CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Founders' Price chamber breathed cold against Thalia's skin as she descended the narrow stone staircase, one hand trailing along the damp wall for balance, the other holding a sputtering torch aloft.
Its amber light caught in the crystalline veins that threaded through the rock, remnants of ancient magic that had seeped into the very foundations of Frostforge.
Behind her, Roran's and Brynn's footsteps echoed in the confined space, a rhythm that matched the nervous flutter of her heart.
She had never expected to return to this place willingly—not after what happened with Maven, not after the blood she'd shed here.
Yet here she was, leading others down the same treacherous path, preparing them for a sacrifice that would likely claim all their lives.
"Watch the third step from the bottom," she warned over her shoulder. "It's cracked in the center."
"Charming place," Brynn muttered, her voice tight with poorly concealed unease. "No wonder they don't give tours."
The staircase had been easy enough to access—most of Frostforge's attention was directed outward now, toward the approaching darkness rather than inward at three graduates who shouldn't have been wandering the depths.
The few guards they'd encountered had been distracted, their minds on the coming battle, not on the possibility of intruders from within.
Thalia's torch illuminated the final curve of the stairwell, revealing the ancient oak door with its iron bands and peculiar lack of lock.
This deep beneath Frostforge, security had always been more magical than physical—wards and bindings that had weakened over centuries of neglect.
She pressed her palm against the weathered wood, feeling the faint tingle of dormant magic beneath her fingertips. Not enough to stop them. Not anymore.
"This is it," she said, pushing the door open with a low groan of protest from hinges rarely disturbed.
The chamber beyond lay circular and low-ceilinged, its walls curved like the inside of a massive bowl.
Their three torches—now the only sources of light—cast long, dancing shadows that seemed to move with purpose rather than mere physics.
Thalia stepped forward, her boots echoing against stone worn smooth by generations of feet.
"The Founders' Price chamber," she explained, sweeping her torch in an arc to illuminate more of the space. "Where Frostforge's original purpose was twisted over time into something dark."
In the center of the room lay a circular pattern etched deep into the stone floor—runes and symbols that spiraled inward toward a slightly raised dais.
Some were familiar to Thalia from her metalwork studies; others remained mysterious, their meanings lost to time.
But she understood their purpose now. The vision from her coma had revealed what generations of Frostforge instructors had forgotten or deliberately obscured.
"This is where we'll stand," she said, gesturing to three equidistant points around the circle. "One cryomancer, one storm-caller, one root-singer—forming a perfect triangle of power around the nexus point."
Roran moved to one of the positions she indicated, his expression solemn as he studied the ancient markings.
"These symbols—they're similar to some of the tattoos Isle Warden storm-callers use.
" He traced one with his boot, careful not to scuff the etched lines.
"This one represents the tempest bound in flesh. "
"And this," Brynn said, kneeling to examine another section of the circle, "is Northern runic script. ‘Ice that flows from heart to hand.' Basic cryomancy instruction, but more... poetic than we're taught now."
Thalia nodded, unsurprised. "The third set must be about root-singing—though I don’t know enough about the language to translate it.
" She moved to stand at her designated position.
"But I know what this is for. It was in my visions.
This runic circle is designed to direct combined power into the earth beneath Frostforge, extending outward to create a barrier around the entire continent. "
Brynn rose from her inspection and stepped back, her boot catching on something. She glanced down, her face twisting with disgust as she noticed the dark stain marring the stone floor—blood long dried but never fully scrubbed away.
"Someone else tried this ritual recently," Brynn observed, her voice sharp with suspicion.
"Not exactly," Thalia replied. "That was a mistake, generations ago.
Someone attempted to activate the chamber using the blood of a student—without understanding that the true power lies in willing sacrifice, not in forced bloodshed.
Like what Maven tried to do to me." She shook her head, memories of that day still bitter on her tongue.
"Frostforge has misunderstood its own origins for generations, twisting the Founders' Price into something cruel and coercive.
More than one person has lost their life to that cruelty. "
"That's always been the Northern way," Brynn said with a curl of her lip. "Take something sacred and turn it into a weapon."
"It wasn't just the North," Thalia countered, finding herself in the unusual position of defending the academy.
"The South forgot its root-singers, and let the tradition die out almost entirely.
The Isle Wardens turned storm-calling into a tool for raiding and conquest." She met both their gazes in turn.
"We've all failed to honor what the Founders created here. "
Roran cleared his throat, redirecting their attention to the matter at hand. "So we stand at these three points, channel our respective magics, and create a seal against the Deep Ones."
"Yes," Thalia confirmed. "But not until we've mastered the fusion technique completely.
The slightest imbalance during the ritual could be catastrophic.
" She straightened, stepping away from the runic circle.
"Which is why we shouldn't practice here.
This chamber is volatile—designed to amplify magical energies beyond normal limits.
If we attempt fusion magic here before we're ready, we risk triggering a partial reaction that could drain us without creating a proper seal. "
"Where, then?" Brynn asked, already moving toward the door, clearly eager to leave the ominous chamber behind.
"The mine caverns," Thalia answered. "Through the service tunnel we used for forging the hybrid weapons. It's isolated, stable, and large enough to contain whatever manifestations our combined magic might create."
They extinguished two of their torches, leaving only Roran's lit to guide their way as they exited the Founders' chamber.
The service tunnel stretched ahead, narrow enough that they had to walk single file, the rough-hewn walls occasionally marked with abandoned mining equipment—picks and shovels leaning against the rock like sentinels forgotten at their posts.
The air grew warmer as they proceeded, the distant heat of the Howling Forge permeating even these outlying tunnels. Thalia led them through a series of turns that she had memorized during her earlier excursions, when she'd helped smuggle the Isle Warden storm-callers to their secret forging area.
Finally, the tunnel opened into a large cavern, its ceiling arched high above them and supported by thick natural stone columns.
The remnants of their previous work remained—a makeshift forge now cold and dark, scattered tools, and several barrels of water they'd hauled in for tempering metal.
Roran lit several wall-mounted torches from his own, bathing the space in steady amber light.
"This should serve our purpose," Thalia said, moving to the center of the cavern where the floor had been cleared of debris. "We'll start with paired combinations before attempting to merge all three disciplines."
Roran nodded, rolling up his sleeves to reveal arms corded with lean muscle. "Brynn and I should begin with cryomancy and storm-calling. I have experience with both, so the transition might be smoother."
Thalia stepped back, giving them space while internally wrestling with a flicker of something uncomfortably like jealousy—not of their closeness, but of their magical affinity.
Her own connection to cryomancy had always been tenuous at best, her talents lying elsewhere.
She watched as they moved to stand opposite each other, hands raised palm-to-palm but not quite touching.
Brynn closed her eyes first, a look of intense concentration smoothing her features.
Frost bloomed across her fingertips, spreading outward in delicate crystalline patterns that hung suspended in the air between them.
Roran responded, his brow furrowing slightly as he called upon the storm magic that was his birthright.
Tiny arcs of electricity danced between his fingers, contained but potent.
For a moment, the two magics remained separate—ice and lightning, stability and chaos, Northern discipline and archipelago wildness. Then, with careful precision, they brought their palms closer, allowing the energies to meet.
Thalia expected resistance, a clash of opposing forces.
Instead, she witnessed a perfect melding—the frost absorbing the lightning, becoming something new and breathtaking.
A sphere of electrified ice formed between their hands, pulsing with inner light that cast blue-white shadows across their intent faces.
The sphere expanded, its surface rippling with currents of frozen lightning that spiraled in hypnotic patterns.
"It's responding to our thoughts," Roran murmured, his voice tight with concentration. "Not fighting them."
Brynn nodded, a rare smile of genuine wonder crossing her face. "Like having two hands instead of one—each doing something different, but coordinated."