CH. 52 The Trial of Endurance, Part I
The Cold Never Bothered Me Anyway, Except It Absolutely Did
The Resanarum feels different today.
Colder. Sharper. Like the air itself knows what's coming and has politely decided to suck the warmth out of my soul preemptively.
The princes stand in formation, cloaks swaying in a nonexistent wind. The Seer’s staff glows pale blue — frost crawling from the runes across the arena floor.
I hurry to my usual place beside Sorien, wearing the most suspiciously large, fully-face-covering, absolutely-unhinged mask I could find.
It has feathers.
And glitter.
And also a small ornamental spoon glued to the side.
Sorien stares at me.
Then at the spoon.
Then back at me.
“Got a good rest from your short break?” he asks casually, as if I am not currently disguised as a lopsided carnival disaster.
“Not really,” I mumble.
He hums. “I can tell.”
I freeze. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“You look… different.”
I panic internally.
Externally, I do a weird little hop and say, “HORMONES!”
His brow lifts. “…Right.”
Before he can interrogate me further, the Seer’s staff SLAMS down.
A shockwave ripples outward.
The sky vanishes.
The world turns white.
---
We hit the ground—not stone, not sand—
Snow.
A frozen wasteland stretches in every direction, blank and merciless. The wind howls, carrying flecks of ice sharp enough to shave a beard.
My mask immediately fogs up.
“Perfect,” I mutter. “Just perfect.”
Farro is already shivering. “Why… is it… so cold…”
Gavin snaps, “Because it’s winter, you idiot.”
“It wasn’t winter five minutes ago!”
“Do you ever think before speaking?”
Farro opens his mouth to protest—
but his words freeze midair. Literally.
They drop as tiny ice crystals onto the snow.
“Oh,” he says weakly. “That’s new.”
Sorien pulls his cloak tighter, scanning the horizon.
“The rule is simple,” he says. “Survive the cold. Move forward. Don’t stop.”
“Very wise,” Gavin drawls. “Did the Seer tattoo it on your arm last night?”
“No,” Sorien says calmly. “It’s common sense.”
Farro stomps one foot. “I HATE COMMON SENSE.”
---
The wind turns brutal.
Snow lashes our faces. Ice clings to boots. Fingers numb. Lips crack.
And yet—
something unexpected happens.
Gavin slows his pace slightly so Farro doesn’t fall behind.
Farro, teeth chattering, pulls off his cloak and forces it around Sorien’s shoulders. “D-Don’t argue. You get cold faster, twig-boy.”
Sorien doesn’t argue.
Gavin grips Sorien’s arm when he nearly slips on an icy dune.
Sorien pushes Farro forward when he starts to sink.
They help each other.
For the first time.
Three brothers—
not fighting,
not competing,
not performing—
Just enduring.
Together.
---
I trudge behind them, my ridiculous mask frosting over like a frozen pastry.
“Would’ve been nice,” I mutter, “if someone had told me endurance trials were JUST WALKING. I could’ve stayed home and done this on a treadmill. Does Gazaar HAVE treadmills? Probably not. They spend all their money on gold fountains and cosmetic masks—”
Sorien suddenly turns. “Are you… talking to yourself?”
“No,” I say.
“Yes,” Farro says.
“Constantly,” Gavin adds.
“I’m FINE,” I snap. “I am a perfectly stable individual—”
A burst of wind knocks me backward like a slapped chicken.
Sorien grabs my arm without thinking. “Careful.”
His hand is warm even in this freezing hellscape.
I pretend my heart does not have opinions about that.
---
Hours later, my eyelashes are icicles and my soul is brittle.
Then I see it.
A small flicker.
A fire.
“A hallucination,” Gavin says.
“A miracle,” Farro says.
“A trap,” Sorien says.
“A nap,” I say.
But we limp toward it anyway.
---
It’s tiny. Struggling.
A flickering breath against the storm.
The brothers collapse around it like dying penguins.
Slowly, painfully, the fire warms us.
Sorien kneels to feed it snow and shards of ice that somehow fuel the flame instead of killing it.
Gavin finally breaks the silence.
“…Sorien.”
Sorien looks up, eyes wary.
Farro stares into the fire, voice small.
“We should’ve… treated you better.”
Gavin exhales, frosty mist curling from his lips. “We were cruel.”
“You were a tiny thing,” Farro adds. “Easy to bully.”
“You didn’t fight back,” Gavin says. “We thought you didn’t care.”
“I did,” Sorien murmurs.
The fire crackles.
Farro leans his head on Gavin’s shoulder. “We’re sorry, little brother.”
Sorien’s jaw tightens, emotions flickering like the flame.
“…Thank you,” he says quietly.
I discreetly turn away, pretending to be fascinated by a snowflake so they can have their moment.
The frost around us softens.
The wind calms.
The snow melts—
---
With a sudden shift, the world rips apart.
Snow evaporates.
Cold vanishes.
Sand replaces ice.
We’re standing on scorching dunes under a blazing sun.
Farro groans. “Not again.”
Gavin swears loudly.
Sorien squints at the horizon. “Desert. Different endurance.”
I glare at the sky.
“Is this a weather trial or the gods’ personal joke?”
The Seer’s voice echoes distantly, carried on hot winds:
“Endurance is not how long you survive one hardship —
but how you rise again when the world changes.”
I sigh, dragging my cloak over my head.
“Fantastic. We survived freezing to death just to roast alive.”
The brothers exchange a tired, united look.
For the first time, they smile the same smile.
Ready.
Together.