CHAPTER TWENTY #2
As they walked, Jorik leaned closer, pitching his voice for Kaine's ears alone.
"I should warn you—I've never been much of a cryomancer.
I was foot infantry in the military, not an officer candidate.
" A self-deprecating smile crossed his face.
"What little I know, I picked up watching the Frostforge graduates give demonstrations. Basic forms, nothing complex."
The admission surprised Kaine. Jorik had always excelled at everything he attempted as a child, mastering skills that Kaine struggled with for months. "I didn't realize," he said carefully. "The way you were directing everyone, I assumed..."
Jorik shrugged. "I can lead people without mastering every skill they possess." He glanced sideways at his older brother. "Something I learned after leaving home."
The gentle rebuke stung more than Kaine expected, though he knew it was deserved. He had always been the serious one, the perfectionist who believed leadership required superiority in all things. Jorik had clearly developed a different approach during their years apart.
"I'll teach you properly someday," Kaine offered. "When all this is over."
"I'd like that," Jorik replied, a warmth in his voice that eased something tight in Kaine's chest.
They reached Erek's group, which consisted of six cryomancers, six storm-callers, and a handful of observers who possessed neither magical affinity but had come to learn what they could. Erek was already pairing people off, his military background evident in his efficient organization.
"Ember," he called, spotting Kaine. "You're with Rissa." He nodded toward a woman with intricate circular tattoos covering her forearms—one of the storm-callers from Thrum’kith.
Rissa stepped forward, sizing Kaine up with intelligent eyes. She was perhaps a few years older than him, and at least an inch taller. "Let’s see if your ice is as strong as your steel," she said, her archipelago accent rolling the r's.
They found an open space at the group's edge, standing opposite each other as Erek began the lesson.
The first exercise was simple in theory—each pair would attempt to create the basic barrier that Lyra and Erek had demonstrated earlier.
The cryomancer would form a stable ice structure while the storm-caller channeled controlled electricity through it, neither overwhelming the other.
Simple in theory. Nearly impossible in practice, Kaine quickly discovered.
His first attempt at forming the necessary ice structure went well enough—the crystalline latticework taking shape between his palms with the familiar cold burn of cryomancy.
But the moment Rissa introduced her storm energy, the structure shattered, ice shards exploding outward as her lightning overwhelmed his creation.
"Too much power," he said, shaking frost from his fingers. "Try with less intensity."
Rissa frowned. "That was barely a spark by storm-calling standards." She demonstrated, creating a tiny arc between her thumb and forefinger. "See? Hardly anything."
Their second attempt failed similarly, though this time Kaine's ice structure dissolved rather than shattered, melting away as though the electrical current generated too much heat.
"Your ice lacks flexibility," Rissa observed, wiping condensation from her hands. "It's too rigid, too... Northern."
"That's how ice works," Kaine retorted, frustration edging his voice. "It's solid. Structured. That's the entire point of cryomancy."
She shook her head. "Not for this. For hybrid forms, your ice needs to flow. To adapt. To welcome the storm rather than resist it."
"Ice doesn't flow," he argued, though even as he said it, he remembered the way Erek's frost had moved in currents before solidifying.
“Ice flows,” Rissa said, her mouth curving with amusement. Kaine felt a strange, weightless sensation in his stomach as her eyes met his. “Do your glaciers not move over time?”
Around them, other pairs were experiencing similar difficulties. Most hadn't even managed to create a stable connection between their magics, let alone the elaborate patterns demonstrated earlier. And tensions were rising—voices grew sharper, accusations more pointed as frustration mounted.
From across the group, a commotion erupted. A Frostforge cryomancer—one of the academy's more promising graduates, a man named Torsten with the distinctive pale blue eyes of the far Northern clans—was chest-to-chest with one of the younger storm-callers, their faces inches apart.
"—won't work because your kind doesn't understand precision," Torsten was saying, ice crackling across his knuckles. "Stormspawn magic is nothing but chaos and destruction."
The storm-caller—a young man with fresh tattoos that suggested recent initiation into the higher storm-calling arts—bristled visibly, electricity dancing across his skin.
"Our magic is an intricate art that close-minded mainlanders could never hope to understand.
We don't just throw lightning around like children with toys. "
The air between them charged with dangerous potential, both magical and physical violence imminent. Kaine moved without thinking, pushing between them and planting a hand on each man's chest, forcing them apart.
"Enough," he said, his voice low but carrying the authority he'd developed over years in the forge. "Save your anger for what's coming to kill us all."
"I can't work with him," Torsten spat, not backing down. "His magic is incompatible with true cryomancy. It's wild, untamed—"
"It's precisely tuned to harmonize with natural elements," the storm-caller interrupted. "Something you'd understand if you ever set foot outside your frozen fortress."
Kaine pushed them further apart, his patience fraying. "Listen to yourselves," he said, letting his disgust show plainly. "The Deep Tide doesn't care about your petty grievances. When it comes, it will consume storm-caller and cryomancer alike."
He looked from one to the other, noting the stubborn set of their jaws, the deeply ingrained prejudice that generations of conflict had carved into their worldviews.
"You don't have to be friends," he continued, moderating his tone.
"You don't even have to like each other.
But your survival—all our survival—depends on your ability to set aside old hatreds and work together.
" He released his grip on their tunics, stepping back.
"Choose now. Work together, or leave this plateau and wait for death to find you. "
For a moment, neither man moved. Then, grudgingly, Torsten extended his hand. "For survival," he muttered.
The storm-caller clasped it briefly. "For survival."
Kaine nodded, watching them return to their practice with visible reluctance but renewed determination. As he walked back to Rissa, he caught Jorik watching him, approval evident in his brother's expression.
"Well handled," Rissa said as he rejoined her. "Though I suspect that won't be the last fight we break up today."
"Probably not," Kaine agreed, rolling his shoulders to release the tension that had gathered there. "Let's try again. I think I understand what you meant about the ice needing to flow."
This time, as he gathered the cold energy between his palms, Kaine focused not on creating the perfect crystalline structure he'd been taught, but on maintaining the ice in a more fluid state—halfway between solid and liquid, like the slush that formed on Frostforge's lake during the first winter freeze.
"That's it," Rissa encouraged, watching the ice shift and swirl between his hands. "Now hold that state while I introduce the storm."
She extended her fingers toward his creation, electricity arcing gently from her skin. Kaine braced for the now-familiar failure, the shattering or melting that had thwarted their previous attempts.
Instead, to his surprise, the lightning flowed into his semi-solid ice, spreading through it like veins through marble. The two energies didn't fight each other—they complemented, enhanced, creating something greater than either alone.
The pattern formed between them, smaller and less stable than the demonstration version, but undeniably present—a swirling sphere of electrified ice that pulsed with combined power. Despite the chill of cryomancy at his fingertips, he felt warmth unfurl in his chest.
"We did it," Kaine breathed, amazed despite himself at the beauty of the creation. Through his current-sensing ability, he could feel the perfect balance between the two energies, the way they supported rather than undermined each other.
Rissa grinned, the expression transforming her severe face. She was beautiful, Kaine realized fleetingly, in the same way as an oncoming thunderhead was beautiful—full of raw power, thrilling to observe despite the danger it promised.
"Not bad for a first success, ice-wielder. Let's see if we can maintain it longer this time."
They held the pattern for nearly a minute before exhaustion forced them to release it, the hybrid form dissolving into sparkling mist that drifted away on the plateau's constant wind. Kaine's arms trembled slightly from the sustained effort, but satisfaction burned brighter than fatigue.
As the afternoon wore on, more pairs achieved their first successful combinations.
With each small victory, the tension between the groups lessened incrementally, replaced by tentative professional respect.
By the time the sun began its descent toward the Golem Fields, casting long shadows across the plateau, nearly half the gathered fighters had managed to create at least a basic hybrid form.
It wasn't enough. Not nearly enough to face what was coming. But it was more than Kaine had dared hope for when they'd begun.
He stood with Jorik at the plateau's edge as the training groups dispersed for the evening meal, watching fighters descend the stone staircase in mixed groups, conversations flowing more easily than they had hours before.
"It's a start," Jorik said, echoing Kaine's thoughts. "A small one."
"Small victories win wars," Kaine replied, quoting one of their father's favorite sayings—a rare moment where he could reference their shared past without pain cutting through the memory.
"They'll improve quickly now that the initial barrier is broken," Jorik added. "Necessity is a harsh but effective teacher."
Kaine nodded, his gaze drawn to the horizon where dark clouds gathered above distant mountains. Not storm clouds, but something more ominous—the unsettling atmospheric disturbance that always preceded the Deep Tide's advance.
They were running out of time.
"Tomorrow we'll add combat applications," he said, already planning the next day's training. "Offensive forms, defensive barriers, ranged attacks."
"Ambitious," Jorik observed with a slight smile.
"Necessary," Kaine corrected, turning away from the darkening horizon to face his brother. "The Deep One won't wait for us to perfect our techniques."
As they descended the staircase together, matching their strides unconsciously, Kaine's thoughts turned to Thalia. What was she planning? What had she learned from the old root-singer, and how did she intend to use it against the Deep Tide?
Whatever it was, he hoped it would be enough.