NOVEL NEXT Chapter 36: The Frozen Path
Further into the soft, black sands of the Veil, they went each step growing heavier as the lingering magic pressed down like unseen hands. For hours, he and Adele had wandered this strange, bending landscape together—through swirling pockets of air and elusive mirages that danced at the edge of his vision—each step a shared memory forged in survival and hope.
Now, after what felt like an eternity, the boundary of the Veil emerged ahead. The sands receded, yielding to a desolate, icy expanse that stretched as far as the eye could see. The transformation was sudden and surreal—a reminder that magic and danger were forever intertwined.
Adele walked just ahead, her figure a steady beacon amid the shifting chaos. Since their tender, unspoken kiss in the Veil, a soft warmth had grown between them—a silent promise that deepened with every shared glance. Yet today, her silence spoke of the weight of yesterday's battles. She had not uttered much since the encounter with Leyva, and Albion could sense the frost of memory still clinging to her like winter's chill.
Catching up, Albion exhaled, his breath forming small clouds in the frigid air. "That's it, right?" he asked, voice rough with cold and emotion. "The edge of the Veil?"
Adele nodded, her gaze fixed on the distant horizon. "Yes. Once we pass through, we'll be in the southern tundra."
Albion squinted at the transforming terrain. Beyond the shimmering border, the world opened into a desolate sea of white—a endless expanse carved of ice and stone, where a bitter wind howled with ancient fury. The pale sun offered little warmth, its light distant and cold. Yet amid the desolation, Albion felt a spark—a promise echoing the intimacy of their shared moments just hours before.
They stepped through the final boundary, and instantly, the magical pressure lifted like a released sigh. But the chill of the tundra struck him like a slap, forcing him to pull his cloak tighter as the wind screamed its wild lament.
The frozen world resembled a vast wasteland: endless white dunes interrupted only by jagged rocks jutting upward like the bones of long-dead giants. Every gust, every crunch of Albion's boots on the icy ground, heightened the isolation they shared.
"We're not going to last long out here if we don't find shelter," Albion said, his voice echoing in the biting air.
"There's a canyon system to the west," Adele replied, eyes scanning the horizon with determined intensity. "The Sunken Canyons. We can follow the ridges—there should be some caves there."
The old maps marked this stretch with warnings—avalanches, unstable ice bridges—but caves, too. Hidden sanctuaries if you were desperate enough to risk them.
As they set off toward the distant line of rock formations, the cold seeped deeper, and Albion found solace in the rhythm of their shared steps. The memory of their kiss—its tentative magic, the vulnerability it unveiled—was a balm against the harshness around them. With every crunch on the frozen ground, he felt their bond strengthen, a silent pledge that they would face whatever lay ahead together.
Adele's unwavering stride was a constant comfort. Even as the wind whipped her dark hair about her face, her focused determination was unyielding. "How do you always know where we are?" he asked, marveling at her innate sense of direction.
She offered a small, wistful smile. "Once I read or hear something, I never forget it. Maps, directions… they all stick with me." In that moment, a faint shadow of her past slipped through—a time before survival had hardened her, when laughter and light had been as real as the magic itself. The glimpse deepened the tenderness in her eyes.
"Color me impressed," he smiled.
They continued in silence until the pale tundra yielded to steep, jagged paths twisting through the frozen landscape. Here, the rock walls offered a temporary reprieve from the merciless wind, and Albion felt a tentative relief as they entered the narrow canyon.
Inside, the world changed once again. The icy ground, slick beneath their feet, echoed with the crunch of each step, while jagged rock formations loomed overhead, their long shadows dancing in the fading light. As they ventured deeper, a stillness wrapped around them—a calm that was both comforting and unnerving.
Then, a deep, rumbling sound vibrated through the ground. Albion froze, instinctively reaching for the runes on his sword's hilt. "What was that?" he whispered.
Adele's eyes narrowed as she scanned the canyon walls. "Golems," she said quietly.
Albion frowned. "Golems? What are they doing out here?"
"Someone must be controlling them," she replied, her tone crisp with alertness.
The sound of shifting stone grew louder, and Albion's pulse quickened. He turned toward a massive form emerging from the shadows—a golem, an imposing amalgam of rock and ice. Its body was not merely a hunk of stone; carved into its rugged surface were glowing runes, and a single, central eye burned with a pale blue light—a molten core visible through fractures in its form.
Albion's grip tightened on his sword. "Looks like we've got company."
Before he could react further, a figure stepped from behind the golem. The newcomer was a tall, broad-shouldered man cloaked in tattered garments that billowed in the cold wind. His face was initially hidden in shadow, but as he pushed back his hood, a rugged visage emerged—etched with the hardships of wandering and tinted with an inscrutable familiarity. For a brief moment, Albion caught a flicker in the man's eyes—a subtle, almost imperceptible reaction as though he recognized a name or a secret from the depths of this enchanted realm.
"Easy," the man said in a low, gravelly tone, raising a hand in a gesture of peace. "I'm not your enemy."
Albion exchanged a wary glance with Adele before addressing him. "Who are you?"
"My name's Alen," he replied, his voice steady and rough. "I've been wandering these canyons for a while now." There was a quiet intensity in his gaze. Albion's eyes flickered briefly—something in Alen's manner felt both familiar and cautionary, as if the name of the place itself carried weight he'd once known.
"You controlling that thing?" Albion asked, his hand still near his sword.
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Alen nodded toward his silent companion. "Yeah. It's my... companion. It won't hurt you."
The golem shifted behind Alen, its massive form casting warped shadows across the cave wall. For a heartbeat too long, its single molten eye fixed on Albion—unblinking, unbreathing—before it turned away, as if it had been listening to something only it could hear.
Adele stepped forward, her eyes narrowing as she assessed Alen with practiced wariness. "What brings you here?"
Alen shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Same as you, I suppose—trying to survive. The Sunken Canyons are treacherous, but they're safer than the tundra. I've been avoiding the worst of it."
Albion and Adele exchanged a glance. Though Alen seemed capable, there was an undercurrent in his behavior—a subtle tension that hinted he was keeping secrets in the spaces between his words. "We could use a guide," Albion said cautiously. "If you know the area."
Alen's eyes darted between them before he nodded. "I can help. Those canyons are a maze. Without someone who knows the terrain, you could be lost for days."
Adele pulled Albion a half step back, lowering her voice so only he could hear.
"We have two choices. Freeze to death, or risk a traitor," she murmured. "Watch his hands, not his words."
Albion nodded grimly. Trust was a luxury they couldn't afford out here.
Adele's gaze lingered on him a moment longer, guarded and analytical. "Fine. But we're not looking for trouble."
"Neither am I," Alen assured with a faint smile. "I'll keep to myself if that's what you prefer."
The trio continued through the canyon, with Alen leading the way and his golem silently casting long, shifting shadows on the walls. As they ventured deeper, the air grew even colder, and the sense of isolation pressed upon Albion. The canyon walls seemed to close in, the encroaching darkness whispering of hidden dangers.
Eventually, they reached a narrow passage where Alen stopped and scanned the area. "There's a cave up ahead," he said. "We can rest there for the night. It'll shelter us from the wind."
Albion glanced at Adele, who nodded in agreement. The biting cold was sapping their strength, and the promise of shelter was a welcome reprieve. They followed Alen to a modest cave—a small, shallow opening in the rock that offered protection from the relentless elements. Outside, the wind howled; inside, the air was still and cold, the silence nearly reverent.
As they stepped inside and shook the ice from their cloaks, Alen hesitated near the mouth of the cave.
"I'll stay near the entrance," he offered, voice quiet, almost apologetic. "If it makes you more comfortable."
Albion and Adele exchanged a glance, a silent debate passing between them. After a moment, Adele gave a short, sharp nod.
"Stay where we can see you," she said.
Alen only shrugged and moved to settle by the entrance, the golem standing sentinel a few feet behind him.
He wasn't sure which unsettled him more—the man's apparent honesty, or the massive, silent creature looming just behind him.
As they settled in, Albion's thoughts drifted back to the warmth of his recent kiss with Adele—the tender promise in her eyes, the gentle magic they shared amid chaos. Yet even in this temporary refuge, a subtle unease lingered, as though danger stirred just beyond the cave's entrance. He glanced at Adele, who sat quietly near the opening, her eyes fixed on the swirling snow outside.
"What do you think of him?" Albion asked softly.
Adele's gaze remained on the canyon mouth. "I don't trust him," she murmured.
"Neither do I," Albion admitted, though his tone held a note of resigned necessity. "But for now, we need him."
As the night wore on, the cave's stillness was broken only by the distant, eerie echo of the canyon wind and the soft, shared breaths of two souls finding solace in one another.
For now, though, in that fragile space between warmth and cold, danger and tenderness, Albion and Adele clung to each other. Their journey—a path forged in hardship and illuminated by moments of intimate magic—continued onward. Together, they would face the frozen path ahead, each step a testament to the growing, unspoken promise that, in this unforgiving world, they had found something worth fighting for.
"So, is it normal to be able to control golems like that?" Albion murmured under his breath, keeping his voice low as the wind carried his words away.
Adele's reply was as cold and measured as the biting air. "No. But in Gorre, it's practiced by the nobility."
Albion nodded, though a gnawing unease twisted in his gut. Alen had guided them through the icy maze with a calm confidence. His golem—a towering sentinel forged of rock and ice, its surface etched with glowing runes and crowned by a single, central eye pulsing with molten blue light—followed silently behind. Yet, despite this display of power, something about Alen's demeanor felt too placid, too at ease in this frozen wasteland.
"So," Albion broke the silence, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the wind, "how long have you been wandering these canyons?"
Alen sat in the firelight, his hood drawn low over his face. "Long enough," he replied cryptically. "There's not much out here but ice and stone."
Albion grunted. "You're not exactly brimming with details, are you?"
Alen offered a slight shrug as his cloak billowed in the gusts. "Not much to tell."
Albion frowned.
Adele's eyes narrowed further. "So you were with the Empire."
Alen's jaw tightened, but he did not deny it. "I was once," he said quietly, each word laden with sorrow. "The Empire twisted me, turned me into something… monstrous. I left that life behind."
"How did you…" Albion's pulse quickened as he pieced it together—the way Alen controlled the golems, the silence when it came to being questioned. He wasn't just a wanderer; he was a fugitive. Yet when Albion looked into Alen's eyes, he saw deep, undeniable pain—a man who wore his wounds openly, heart on his sleeve, haunted yet yearning for redemption.
Adele leaned forward, her voice cool and unyielding. "We don't trust you, Alen. But we need a guide. Help us through these canyons, and we won't have a problem."
Alen nodded slowly as he tended the flame, his expression a mixture of hope and resignation. "I'll guide you."
Albion exchanged a glance with Adele—her eyes still dark with suspicion while his held a cautious empathy. "We'll see," he muttered.
A few hours drifted past, as the mystery of Alen's past and his control over the golems hung heavily in the air—a secret yet to be fully unveiled. A few feet away, Alen sat with his eyes fixed on the patterns of frost along the stone, the fire light illuminating the cave. His golem, a silent guardian with its central eye pulsing with molten blue light, loomed just outside the alcove. For a moment, the magical energy in the air shifted: the golem's eye dimmed ever so briefly, and a faint, inhuman whisper—like a lost voice from the depths of time—rippled on the wind, hinting at a danger yet to come.
Breaking the stillness, Albion spoke quietly, "How about you tell us why you left the Empire."
The golem's hand twitched—just once—its stone fingers curling slightly, like a reflex it shouldn't have. The movement was so slight Albion almost convinced himself he imagined it.
Alen's eyes, shadowed beneath his drawn hood, flickered with memories as he ran a rough hand over his beard. "It wasn't a decision I made lightly," he murmured. "The Empire... it changes you. It strips away your soul piece by piece until there's nothing left but what they want you to be." He paused, his gaze drifting to the snow-covered ground. "I was young, ambitious. I thought their power could save me—a way to command magic I'd never imagined. I wanted that power, until I learned its price was far too high."
Albion frowned. "So, you had no choice?"
Alen shook his head slowly. "At first, it felt like I had no choice. But then, there was a place—Shangri-La. I thought I was doing good... until I watched it drown. They made me a weapon, used me and the golems, to raze entire cities. The power corrupted me, and I lost myself."
Adele's voice sliced through the cold silence, steady yet laced with suspicion. "And what about you now? You still control them—are you still that same weapon?"
Alen's jaw tightened as he met her gaze, his eyes dark with remorse. "I'm not the man I once was," he said softly. "I guide, I protect—to prevent further destruction. I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't hurt anyone ever again."
His hand brushed absentmindedly over a burn mark on his wrist—half-hidden beneath his battered sleeve. A nervous habit, maybe. Or a reminder etched too deep to forget.
Albion's heart pounded as he watched the interplay of regret and hope flicker in Alen's eyes. In that moment, he saw not a ruthless weapon, but a man burdened by guilt and desperate for redemption. Yet a lingering doubt remained—could a man with such a tainted past truly change?
Adele exhaled, her tone cool and resolute, though for a brief second, her voice wavered—a quiet crack in her hardened guard that quickly subsided. "People change, they grow. In time, you'll earn back trust from everyone around you. But keep your word, or I'll make sure you don't even leave footprints behind."
Alen's expression softened, mingling hope with resignation. "I understand—know I'm not your enemy. I'm trying to outrun my past, even if I can't escape it entirely."
Albion leaned forward, his voice gentle yet firm. "You're not the only one running from the Empire. But if you truly want freedom, you'll have to face what you left behind."
For a long moment, Alen's eyes met Albion's, and in them, a flicker of something tender—perhaps hope, or the regret of unhealed wounds—glimmered in the fading light. "I know," he whispered. Outside, the wind resumed its mournful wail, carrying with it the promise of lurking danger. Albion leaned back against the cold stone, letting the silence settle around them once more.
Sleep came slowly. Albion's body was exhausted, but his mind refused to rest. At some point deep into the night, he cracked one eye open—drawn by a prickle at the back of his neck.
The fire had burned low, casting long, broken shadows along the walls.
The golem stood exactly where it had before.
Except now its single molten eye was facing directly toward him.
Albion's breath caught. He stared back for a long moment, heartbeat loud in his ears—
—and then, almost lazily, the golem's head turned back toward the mouth of the cave.
As if it had never moved. Albion pulled his cloak tighter and shut his eyes, pretending he hadn't seen it at all. In that fragile alcove, with the distant echo of an otherworldly whisper still lingering in the air, the trio braced themselves for the journey ahead. Beyond held many secrets, and as they resumed their path beneath the indifferent gaze of a frozen world, Albion couldn't help but wonder how long they could keep running from the past—and whether, amidst the echoes in the cold, redemption might finally be found.