Chương 133: Chapter 66: The Crack in the Ice

The floor beneath their feet began to transform. The black, porous stone lost its solidity, becoming soft and malleable like wet clay. Then, the color shifted: from a dark gray it passed to a dull red, and from there to a deep, vibrant crimson, the exact shade of fresh blood. A dense, metallic smell of iron, mixed with the sweet, rancid odor of liquefied flesh, rose from the floor in a hot, damp exhalation.

It was Alistair's blood, his undone essence, ascending from the depths of the cave to reclaim the space they inhabited. Selena, Magnor, and Astrid recoiled instinctively, but it was already too late. The liquid blood climbed up their boots, cold and harsh, like an ascending tide from a nightmare. There was no time for spells, nor for calculations.

Pure, animal survival instinct drove them to crawl backward, away from the expanding pool, far from the room of clamoring figures and the kneeling skeleton of their companion. Muffled screams, desperate gasps, and the sound of their bodies splashing in the viscous liquid echoed as they fumbled for an exit, any exit. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of fighting against gravity and the crimson substance, they emerged into a drier side corridor, their soaked clothes and armor dripping.

They threw themselves onto the hard stone floor, far from the threshold of the cursed room, breathing with the depth of the damned who are granted one more moment of life. The air, though cold and heavy with the smell of saltpeter and mold, was pure compared to the stench of iron and decomposition they left behind. It was then that the weeping came. A low, guttural, torn sound that sprang from a pain so deep it seemed to rip the very air.

It was the crying of absolute loss, the sound of a soul watching the last vestige of sanity or hope crumble away. Selena turned around; the sound came from just over there, loud and clear. There was Astrid. Kneeling on the floor, hunched over herself with her arms crossed as if trying to contain something escaping from within. Her body shook with spasmodic violence; from her tightly closed eyes, silent tears gushed, tracing clean paths through the dust and dried blood on her face.

Her breathing was ragged, almost absent, broken by moans that came from the deepest part of her chest. She looked like a child lost in the dark, a statue of despair on the verge of cracking. Selena approached, moving with instinctive caution, as if fearing to startle a wounded animal. —Astrid —she said, her voice a harsh whisper in the silence of the corridor. There was no answer. Not a blink, nor a change in the frequency of the weeping. Selena knelt in front of her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

The contact made Astrid shudder, but it did not break her from her trance of pain. —Astrid, we are here. We are with you —she tried again, her tone firmer, seeking to anchor her in the present. Nothing. Only the weeping, now deeper, more desperate, as if something had shattered inside her and she did not know how to stop the leak. Selena tried words of encouragement, practical phrases, and the simple human warmth of her close presence. Nothing had an effect.

The Norse woman was trapped in a well of anguish from which no words seemed able to draw her. The fear, the loss of Alistair, the sight of his liquefaction, the psychic assault of the hungry figures… everything had accumulated until it broke something essential in her armor of ice. Frustrated, desperate for a reaction, for any sign that Astrid was still there, Selena raised her hand. Without a trace of anger, but out of pure necessity, she delivered a swift, sharp slap to her cheek.

The sound was crisp, a snap that resonated down the corridor. Astrid's already pale skin reddened instantly, marking the imprint of her fingers. —Astrid, react! —Selena's voice cut through the air, laden with an urgency that bordered on panic. The weeping stopped all at once. Astrid blinked once, twice, her blue, glassy eyes slowly focusing on Selena as if seeing her for the first time. But she did not speak.

She only looked at her with a blank, disconnected expression, as if her mind were still caught somewhere between the pool of blood and the eternal mantra. Selena took a deep breath, containing her own trembling. She could not afford the luxury of hesitating. —Magnor —she called, without taking her eyes off Astrid— help me find a healing scroll. The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

The giant, who had been guarding the ends of the corridor with his senses on maximum alert, nodded. With quick, methodical movements, he checked the harnesses and the bags they carried. His hands, still marked by the wounds from his gloves, found what he was looking for: a scroll of fine hide, carefully folded, marked in one corner with a complex rune of intertwined strokes representing balance and clarity. He handed it to Selena. She took it, feeling the smooth, old parchment beneath her fingers.

Without wasting time, she unfurled it before Astrid's still-absent face. The scroll glowed faintly, as if responding to the proximity of a mind in crisis. Selena, recalling the basic movements she had seen Astrid perform, traced a pattern in the air above the scroll with the tips of her fingers: a triangle repeated three times, the archaic symbol for stabilization and reintegration. The scroll did not burn, nor did it burst into flames.

It simply vanished, absorbed into the space between Selena and Astrid like smoke dissipating in an invisible breeze. A slight, cool, and soothing tingling filled the air around the blonde resonant's face. Selena watched her intently. Astrid's eyes blinked again, faster this time. The emptiness began to clear, replaced by a slow, painful reconnection with reality. Her lips moved, forming soundless words, until finally, a ragged sigh escaped them. —Where… am I? —she murmured, her voice weak and heavy with confusion.

She looked around, as if seeing the corridor, the stone walls, Selena, and Magnor for the very first time. —It's the dungeon —Selena replied, her own voice a bit firmer. Astrid sat up slowly, with a slight groan of exertion. She brought a hand to her reddened cheek, touching it with curiosity, without recrimination. Then, her eyes, now more lucid, found Selena's. —I was lucky… This time her voice had a hint of her old precision, though tinged with profound fatigue. —That rune… it isn't for healing the body.

It is "Mind's Relief," for psychic trauma and emotional ruptures. She paused, swallowing hard. —Thank you, Selena. Selena let out a long sigh, a sound that carried the weight of the accumulated tension. —I know. The written touch disappears upon use, and I took a good look at the runes. Then she added with a hint of practical exasperation: —But I don't know them all. It's a strange classification system. Why not do it by colors? It would be more intuitive.

It was an absurd, mundane comment, totally out of place in the bowels of an ancestral dungeon, bathed in blood and with the specter of a companion turned into a devout skeleton echoing in their memories. But that was precisely why it worked. The forced normalcy of the complaint, the shift toward a minor, logical problem, acted as a balm. Astrid almost sketched a smile, a tense, fleeting movement on her lips.

—Colors are known by everyone, everyone understands them —she replied, recovering her tone as an instructor, a comforting habit. Selena observed her attentively, trying to ensure she did not fall back into the same state, yet Astrid kept speaking. —Runes are a way for only the resonant studying them to understand which scroll they hold, without outside eyes knowing what their next move will be in a fight… or in a court full of intrigue.

The casual conversation, trivial in content but profound in function, gradually calmed the atmosphere. It not only relaxed Astrid, whose breathing was becoming more regular and whose trembling was diminishing, but it also gave Selena something to focus on beyond the immediate horror. Even Magnor, who had never stopped scanning the surrounding darkness, seemed to slightly relax the tension in his broad shoulders, his watchful presence a bit less rigid.

It was he who spoke then, his voice grave and cordial, but with a new shadow of concern. —You must remember, Countess, that knowledge is power, and power is protected by secrets. His eyes passed from one end of the corridor to the other. —Now, check her over thoroughly. It is the second time her mind has almost broken. Use another mind scroll on her if necessary. We cannot afford another casualty to madness. He paused, and his next sentence fell like a stone slab, reminding them of the starkness of their situation.

—Afterward, we must retrieve Alistair's sword. Selena and Astrid looked at him, first with incredulity, then with a slow, bitter understanding. The sword. The perception-distorting artifact. It was property of the Crown, an instrument of power they could not leave behind, regardless of whether its owner was now reduced to a skeleton kneeling in eternal prayer. It was a macabre task, but a necessary one. Selena turned fully toward Astrid.

With clinical concentration that reminded her of her medical studies at the University of Kaelburg, she examined her eyes, looking for dilated pupils or a vacant stare. She took her pulse at the wrist and neck, noting the strength and regularity of the beats. Then, she asked simple, protocol-driven questions: —Your name? Your age? Your height? In which mining town were you born? Astrid answered them all without hesitation, her voice gaining firmness with each reply. The data was correct; the coherence was there.

But Selena was not satisfied. She had seen the abyss in her eyes, had felt the fragility of her mind under the pressure of the place. —I will use another scroll anyway —she declared, with firmness that admitted no argument. —It isn't just for the symptoms; it's for prevention. This place… does not forgive. She searched through her own gear, finding another scroll marked with a similar rune. She repeated the ritual, tracing the triangle over Astrid's face.

The scroll vanished, and a new wave of calm, softer but deeper, seemed to settle over the blonde resonant. Her shoulders yielded a bit more, and the last remnant of the trembling in her hands disappeared. —Thank you —Astrid murmured again, and this time there was a spark of her old strength in the word.