Kaine said as they reached the junction where their paths would diverge—Jorik to gather his people for the coming training, Kaine to organize the academy's fighters.
"I have to be," Jorik replied simply. "We have no other choice."
As his brother walked away, Kaine stood motionless in the corridor, the weight of their situation pressing down upon him like the mountain of stone above Frostforge's halls. No other choice. The words echoed in his mind, raising questions he had been avoiding since Thalia's awakening.
What choice was she making now, alone with her ancient knowledge and newfound power? And what price would she pay to save them all?