Chapter 5

  I had expected the others to speak on their own. For a fleeting moment, I feared they no longer saw me as their leader. But instead of a smooth transition into serious discussion, an awkward, almost embarrassing silence took hold. They just stared at me—waiting, as if I were supposed to grant them permission to speak.

  The fire crackled softly nearly us. No one moved. No one blinked.

  I sighed inwardly and broke the silence.

  "Alright. Vin," I said, keeping my tone measured, "what did you learn from the animals?"

  Vin looked around nervously, as if searching for the words—or perhaps for someone to speak in her place. Then she took a deep breath and spoke up.

  "I… I couldn’t understand the horses completely," she began, voice hesitant. "But I think they spoke of a white-and-blue figure that approached the stable boy. You have to understand, I’m still… not great at this whole communication-with-animals thing."

  She offered a weak, apologetic smile, then quickly returned to the matter at hand.

  "They also mentioned a song. The same one the halfling talked about. And… they said it got colder when the figure appeared. Much colder."

  I leaned back, considering her words. To be honest, there wasn’t much I could make of it. But one thing was certain: whatever had killed the boy, it wasn’t human—and it wielded cold like a weapon. Something ice-based. Something cruel.

  As Vin continued, noting that the cows were "too dumb to say anything useful"—her words, not mine—I glanced around the table. Simon was listening intently, his brow furrowed in thought. Maira, on the other hand, was fidgeting with one of her rings again, clearly waiting for her turn.

  When Vin had finished, I turned to our cleric.

  "Were you able to tell if he’d been infected with something? Or maybe… harboring something inside him?" I asked as gently and respectfully as I could.

  Maira’s expression darkened. She shook her head, a hint of sorrow in her eyes.

  "No," she said. "Not a single spell revealed any infection or curse. And Erebos… even he didn’t speak."

  The mention of that name made my left eye twitch. I had to force myself to breathe deeply and remain composed. I had to get used to these casual references to the dark gods… even if every part of me recoiled at the sound.

  Before I could speak again, Simon chimed in, unprompted.

  "I didn’t find much," he said, his voice low and steady. "Just a broken pitchfork. Likely what the boy tried to defend himself with. But based on what we know so far…" He looked at each of us in turn. "I’d say we’re dealing with either an ice wraith… or a very intelligent elemental."

  "And which one is more dangerous?"

  The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Simon's expression said it all—utter shock mixed with disbelief, as if I’d just asked whether dragons breathe fire or water.

  Then, suddenly, he burst into laughter.

  Not a chuckle. A full-bodied, infectious laugh that echoed around our camp like thunder in a canyon.

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  "What?" I snapped, my tone sharper than I intended. "I didn’t spend my days memorizing the entire Monster Encyclopedia of the Stormspire Academy, alright?"

  That only made him laugh harder, though he tried—unsuccessfully—to rein it in.

  "Sorry," he finally managed, wiping a tear from his eye. "It’s just—gods, the idea that you’ve been traveling the world for years, fighting beasts and gods know what else, and somehow never heard of ice wraiths? It’s shocking—and hilarious."

  He took a deep breath, and at last, the laughter faded. His expression grew serious again.

  "But to answer your question: the more dangerous creature is without a doubt the Ice Wraith. They’re more versatile than elementals, more cunning—and far more intelligent. Some of them are nearly as smart as humans."

  I frowned. "Nearly?"

  Simon nodded grimly.

  "Some are human. Or were. Ice wraiths can be created when a crytomancer corrupts a person—twists them inside out until there's nothing left but frost, hate, and illusion. Some of them can even take on their old form again, like putting on a mask."

  There was something in his voice now. A bitterness. A buried fury. He wasn't just reciting facts from a book. He'd seen it. Lived it.

  I noticed how his hands had clenched into fists. A muscle in his jaw twitched. He’d crossed paths with a crytomancer before—that much was clear. But I knew better than to press him about it now. Some wounds weren’t meant to be picked at.

  So I held back my curiosity. Whatever haunted Simon’s past wasn’t mine to dig into—not now.

  Instead, I shifted focus and brought the conversation back to the task at hand.

  "Alright," I said, straightening a little. "Next, I suggest we explore the rest of the inn. There has to be some kind of storage room or cellar we haven’t checked yet. Maybe we’ll find something useful there."

  Maira raised an eyebrow, clearly puzzled. Her forehead creased in thought.

  "What exactly do you expect to find?"

  "Clues," I replied, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "Anything that might explain why an Ice Wraith would be haunting this place—this inn—while a never-ending blizzard rages outside. Something's not right here, and I want to know what it is."

  She didn’t argue. None of them did.

  "And tomorrow," I continued, "we start investigating the guest rooms—quietly. I know it’s risky. If there really is a wraith hiding among the guests, things could escalate fast. But we have to know who they are… and why they’re here."

  There was a moment of tense silence as the others considered the plan. Then, one by one, they nodded.

  No protests. No complaints.

  And without meaning to, I felt myself sliding back into that role—leader. The one who gave direction when others hesitated. The one who stepped forward first.

  I didn’t ask for it. But no one else claimed it either.

  I made my way toward Markus, the innkeeper, who was behind the bar, pouring drinks for two mercenaries hunched over their mugs. He looked... functional. Focused. Calm. At least on the surface. It seemed the shock from earlier had passed—either that, or he was doing a damn good job pretending it had.

  The common room had returned to its usual state of quiet commotion, not unlike the night before. The merchants and their guards lounged near the hearth, sharing quiet words over cheap wine and salted meat. The healer, tucked into the corner by the stairs, was hunched over a bundle of herbs, separating stalks with careful, practiced hands. The three travelers—those I hadn’t yet spoken to—sat around a battered wooden table, their cards fanned out, exchanging glances and half-smiles with every play. No one seemed particularly interested in us.

  I did my best to blend in, sliding onto one of the stools at the bar. Not an easy task while wearing full armor—minus the helmet—but still, among the mercenaries, I looked like just another hired blade. My presence didn’t draw attention. Only the sword at my side, polished and too well-cared-for to belong to a sellsword, might have raised questions. No one asked.

  I waited until Markus had finished wiping down the counter and stepped a little closer, speaking in a low voice so no one else would hear.

  "Would it be alright if we took a look at the storeroom?" I asked calmly. Then, after a pause, I added, even softer, "It might help us figure out what happened to the boy."

  His reaction was subtle but telling. A flicker of something passed over his face—panic, fear, or maybe the weight of memory. Just a flicker, gone in the space of a heartbeat.

  Then he nodded.

  Without saying a word, he reached beneath the bar and placed a small iron key into my hand. His fingers were cold, damp with sweat, though he kept his expression neutral. The fear didn’t linger. As soon as the key left his fingers, his body relaxed slightly, his shoulders lowering.

  He moved to refill another mug, as if we hadn’t spoken at all.

  I slipped the key into a pouch at my belt and stood up slowly. No one had noticed the exchange.

  And now, it was time to see what secrets this inn was hiding.