The Jade Frost Pavilion had always been a place of order.
Disciplined breath.
Measured steps.
Frost‑qi honed into perfection by centuries of tradition.
But that night, the order cracked.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just a tremor at the edge of perception—
a soft ripple in the barrier wards, like distant thunder swallowed by snow.
Yanmei felt it first.
Her hand—still clutching the broken sword—tightened until her knuckles went white. She stared toward the far end of the hall, jaw clenched, breath held.
Mei sensed it next.
Her jade aura flickered, shifting into a defensive stance so fluid that even the Pavilion disciples instinctively stepped back.
Lauri felt it last.
Not through danger sense.
Not through training.
But through a tug on his soul‑thread—
faint, cold, unmistakable.
Something ancient had found him.
Again.
The Pavilion Master lifted their hand. The frost‑lanterns dimmed. Silence fell like a snowfall across the hall.
"He approaches," the Master murmured.
Mei's eyes widened. "Not the enemy—so soon?"
Yanmei shook her head sharply. "No. The qi is wrong. Colder. More… formal."
The Pavilion Master nodded.
"Prepare yourselves. A royal envoy has arrived."
A SILVER CARPET OF FROST
The great doors of the Inner Hall opened without being touched.
A trail of frost unrolled across the stone, forming an elegant path of shimmering white. Intricate symbols—sharp, angular, almost metallic—formed along its edges.
Royal sigils.
Yanmei inhaled through her teeth.
"The Court of Frosted Thrones… Why would they come here?"
Mei stepped closer to Lauri.
"Royal courts in this world are dangerous. Their alliances shift like snowdrifts. And they don't visit sects without reason."
Lauri whispered, "Is this about the enemy?"
"Everything is about the enemy," Mei answered softly.
Footsteps echoed down the frost‑carpet.
A figure emerged through the doorway—tall, slender, wrapped in a cloak silver enough to reflect thoughts. Their hair was the color of moonlight on snow, and their eyes were hidden behind a thin jade mask shaped like a falling teardrop.
A masked prince.
The disciples dropped to one knee. Yanmei bowed reluctantly. Even Elder Yao inclined his head.
The Pavilion Master remained perfectly still.
The masked envoy stopped at the edge of the circle where Lauri had survived the Trial.
"I am Prince Xier of the Frosted Throne," he announced, his voice cold enough to frost glass.
"I come to claim the one the heavens tremble for."
Mei stepped in front of Lauri instantly.
"No."
The word hung in the air like a drawn sword.
Prince Xier tilted his masked head.
"You refuse a royal decree?"
Yanmei moved beside Mei—slow, deliberate, hand on the remaining piece of her sword.
"The Pavilion is responsible for him," she said. "Not the Throne."
Elder Yao swallowed. "Your Highness… surely negotiations—"
"There are no negotiations."
The prince's mask glimmered, reflecting aurora‑light that wasn't there a moment ago.
"Three realms report disturbances. A rift sovereign appeared in the mortal south. And a forbidden lineage awakened."
Lauri felt the prince's attention fall on him—sharp, assessing, cold.
"You," the prince whispered.
Not a greeting.
A verdict.
"Step forward."
Mei grabbed Lauri's sleeve. "Don't. Royal courts devour anomalies. They will cage you or weaponize you."
Yanmei added, "The Pavilion protects its own."
The Pavilion Master finally spoke.
"Prince Xier. This youth passed the Silent Meridian. By sect law, he is ours to shelter."
The prince lifted one pale hand—
and the frost‑carpet trembled.
"By royal law," he said softly, "a lineage of unknown origin belongs to the Throne."
The room tensed.
The prince stepped closer.
Lauri stood frozen—not by fear, but by the weight of too many unknowns pressing into him at once.
Why did this world want him?
What was his lineage?
Why was everyone terrified of claiming him?
Why was everything accelerating?
The prince stopped within arm's reach.
"Remove your shirt," he said.
Lauri blinked. "…What?"
"Your meridian scars. I will see them."
Mei bristled. "Absolutely not—"
The prince flicked his fingers and—
The hall erupted in frost.
Not attacking—
restraining.
Walls, floor, pillars—all encased in instant ice. Disciples froze mid‑motion. Elder Yao staggered. Yanmei's sword snapped under the cold.
But Mei—
Mei burned through the frost with jade fire, stepping forward with a glare that could sever fate‑threads.
"Touch him," she warned, "and I will tear down your entire throne."
Some disciples gasped.
Others trembled.
The prince paused.
For a moment, the frostlight dimmed—almost respectful.
Then the prince spoke again, softer:
"The Throne fears only one thing: the return of the Eternal Thread‑Devourer."
Cold dripped down Lauri's spine.
"The entity hunting you," the prince continued, "is not merely a predator. It is a king without a realm. A god without a temple. A hunger without form."
He leaned in.
"We have reason to believe you were born as its heir."
The hall exploded in whispers.
Mei felt Lauri's breath hitch. She grabbed his hand tightly.
Yanmei stepped closer, jaw clenched. "He is not a monster's heir."
The prince ignored her.
"We detected its mark on your soul-thread during your Trial. Let me see your meridian scars, Lauri Kallio. If they match the pattern of the Devourer… the Pavilion cannot protect you. No one can."
The hall fell silent.
Mei squeezed his hand. "Lauri, don't do this. They will take you."
Yanmei shook her head. "It's a trap. All of this is a trap."
The Pavilion Master's face was unreadable.
Lauri swallowed.
He couldn't tell if the cold in his chest came from fear—
—or from the enemy's mark.
He exhaled.
Slowly.
Sisu.
Then he reached for his collar.
The hall held its breath.
The prince leaned forward.
Mei's voice cracked.
"Lauri—please—"
Lauri pulled his shirt aside.
White frost scars spiraled over his chest—
but in the very center, faint, pulsing—
A black thread shimmered.
Alive.
Moving.
The prince stepped back.
Mei gasped.
Yanmei swore under her breath.
The Pavilion Master's eyes widened in horror.
Prince Xier whispered:
"By order of the Frosted Throne… Lauri Kallio is hereby placed under royal custody."
Frost surged toward him.
Mei screamed: "NO!"
Yanmei drew the broken sword.
The Pavilion Master raised both hands.
And the world exploded into chaos—
as something outside the Pavilion walls
answered the black thread's pulse.