The frost-laden wind howled through the Crystal Palace's stables as Aelar Frostveil tightened Kaelith's saddle straps, his breath misting in the early morning chill. At eighteen, he stood resolute in his dark blue frostweave armor, silver runes faintly glowing, his silver-white ponytail swaying as he worked. Kaelith nudged him with a low growl, silver-streaked fur bristling, glacial eyes gleaming with readiness. The victory at Frostveil Pass had marked Aelar as Grandmaster-tier, but the weight of unification pressed heavier with each step.
Elara approached, her pale blue tunic tucked beneath a fur-lined cloak, staff in hand. "You're fussing over him like he's a pup," she said, smirking. "Kaelith's fine."
Aelar glanced up, grinning. "He's earned it. Besides, you'd fuss too if you had a wolf this loyal."
"Loyalty's not the issue," she replied, leaning against a stall. "It's the Icefangs. Torin's right—they're a prickly lot. What if they spit on your offer?"
"Then we make them see reason," Aelar said, patting Kaelith's flank. "Strength first, words second."
Torin stomped in, his frost-forged armor clanking, spear slung over his shoulder. "Reason? With Icefangs? You'll need a miracle, Frostborn."
Aelar straightened. "I've got Kaelith and you two. That's close enough."
Torin snorted, but his eyes softened. "Aye, well, don't say I didn't warn you. They're a day's ride north—let's move."
The Journey North
The squad—twenty guards, Aelar, Elara, and Torin—rode out under a sky streaked with pale light, snow crunching beneath hooves and Kaelith's paws. The tundra stretched vast and silent, broken only by the occasional jut of ice or distant howl. Aelar rode at the head, Kaelith's steady gait a comfort beneath him.
Elara pulled alongside, her cloak fluttering. "You've been quiet. What's on your mind?"
"Everything," Aelar admitted, voice low. "The Order, the clans, Father's trust. It's a lot."
She nodded, her tone gentle. "You don't have to carry it alone, you know. I'm here."
He met her gaze, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I know. That's why I'm not cracking yet."
Torin called from behind. "Oi, lovebirds! Eyes on the road—ravine's ahead."
Elara rolled her eyes. "He's insufferable."
"Useful, though," Aelar said, chuckling. "Let's pick up the pace."
They crossed the ravine from the previous day, its icy walls still scarred from the Ice Phantom's fight. Kaelith's ears twitched, but no threats emerged. By midday, the Icefang Clan's territory loomed—crude stone huts huddled against a glacier, smoke curling from chimneys.
The Icefang Negotiation
Aelar dismounted as a group of Icefangs approached, led by their chieftain—a burly figure named Gorrim, his silver hair cropped short, green eyes narrowed beneath a heavy brow. His fur-lined armor was patched with steel plates, and a massive axe hung at his back, its edge notched from use.
"Who're you to trespass?" Gorrim growled, voice rough as gravel.
"Aelar Frostveil," Aelar replied, stepping forward, Kaelith at his side. "Prince of Frostveil. We're here to talk."
Gorrim spat into the snow. "Talk? After your lot crushed us in the last war? Why shouldn't I gut you now?"
"Because the Order's coming for you next," Aelar said, unflinching. "We just smashed two hundred of them at the Pass. They won't stop—unless we stop them together."
Elara stepped up. "He's offering protection, Gorrim. Your clan's weakened—raids hit you hard last season. Join us, and you'll stand stronger."
Gorrim's eyes flicked to her, then back to Aelar. "Pretty words. What's the catch?"
"No catch," Aelar said. "You keep your lands, your people. Fight with us, and we'll shield you. Refuse, and you're on your own when the Order burns this place down."
Torin muttered under his breath. "Told you—stubborn as rocks."
Gorrim glared at him, then at Kaelith. "That beast yours? Looks like it'd eat my hounds."
"He's my partner," Aelar said, resting a hand on Kaelith's head. "Saved my life more times than I can count. He'll save yours too, if you let him."
Gorrim grunted, sizing Aelar up. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. Grandmaster, they say? Prove it—spar with me. No magic, just steel."
Aelar drew his sword. "Deal."
The Icefangs formed a loose circle, Elara whispering, "Don't overdo it," as Aelar stepped forward. Gorrim swung his axe, a heavy arc aimed at Aelar's chest. Aelar sidestepped, blade flashing up to parry—the clash rang out, sparks flying. Gorrim pressed, axe swinging in wide, brutal strokes, but Aelar danced around him, sword striking fast—once at the arm, twice at the side, pulling back before drawing blood.
"Enough!" Gorrim barked, lowering his axe, breathing hard. "You're quick, I'll grant you. Fine—tentative alliance. We'll see if you're worth it."
Aelar sheathed his sword, nodding. "You won't regret it."
As dusk fell, Aelar's squad prepared to camp near the Icefang village. Kaelith's growl broke the silence, hackles rising. "Order!" Torin shouted, spear ready, as thirty cloaked figures burst from the snow—humans and Ice Elves, veiled sigils glinting.
Aelar drew his sword. "Kaelith, scatter them! Elara, shields!"
Kaelith's Frost Howl stunned half the ambushers, giving the guards a moment to form ranks. Elara raised frost barriers, blocking a volley of arrows. Aelar snapped Glacial Chains—ten tendrils lashing out, binding five foes, their bodies crumpling as guards struck.
A rogue Ice Elf, wiry with wild red hair and crazed blue eyes, hurled an ice spear at Aelar. He dodged, chain coiling around the man's arm, yanking him forward—Aelar's sword slashed, ending him in a spray of frost-blood. Gorrim roared into the fray, axe cleaving a human in two, his Icefangs joining the fight.
"Working together already?" Aelar called to him, parrying a dagger.
Gorrim grinned, blood on his face. "Don't get smug, Frostborn!"
The ambushers fell, the last fleeing into the dark. Aelar wiped his blade, panting. "They knew we'd be here," he said to Elara.
She nodded, grim. "Spies—or a leak."
Torin kicked a corpse. "Order's desperate. Good sign."
Gorrim approached, clapping Aelar's shoulder. "You fight like a beast. Alliance holds—for now."
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That night, the squad rested in the Icefang camp, sharing a fire. Elara sat beside Aelar, her shoulder brushing his. "One clan down," she said. "How many to go?"
"Too many," he replied, staring into the flames. "But we'll get there."
Torin chewed on a strip of meat. "Icefangs aren't half bad. Might actually trust 'em."
Gorrim laughed from across the fire. "Trust? Keep dreaming, captain."
Aelar smirked, Kaelith curling up beside him. "It's a start," he said softly.