FROST Chapter 35: Pitch Black

"W-What’s going on?" Athyst murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. The mont she stepped onto the school grounds, she sensed it—a shift in the atmosphere, a tension so thick it pressed against her skin like an unseen force.

Before she could fully process it, a familiar voice cut through the air.

"Athyst!" Elise called out, weaving through the crowd with urgency. The students around them moved with purpose, their hurried footsteps converging toward the auditorium.

"Good to see you back, Athyst," one of her classmates remarked in passing, offering a brief pat on her shoulder before rging into the stream of bodies heading in the sa direction.

Others acknowledged her presence with nothing more than a wave, their focus elsewhere, their expressions unreadable.

"Did Sebastian call for a gathering?" Athyst asked, her eyes scanning the sea of students moving toward the grand hall. "I haven’t received any information."

"Sebastian isn’t here," Elise replied in a hushed tone. "The summons ca from the Grandmaster himself. You’re still recovering—your mana might be too weak to receive signals properly."

Athyst hesitated for a brief mont, then nodded. "Then we’d best not keep him waiting."

Without another word, she and Elise fell into step with the crowd, allowing the tide of students to guide them toward the auditorium.

Yet, as they walked, Athyst beca increasingly aware of the murmurs behind her—low voices carrying just loudly enough to be heard, yet not so loud as to be a direct confrontation.

Mocking whispers. Derisive laughter.

"Pathetic. She threw herself at Silvermist like a fool."

"All that desperation, and for what?"

"Did you see how badly she was mangled? And by Silvermist, of all people? A nobody."

Athyst’s jaw tightened, but she refused to turn around. She understood the weight of her actions, the consequences of her recklessness. Humiliation was rely another price to pay, and she had already resolved to bear it without complaint.

Elise, however, shot her a look, a flicker of quiet concern in her eyes. She gently tapped Athyst’s arm and whispered, "Ignore them. Their words an nothing."

Athyst exhaled slowly, steadying herself. But before she could respond, Elise subtly gestured upward.

"Besides," she murmured, "I think sothing much worse is happening."

Athyst followed her gaze—and froze mid-step.

The sky was dimming.

Not the gradual descent of twilight, nor the cover of an approaching storm. This was different—unnatural.

Her breath hitched.

"The Moonstone..." she murmured, eyes narrowing.

For as long as she could rember, the Moonstone had been the primary source of illumination for their world, casting its silvery glow across the land. But now, that radiance was fading, swallowed by an encroaching darkness.

"It might be losing power," Elise whispered.

Athyst felt a chill creep up her spine. The Grandmaster’s summons, the tense atmosphere, the failing Moonstone—none of it was a coincidence.

Perhaps her reckless actions had played a role in these changes. The thought gnawed at the edges of her mind, unsettling her more than she cared to admit.

She had already known—before she left—that Earth teetered on the precipice of sothing far worse. But knowing and understanding were two very different things. Until now, she hadn’t given it the weight it deserved. Now, as the dimming sky lood overhead, she could no longer afford to ignore the signs.

A sharp voice cut through the air, shattering her thoughts.

"Move along, woman."

The words carried a biting edge, laced with impatience. Athyst turned toward the source, her gaze locking onto a familiar figure.

Cullen.

His expression was unreadable, his stance relaxed yet firm, exuding the quiet authority that always seed to surround him. His piercing eyes bore into hers, assessing, judging.

Whether he shared the sa suspicions about the Moonstone’s fading power or if he was rely annoyed by her hesitation, she couldn’t tell.

Athyst remained silent, forcing herself to step aside and grant Cullen passage. She couldn’t afford to make another scene, not after everything that had already transpired.

She knew little of him beyond his na—fragnts of information gathered through her own investigations—but sothing in her instincts warned her. Cullen was not soone she should be around.

Without another glance, she and Elise moved forward, slipping into the auditorium and taking their seats among the sea of apprentices. The air inside was thick with tension, a quiet anticipation humming just around the corner.

As they waited, whispers rippled through the crowd, low murmurs weaving together like threads of a darker truth.

"Yeah, I heard she was sent away to be punished..."

Athyst stiffened at the hushed voice behind her, though she willed herself not to react.

"She deserves it! But what I don’t understand is why Ezekiel, Sebastian, and West needed to escort her," another voice chid in. The ntion of those nas sent a bolt through Athyst’s chest. She nearly turned toward them—but stopped herself just in ti.

"And not just that," a third voice joined. "Matilda, one of her roommates, said Adeline and Mila went with her as well."

"Damn! Why are they still treating her well when she almost killed Frost?"

The words struck like a lash, but Athyst clenched her fists beneath the table, her expression betraying nothing.

"It wasn’t entirely Evermore’s fault, if you ask ," soone else murmured, their tone asured. "None of that would have happened if Athyst hadn’t tried to kill her first."

A scoff followed. "That desperate bitch, thinking she could be Frost’s apprentice just because everyone says she’s the strongest—"

Silence.

The speaker had stopped mid-sentence, as if realizing—too late—that Athyst was sitting just a few seats away.

The weight of unspoken words pressed against her, but she did not turn. Did not flinch. She had no intention of defending herself anyway.

"So, Ezekiel went with Evermore," Elise murmured beside her, her voice laced with sothing between curiosity and frustration. "Now I’m not surprised why those three have favored that woman since day one." She turned to Athyst, her expression contemplative. "They might have known all along that Silvermist was Frost’s apprentice."

Athyst didn’t react. She had already suspected as much, long before Elise voiced it.

Still, the realization stung.

She had convinced herself that Ezekiel, Sebastian, and West had taken an interest in Silvermist out of pity—because she was powerless, vulnerable, soone they believed needed protection. She thought they saw potential in her, that they wanted to train her personally.

But the truth was simpler. Colder.

She had assud too much. Assud without ever truly knowing them.

A slow sigh escaped her lips.

"Perhaps I was never ant to be the protagonist in this goddamn world," she muttered under her breath, her gaze drifting toward the stage.

"But I have a role to play. Now, what the hell is it?"

Suddenly, the auditorium fell into a stunned silence as the stage shimred with life. Flowers burst forth from the crystalized floor, blooming in waves of shifting colors, their petals swirling like celestial dust.

Then, through the cascade of blossoms, East erged—effortless, commanding, the flowers itself bending to his presence. A breeze stirred his coat as he stepped forward, the flowers parting beneath him like loyal subjects.

Light danced across his form, casting an otherworldly glow, and with a smirk laced with both mischief and authority, he spoke.

"I knew you guys loved my entrance more than my brothers’." East giggled, his lighthearted tone clashing with the tension thick in the air.

"Damn that extra god," Elise muttered with a chuckle.

A chorus of dreamy sighs rippled through the audience. East might not have been the most conventionally handso of the Guardians, but his effortless charm was sothing no one could ignore.

Stepping forward, his playful deanor faded slightly. "As most of you have probably noticed," he began, his voice carrying through the hall, "sothing—or perhaps soone—has been disrupting the Moonstone, the very core of the Academy’s power. And that is precisely why I’ve gathered you all here." His gaze swept over the apprentices. "We need to restore it. And for that, I need your help."

East studied the apprentices’ expressions and as expected, most of them are scared to what might happen.

"The Academy’s barrier against dark entities has been weakening relentlessly, its power ebbing with each passing minute. Even the sorcerers—those who have dedicated their entire lives to fortifying its walls—are struggling to maintain its stability."

East’s eyes swept across the apprentices once again, his gaze sharp and unwavering. He seed to drink in their silence, letting the weight of his words settle deep into their bones.

"I know most of you feel unprepared for what lies ahead. Many of you are still wrestling with your own powers—so barely grasping what you are truly capable of. But despite your doubts..." His voice lowered, steady and certain. "We, The Guardians, have faith in you. Whether you believe it or not, each of you was chosen for a reason. And now, that reason calls for you."

He lifted a hand, fingers poised in the air.

With a sharp snap, the ground shuddered—not violently, but subtly, as if the very earth had drawn breath. The apprentices flinched, eyes darting across the floor. Then, in perfect synchrony, the cracks began to bloom beneath their feet.

From the cold stone, green sprouts broke free—one in front of each apprentice—small and fragile at first, yet growing at an unnaturally rapid pace. The vines twisted upward, unfurling with delicate precision, their leaves shimring faintly under the dim light. Gasps echoed through the auditorium as the sprouts blossod into identical closed peonies—deep crimson in hue, their petals tightly sealed.

Athyst’s breath caught in her throat as the flower before her trembled, almost as if it were alive—almost as if it could hear her thoughts.

East’s voice broke the silence, softer now but laced with sothing ancient—sothing that seed to linger in the very marrow of the room.

"This flower is bound—sealed by magic forged by the Moon itself, just as the Moonstone is. It will not bloom on its own. But within your hands lies the power to awaken it. Whether it blooms or withers... will depend entirely on you."

• • •

"Itwilldependentirelyonyou... No shit, because what in the actual literal fuck is this?" Elise cursed under her breath, breaking the heavy silence that had lingered in the auditorium since East’s dramatic departure.

It had been at least ten minutes—ten agonizingly long minutes—since he disappeared, leaving nothing behind but his cryptic parting words.

At this point, the only thing heavier than the tension in the room was the small sealed peony resting in every apprentice’s hands.

Elise glanced around, watching the other apprentices fidget with their flowers—so shaking them as if that would force them to bloom, others staring at the petals like they might whisper secrets if looked at long enough.

"At this point, they aren’t testing our potential—" Elise grumbled, rolling the flower between her fingers, "they’re testing our goddamn patience."

Athyst said nothing, her violet eyes locked on the crimson petals in her palm.

The mont she had touched the flower, it’s stem had shrunk back down, curling into itself—its vibrant energy sealed away once more. Even the crackled floor where it had erged had smoothed over, as if nothing had ever disturbed it.

The whole auditorium now sat in an eerie stillness—hundreds of apprentices holding identical flowers, waiting for sothing... anything to happen.

"Well, ti is running fast," Athyst muttered, her eyes still fixed on the sealed peony in her hand. "Unless we start moving, we won’t figure out what East ant by what he said."

A snide chuckle broke the silence.

"Acting superior again, Stormhunt?"

Athyst’s gaze flicked to the side, instantly recognizing the voice. Pearl Riverwood—an apprentice from Section Serpentine. Her arms were crossed, lips curved into a mocking smile as if she’d been waiting for an opportunity to strike.

Without missing a beat, Athyst smirked.

"Perhaps. Because unless you’re still unable to summon even a single drop of water—" she paused, tilting her head, "you will always be inferior to , Pearl. Now, go cry a river."

A few scattered snickers echoed through the hall, and Pearl’s face flushed red beneath her perfectly styled curls. Elise clamped a hand over her mouth to suppress her laugh, scrambling to follow Athyst as she strode toward the exit without another word.

The air outside was cooler—unnervingly still, as if the Academy itself was holding its breath. The faint glimr above flickered against the sky’s dim light, casting the gardens in a dreamlike glow.

Athyst’s steps slowed when her eyes fell upon the Enchanted Fountain at the heart of the courtyard. It stood tall and ancient—carved from obsidian stone, its surface veined with streaks of shimring silver. Water poured endlessly from the mouths of three mythical beasts—dragon, phoenix, and hydra—yet instead of falling into the basin below, the liquid seed to float mid-air, swirling in delicate, spiraling patterns before sinking back down like liquid stardust.

Even from a distance, the fountain radiated an energy so potent that the very air around it shimred faintly. It was said to be one of the oldest relics in the Academy—a conduit that connected the flow of mana across the entire campus.

And standing right before it, bathed in the fountain’s eerie glow—

Cullen.

His dark eyes flicked toward them the mont they stepped into view, sharp and calculating as always.

Athyst’s fingers curled tighter around the sealed peony in her palm.

She still didn’t know what it was about Cullen that made her skin crawl...

But whatever it was—it was getting stronger. What unsettled Athyst the most was the peony cradled in Cullen’s hand. Every apprentice had been given Crimson Peonies—a symbol of strength and perseverance—yet his was an ominous shade of pitch black, its velvety petals swallowing the faint light around it.

Her breath caught in her throat as their eyes locked, a cold shiver crawling down her spine.

"Why the hell is his black...?" she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

A single question echoed in her mind, louder than all the others—

What are you hiding, Cullen Callaghan?