The Frostspire Mountains gnawed at the sky, their peaks sheathed in eternal ice. The family huddled in a cave, Amara swaddled in wolf pelts as Mara adjusted the illusion wards.

  “They’ll hold for a week,” she said, her voice thin. “Maybe.”

  Liam traced grimoire equations in the frost. “If I amplify the ward’s resonance using geothermal—”

  “No.” Elric seized his wrist. “Every spell you cast is a beacon. They’re hunting you now too.”

  The truth hung unspoken: Amara’s Mark had reactivated Liam’s dormant Connection. Mana surged through him unpredictably—a geyser where others had trickles.

  Lilia tossed a dagger at his feet. “Focus on this. Magic’s useless if you can’t gut a man.”

  Training became survival. By day, Elric drilled him in aura-enhanced combat; by night, Mara taught mana suppression. Only Amara thrived, her laughter echoing through the caves as she toddled on unsteady legs.

  “Up! Up!” She demanded, tugging Liam’s tunic.

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  He levitated a pebble. Amara clapped, her own latent magic swirling the snow into fractal patterns.

  “Stop that!” Mara snatched the pebble. “You’ll draw them—”

  A horn blast shattered the stillness.

  Inquisitors swarmed the slopes, their ivory robes stark against the snow. At their helm rode Archduke Kael—Liam’s grandfather—his silver hair whipping like a battle standard.

  “Surrender the child,” he boomed, “and I’ll spare the rest.”

  Elric spat. “Since when do you lick the Church’s boots?”

  “Since they promised me him.” Kael’s gaze pinned Liam. “The Convergence twins—one to sacrifice, one to control. A fair trade.”

  Betrayal curdled Liam’s gut. “You sent the grimoire to manipulate me!”

  Kael smiled. “And you danced beautifully.”

  The Choice

  Mara thrust Amara into Liam’s arms. “Take her! We’ll hold them.”

  Lilia tossed him a portal crystal—Grandfather’s “gift” from better days. “The coordinates are set. Run!”

  “No!” Elric’s aura flared. “I won’t lose both of you!”

  Amara wailed, her Mark blazing. The mountain trembled.

  Liam kissed her brow. “I’m sorry.”

  He shattered the crystal.

  The Aftermath

  The portal spat them onto a derelict airship, its mana core cold. Amara slept fitfully in his arms, her tiny fist clutching his thumb.

  The grimoire glowed, revealing new text: “To the bearer of my blood—you begin to understand. Aurion’s fate rests with the Marked. Protect her, and you protect us all.”

  Liam gazed east, where dawn gilded the Imperial Spire. Somewhere below, his family fought or fell. Amara’s whimper anchored him.

  “We’ll fix this,” he promised. “Together.”

  The engine sputtered to life.