A figure emerged from the Frost-Plate Behemoth’s immense shell, descending steps carved into its flank. He was small, frail, a stark contrast to Borin’s towering frame.
His gaze, ancient and piercing, fixed on Borin. A wry smile touched his lips.
“Still breathing, Borin. Amazing.”
Borin snorted, a plume of frost breath escaping his lips. “You’ve shed more teeth, Glacies.”
“You’re an anomaly. Obsessed with clinging to life past two centuries.” Glacies’s voice, though reedy, carried a surprising bite.
Most of his teeth were gone, a few yellowed stumps remaining. Borin, in contrast, stood vital, untouched by the millennia. They were beings from different epochs, yet survivors all the same.
Borin’s eyes narrowed. “What brings you here? This isn’t your roaming ground.”
“Ice-scavengers,” Glacies sighed, a cold mist accompanying his words. “They infest the Southern Reach again.”
“Didn’t you clear them last cycle?”
“Pests return, Borin. These new swarms are more aggressive, more numerous. No point engaging; it only invites further grief.”
“Hmph. Sounds like the old fox is afraid, spinning tales to justify his retreat.” Borin’s laugh was a rasp of dry ice.
Glacies showed no embarrassment. He merely shrugged, his shoulders bony under layers of furs. While not Borin’s equal in raw power, Glacies had weathered the world’s enduring winter for centuries, honing a different kind of resilience.
Veridia, scarred by perpetual ice, still held pockets where life clung. Caverns rich with crystallized minerals, geothermal vents creating fleeting oases. Though precarious, humans found ways to persist.
Ice-scavengers preyed on these fragile settlements. That vulnerability had driven Glacies’s tribe to this behemoth.
His gaze drifted to Kael, standing silently beside Borin. A flicker of intrigue crossed his face.
“A new shadow, Borin? Never seen you travel with company.”
“A companion, perhaps.” Borin’s tone was deliberately vague. “Someone like you, burdened by another presence? The Ice Veins would crack.”
“Enough bluster. Come inside. There are items to trade.”
Borin scoffed. “I wouldn’t suffer just anyone’s presence in your rolling tomb, old man. But for you…”
“Stop with the theatre and lead the way.” Glacies turned, his frail frame ascending the internal steps. Borin followed, and Kael, last, stepped towards the entrance.
Before entering, Kael’s eyes drifted across the colossal face of the Frost-Plate Behemoth. A sheer cliff of hoarfrost and ancient stone, its eyes, twin glacial lakes, reflected his own small image. Indifferent, the behemoth turned its head slightly, a slow grind of ancient plates.
Taming such a creature? Commanding its titanic will? A madness Kael could barely comprehend. Yet, the surprises had only begun.
Inside, the Frost-Plate Behemoth was a hollowed-out world. Vast chambers, lit by flickering ice-lamps, stretched into a complex network. A settlement, not a mere camp, thrived within its colossal shell.
People moved through winding pathways, their breath misting the frigid air. Children, bundled in thick furs, chased each other through archways carved from ancient bone.
“A tribe?” Kael’s voice was a low murmur. “A lineage?”
“Yes. All kin to Glacies,” Borin rumbled beside him. “The Frost-Shell Enclave, they call themselves.”
Kael felt a cold pang of disbelief. In a world where survival was a daily struggle, where raising a single child to adulthood was a gamble against the unending winter, sustaining such a large family seemed impossible.
“It is possible because this creature protects them,” Borin explained, a note of grudging respect in his voice. “From the Blight-Worms and the Frost-Giants, the shell holds.”
Veridia housed horrors beyond imagining. Beasts that could tear mountains asunder. Yet none dared challenge the Frost-Plate Behemoth. Its colossal shell, a fortress of living rock and hardened ice, was impenetrable. Not a single monstrous fang or blizzard-born claw could pierce it.
Here, within its moving sanctuary, Glacies’s descendants flourished.
“They’re mindless fools,” Borin added, his voice dripping with disdain. “They think themselves chosen, but without the creature, they are nothing.”
To Borin, the Frost-Shell Enclave was a fleeting dream, a structure of rime that could melt at any moment. The behemoth protected them only through Glacies’s mastery. When he eventually succumbed to the cold grip of time, the creature’s loyalty would cease.
Glacies led them into a chamber carved into the behemoth’s interior, a dwelling that felt ancient and lived-in. He settled onto a seat made from a polished glacier-oak root.
“Where shall we begin, Borin?”
Borin replied with a dismissive gesture, reaching into the folds of his hardened leather coat. From an unseen subspace, he began to withdraw items. A gleaming, razor-sharp horn from a Glacier-Beast Alpha. A petrified carapace, intricately segmented, from a Queen Frost-Ant. Bones of creatures hunted long before Kael had even been drawn into Borin’s orbit. He laid them out, one by one, on a smooth, obsidian-like table.
These were not common trophies. Each piece whispered of a powerful foe, a boss, a creature of immense might. Raw materials, rare beyond measure, their potential waiting to be unleashed.
Glacies peered at the items through spectacles crafted from polished ice crystal. His ancient eyes, keen as a winter hawk’s, scrutinized each fragment.
“Impressive, Borin. As expected.”
“No need for flowery words. Name your price.”
“Will you accept Glacial Essences?”
“You must be losing your mind with age, Glacies. Why would I need Essences?”
“True. You cannot even set foot in the Glacier Vault anymore, so I suppose they hold no value for you.”
Glacial Essences were the lifeblood of Veridia’s few remaining cities, the currency of the Glacier Vault. But Borin, for reasons he never shared, was barred from its fortified gates. He preferred tangible goods.
“What, then, do you seek?”
“A breastplate, crafted from that Queen Frost-Ant carapace. And a subspace artifact.”
“A breastplate? And you already possess a subspace relic, Borin.” Glacies lifted an eyebrow.
“They are not for me.”
Glacies’s gaze finally, fully, turned to Kael. An intriguing expression settled on his ancient face. He had known Borin for generations, but never had Borin sought something for another.
“This young one… he must be quite useful.”
“Silence. Can you fulfill the request, or not?” Borin’s voice brooked no argument.
Glacies considered this for a moment, then called out. Soon after, a woman, perhaps in her early twenties, entered the chamber. Her skin was kissed by the pale Veridian sun, her eyes the clear, icy blue of a glacier lake. A quiet strength radiated from her, like a frostflower blooming against the wind.
“You called, Grandfather?”
“The subspace gauntlet you crafted before. Do you recall it?”
“I do not have the bracelet, but there is a gauntlet, yes. My finest work; the enchantments settled perfectly.”
“Give that gauntlet to this young man.” Glacies gestured towards Kael.
“That precious artifact?” Glaciela’s surprise was evident. Her voice carried a faint tremor.
She was an Enchanter, rare and immensely skilled. Her touch could imbue items with properties, special abilities drawn from the very magic of Veridia. But success was fleeting, a mere thirty percent chance, and only a fraction of those became true artifacts.
Even in the Glacier Vault, pure Enchanters were scarce. Most relied on mechanical augmentations. Glaciela was among the very best.
The gauntlet Glacies spoke of was her masterpiece. A subspace capacity exceeding ten meters in every dimension, large enough to store an entire shelter, a treasure beyond measure.
To simply hand such an item to a stranger… Glaciela’s bewilderment deepened. Glacies continued.
“And tell Kaelen to forge a breastplate for him, using the shell of this Queen Frost-Ant.”
“Another piece for him?” Her blue eyes widened. Kaelen was Glacies’s youngest son, a formidable blacksmith. His creations, often enhanced by Glaciela’s enchantments, commanded astronomical prices. This trade sustained the Frost-Shell Enclave, buying raw materials from wanderers, processing them, and selling them to caravans or within the Glacier Vault. The Behemoth’s interior was thus a trove of valuable goods.
Glaciela turned her gaze to Kael, a question in her eyes. *What is he? What power does he hold that justifies such gifts?*
At that moment, Borin spoke. “So, the whelp grew into an Enchanter, eh?”
“Oh! Master Borin, a pleasure to see you.” Glaciela startled, belatedly acknowledging Borin’s presence.
“A useful skill you’ve acquired. Your talents were always a bit… frosty.”
“Thank you. Still as cutting as ever.” A faint fear flickered in Glaciela’s eyes. She knew Borin’s power. The memory of him tearing apart a colossal Frost-Hound when she was a child remained a vivid trauma.
Glaciela shifted, uncomfortable in Borin’s imposing presence. She addressed Kael hastily.
“Come with me. I’ll retrieve the gauntlet.”
Kael followed, a subtle lightness in his steps. He had often felt a quiet yearning when Borin effortlessly accessed his subspace. The thought of possessing such a tool, freely given, stirred an unfamiliar warmth in his chest.
“What is your bond with that ancient monster?” Glaciela asked, leading him through a labyrinth of ice-carved passages.
“We met by chance. Now, we travel together.” Kael’s voice was even, devoid of inflection.
“By chance?” Glaciela frowned, a faint skepticism in her tone. But she did not press. It was Borin, after all.
She led Kael into her workshop, a small cave filled with the scent of pulverized crystal and cold metal. Tools of intricate design hung from the walls. Along shelving, various items, imbued with faint, shimmering auroras, rested on display.
Kael instinctively drew a sharp breath. A raw energy emanated from them, a palpable cold that resonated with his own core. He looked, truly looked, at each piece.
Glaciela’s smile was fragile, yet proud. “I crafted all of these. What do you think?”
“Remarkable,” Kael said, the word barely a whisper. “Are they all artifacts?”
“Indeed. The finest, save for those excavated from the deepest, most dangerous glacial dungeons.”
Dungeon artifacts. They often pulsed with aberrant power, capable of warping reality, whispers of a primordial magic. Glaciela’s ambition was to replicate that power, to imbue her creations with the same ancient might.
She reached for a gauntlet hanging on a pristine crystal peg. It covered the back of the hand and forearm, a sleek design of shimmering azure and silver.
“I fashioned this from the scales of a Frost-Wyrm, fused with Glacier-Forged Steel. Its structure is a dual composite, offering unmatched resilience, protection, and striking power. Beyond its subspace function, it possesses self-recovery.”
“Self-recovery?” Kael asked, his internal stillness broken. “It repairs itself?”
“Yes. Unless utterly shattered, it will mend.”
“Impressive.”
“That’s not all,” Glaciela continued, a spark of excitement in her eyes. “Due to the Frost-Wyrm scales, the gauntlet holds a potent cryo-attribute. It currently emits only a faint chill, but its power will amplify significantly depending on what you affix here.” She pointed to a rounded depression on the back of the gauntlet, designed for an attachment.
“A cryo-attribute artifact,” Kael mused, a slow understanding dawning.
“Yes. Choose its attachment wisely. Once set, it cannot be replaced. Frankly, this gauntlet was a marvel of chance; I cannot guarantee I could ever recreate it.”
“I understand. But… is it truly meant for me?”
“Grandfather instructed me to give it to you.” Glaciela extended the gauntlet.
Kael took it. The cold metal settled into his hand, light as a feather. He slid it onto his right arm. Initially, it felt loose, but as it settled, it seemed to flow, shrinking, adapting, until it fit his arm perfectly, like a second skin.
He flexed his hand, wrist and fingers moving without resistance. A faint, resonant chill emanated from the gauntlet, a sensation both foreign and familiar. It felt an extension of his own power.
Glaciela crossed her arms, a look of quiet satisfaction on her face.
---
Suddenly, the behemoth’s alarm shattered the silence. A deep, resonant thrumming vibrated through the very shell of the Frost-Plate Behemoth, a guttural wail that echoed through its internal passages.
Glaciela’s proud expression vanished, replaced by an urgent gravity. She rushed from the workshop, Kael close behind her.
Outside, the world beyond the behemoth’s protective shell was already churning. On the distant horizon, the perpetual winter storm, usually a static, swirling mass of grey, had begun to coalesce into an enormous, dark anomaly. A colossal ice cloud, turbulent and unnatural, was rapidly rising, sweeping towards them like an angry fist of the blizzard itself.