Sorn felt like he might hurl. Hunched against the cave wall, his arms were wrapped around his stomach as he fought the nausea running through him. The warm embrace of the nearby fire did little to chase away the discomfort. He had been grateful, of course, for the hot meal, but it didn’t change the fact that it had been a vile experience. Each bite was a stringy, tough struggle. Even worse was that bitter aftertaste, he had felt as though he would vomit every bite. Perhaps it would’ve just been better for him to sleep hungry.

  “Weak stomach, huh?” Toren crouched before him, a playful smile on his face.

  A few weeks ago, Sorn had considered this man an enemy. But the Dancing Blade had grown less hostile since their fight. More than that, he was the only one who consistently spoke to him. Perhaps it was boredom, but Toren had taken it upon himself to initiate conversation, something no one else in the group did. As a result, they had grown much closer.

  Sorn exhaled slowly, tilting his head back to meet Toren’s gaze. The firelight cast an orange color across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the perfect symmetry of his features. The boy looked like a walking sculpture.

  Toren sighed dramatically. "It appears you truly are suffering," he mused. "That is quite the issue."

  Sorn grimaced as he tried to force a smile. "Uh, I’ll be fine."

  Even though Sorn had found some odd sense of comfort in his company, conversing with Toren remained a difficult plight. There was an awkwardness that came from their dynamic, barring them from experiencing a flowing dialogue.

  Toren was part of the Expeditors, a lesser-known branch of the Dancing Blade. They were in charge of any outside expeditions. However, clearance to leave the island was rare, and in the end, the Expeditors spent more time scouting within their own land than venturing beyond it. Regardless, Toren had picked up survival skills that no one else in the group knew of.

  Among these skills was his ability to test for poison, a trick as simple. By piercing a solid or liquid with a needle of ice, he could deduce whether or not that material was safe to consume. Using this method, he had determined that the Huffgrunt meat wouldn’t kill them. Though, judging by the way Sorn’s gut was twisting, safe and edible were not always the same thing.

  From the corner of his eye, Sorn caught a glimpse of Fred trotting through the cave, a piece of meat dangling from his mouth. The sight of the cub gnawing on the remains of its own kind left Sorn with an eerie disgust that didn’t help the symptoms of his indigestion at all. But if that was part of their diet—

  He turned away, shifting his focus back to Toren. The Dancing Blade had settled beside him without a word, his presence subdued in the firelight. A thin needle of ice sat between his fingers as he studied it, creating small designs along the edges.

  Sorn watched him for a moment before breaking the silence. "Was there something you wanted from me?"

  Toren didn’t answer right away. His blue eyes reflected the fire, making them burn with a feverish glow.

  "Yes," he said at last. "There is something."

  Night had settled, and most were already asleep. Only Crystal and Aira remained awake, accompanied by Fred. The two women sat in silence, save for the occasional rustle of fur or crackle of embers. Aira, tasked with the first watch, sat cross-legged, her face directed at the entrance. Beside her, Crystal kept a loose grip on Fred, though the Huffgrunt cub showed no signs of resting as it prowled around, sniffing at the ground.

  Aira moved her hands, making different signs with them. Sorn had seen her do it before but had never learned the meaning behind the gestures. From what he had gathered, only Crystal and Aria could truly understand her.

  Across the fire, Toren turned toward the girls, his voice breaking the quiet. “Women.”

  Fred let out a low, rumbling growl, his hackles rising.

  Toren frowned. “Quiet you brute, or I’ll skewer you.”

  He glanced back at Crystal. “Sorn and I will be stepping out for a while. We’ll be back soon.”

  Crystal barely looked up. “Go for it.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Sorn hesitated for a moment, then he followed Toren as he led the way toward the cave’s entrance. But instead of breaking through the ice-covered opening, Toren moved to his left and pushed aside a loose rock, revealing a small hole above them. He climbed through before reaching down with one arm toward Sorn.

  “Quickly,” Toren urged. “Too much cold wind, and the fire inside will cease.”

  The wind outside howled faintly in the distance, and Sorn took Toren’s hand. He allowed himself to be pulled up through the opening. He immediately felt himself stiffen upon feeling the chill that came with leaving the cave’s warmth.

  He wondered what Toren intended to do with this strange request. Part of him still wondered if Toren was looking for revenge and was going to challenge him to a rematch, or perhaps he would pierce him in this weakened state when his guard was most lowered. There had been no trust between them before, but with the strange bond they had formed through their many awkward conversations, something that made Sorn doubt his instincts was beginning to form.

  They trudged through the moonlit snow, the cold creeping through Sorn’s worn boots. Fatigue had begun to settle in his limbs, the weight of each footfall growing heavier as the snow swallowed his steps. For a moment, he wondered how much farther they would go before the cold claimed what little warmth remained in his body.

  Toren moved ahead, unbothered by the biting cold. The silence between them continued, broken only by the crunch of their feet in the snow. Sorn kept quiet, still unsure of Toren’s intent.

  They reached the top of a hill, and Toren came to a sudden stop. He stood there with his gaze fixed on the moon that turned snow silver. His breath misted in the air, vanishing into the night as his bright blue bangs drifted in the wind, painted in the moon’s white.

  Toren turned to look at Sorn, who was still a few paces back. It was only now he noticed how violently he was shivering. "My apologies," he said. "I forgot that you cannot bear the cold like we can."

  Sorn fought to steady his breath. "It's okay," he murmured, doing his best to compose himself. He forced his legs to move again, catching up to the Dancing Blade as he stood beside Toren at the hill's crest.

  The moonlight bathed Toren, turning his skin a soft hue. For a fleeting moment, he appeared almost ethereal. There was a gentleness to his expression, a look Sorn had never expected to see from his former enemy.

  “You know,” Toren began, “I miss them.”

  “Huh?”

  “My parents, my friends, my entire clan.” Toren sat down on a large rock next to him and motioned Sorn to do the same, all the while not taking his eyes off the moon. “I always thought I’d live a comfortable life in the Fortress for some more years. That I’d marry and fight side by side with my wife and those I cherish on the Promised Day. And if we won, I’d begin a family and die a fulfilled life in those walls.”

  “I never thought you’d be so vulnerable,” Sorn replied.

  Toren peeled his eyes from the celestial object above to give Sorn a solemn smile. “Why? Does it surprise you?”

  “A little,” Sorn admitted. “I think I’m more surprised that you’re talking to me of all people about it.”

  “Did I not tell you before? My hatred for you was from me as a soldier of the Ice Elemental. I felt as though you were a worthless impostor. However, my defeat was a shattering of that reason. Therefore, I accept you, even though you still may lack certain qualities of respect, so do most I know.”

  Toren’s lack of true apology had always left Sorn conflicted. Logically, he knew he had no reason to forgive the man. Toren had done things that Sorn believed he should feel sorry for. Despite that, something about the way Toren’s demeanor had changed made it hard for Sorn to hold on to his old resentment. The very act of kindness had caused Sorn to adopt a new paradigm of the man.

  With this friendly side of Toren, it was as though a light had broken through the mask of arrogance he wore. There was a contagious air about him now. No longer did he attempt to belittle or instigate Sorn. Instead, he treated him with the respect he had always preached, a respect that, until now, had seemed like nothing more than empty words.

  “So— what do you plan to do about you missing your people?” Sorn asked, deciding to bring them back to the original subject.

  “Ah, well, I’m not sure,” Toren answered as he created a small ice needle, fidgeting with it in his hand. He scratched his hair with the other hand. “You know, even when I thought I had my life figured out, I was lying to myself.”

  Sorn blinked, clearly not understanding. When he opened his eyes after that split second, a familiar red mask of ice was on Toren’s face. Normally, he’d have been a bit startled, but the cold and fatigue had lowered his senses, and instead he just quietly accepted the sight.

  “My masks represent different parts of myself— at least that’s what I theorize it to be. The truth is, I don’t completely understand my own ability.” He gestured toward the mask he was wearing. “This mask is happiness.”

  He waved his hand, and it switched to green. “This one is hate.”

  Another wave and the mask disappeared. A slight smirk played on Toren’s lips. “You haven’t seen this one yet,” he said. A blue mask formed, but this one was far more intimidating, and Sorn was snapped out of his sleep-like state. “That’s your survival instincts acting. Do not fret, however. I will not inflict harm upon you. This mask is of anger.” And just as quickly as it appeared, the blue mask vanished.

  “Techniques that change in color are quite unseen in the Fortress,” Toren explained. “I have some intuitive understanding when it comes to certain facets of my ability— but there’s an issue.”

  He paused, and Sorn tilted his head. “What is it?” he asked.

  “My collection of masks should total four. But I’ve never been able to get a grasp of that fourth mask.” He sighed. “But I remain confident in its existence. It is as though I feel I’m missing a part of myself.” He paused, letting the needle in his fingers twirl a few more times. “I’ve been rambling for a bit too much aren’t I?”

  “Well… I’d like to help you,” Sorn said, letting his words come out carefully, “but I don’t know what I could do.”

  Toren shook his head. “That is not for you to worry about. I simply wanted a person to talk to. You fulfilled your duty as a listener diligently. For that,” he gave Sorn a deep bow, “I appreciate you greatly.”

  Toren leaned back, then pushed himself forward, springing off the rock. He landed lightly in the snow a few meters away, barely making a sound as he straightened and began making his way down the hill. He glanced back over his shoulder, talking to Sorn who hadn’t moved from his spot yet.

  “Come now, let’s go back.”