FROST-Chapter 90: When Wind Begin to Stir

The moonlit sky, once silver-stained and serene, suddenly dimmed without warning—its ethereal glow swallowed by an ominous veil of unnatural darkness.

One by one, the obscure stars blinked out, as if something ancient and hungry had taken hold of the heavens. The change was subtle at first, like the slow drawing of a curtain, until it blanketed the entire sky in a murky, starless gloom.

Within the outer training arena, a vast, dome-shaped structure forged from enchanted cancrinite and reinforced by celestial runes, the apprentices were in the midst of their Level B training. Unlike the flashy spellwork of earlier levels, Level B demanded focus, precision, and reverence.

Here, they were being taught how to awaken and safely manipulate ancient, legal runes—arcane sigils so powerful they were once used to anchor peace treaties between warring realms and sealed corrupted gods beneath the earth.

The arena itself was divided into twelve elemental sectors, each supervised by high-level sorcerers from the Guardian Order as the Guardians themselves are not around.

Complex diagrams glowed beneath the apprentices’ feet, and incantations—layered with old dialects—were being murmured in sync across the room like a hymn of contained power.

Aether spun faintly in the air, like silk threads caught in wind, responding to the chants. Each rune, etched in floating crystal or seared into basalt, pulsed in tune with the mana being channeled into them.

Then, as if the world itself had inhaled and held its breath, everything stilled.

The runes dimmed.

The air thickened.

And an eerie, cold silence fell upon the arena like a velvet shroud.

The flowers and shrubs that lined the outer ring—placed there to help ground the nature-aligned apprentices—suddenly curled inward, their leaves shriveling with an invisible shiver.

The vines that once danced with ambient mana froze mid-twist, their energy siphoned into some unseen pocket of dread.

It wasn’t visible. Not to most.

But it didn’t escape Amethyst’s eyes.

She stood motionless in her quadrant, eyes narrowing with a sharp gleam. Her senses had always been attuned beyond normal parameters, and now they screamed at her, alarm bells echoing behind her still gaze. There was something in the shadows. No, beneath them. Something that makes her gut twist.

On the opposite side of the arena, Gail’s breath hitched. Though her mana was still sealed—half of it shackled by Coast’s intervention after the last incident—she wasn’t blind.

She felt it. A shift in the ley lines. A tremor not of earth, but of spirit. But unlike Amethyst, she didn’t raise the alarm. Her instincts told her something was wrong, but without her full magic, any warning would sound like paranoia.

So she stayed silent.

Until she saw Amethyst move.

With graceful urgency, Amethyst crossed the training field, boots clicking softly against enchanted stone. Her destination was clear—West, who stood at the far edge of the arena near Sector Eleven, where Cullen and Levi had been reassigned after the simulation.

The three of them were an odd combination—they’ve never even been seen together before and everyone believes they could see friction tension whenever they accidentally look at each other.

Everyone knew it was strange to see West there, of all places. He’s always been with Sebastian and Ezekiel the entire time they were in the academy.

He rarely appeared during apprentice sessions as he, Ezekiel, and Sebastian are already known for being arcane apprentices—let alone during Level B rune trials. Yet here he was, standing beside the very two people whose names had begun circulating in hushed whispers since Gail and Silvermist’s last encounter.

Something was off.

Amethyst knew it.

So did Gail.

And though she followed Amethyst’s path with steady steps, her eyes deliberately avoided Levi. She didn’t need another collision of memories and unspoken tension tonight. freēwēbnovel.com

"West," Amethyst called, her voice slicing through the still air like a dagger drawn too quickly from a sheath. It was sharp, clipped, laced with urgency—but not fear.

West didn’t look at her.

Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.

His eyes, obsidian-flecked and unreadable, scanned the arena perimeter like a hawk scenting a storm. His posture was deceptively calm, but his fingers twitched once by his side—barely noticeable, unless one knew what to look for.

Beside him, Cullen had grown unusually still, arms crossed yet unnaturally tense. His gaze wasn’t on the apprentices or even Amethyst. It was on the far wall, where the shadows no longer behaved like shadows should. They slithered too slowly. Too deliberately.

Levi’s expression, meanwhile, remained blank. He stood with hands in his pockets, body relaxed—but there was something wrong with his eyes. They flickered with restrained light, like candleflames trapped under water. And though he said nothing, his mana signature had changed.

That was what West was watching.

And that was why Amethyst stood unease.

Around them, several of the more advanced apprentices began sensing the irregularities. Whispers sparked across sectors. Spells stuttered.

A few sorcerers lowered their books or relics, brows furrowed, lips paused mid-incantation.

A ripple of awareness moved through the arena like a silent wave.

They all knew now—something was wrong.

"I know you know something, West!" Amethyst finally snapped, her voice low but laced with strain, almost a groan forced between clenched teeth. "I’ve been standing idly by for far too long, watching this place shift and twist around us. But now—now the air itself feels heavier than it did last time. It’s slower. Suffocating. Like it’s breathing down our necks. The Guardians has been disappearing, telling us nothing when we are their apprentices. That is so damn unfair! So now, I demand to know what’s going on!"

The edge of her voice echoed across the eerie stillness of the training arena. It was a voice forged from patience stretched too thin, from instincts long ignored, and from a gnawing fear she hadn’t yet dared to name.

And yet, again, West didn’t respond.

Not with words.

Not even with a glance.

He remained still, save for the subtle tilt of his head as if he were listening to something that existed beyond the limits of sound—beyond the present.

His eyes were fixed not on Amethyst, nor the apprentices, but on the flow of the wind itself—if it could even be called wind anymore. The mana in the air had begun to coil unnaturally, spiraling upward like invisible smoke threads from an unseen fire.

He was reading it. Sensing it.

And he knew.

He always knew.

Since he had taken Silvermist earlier—barely conscious and radiating unstable mana—to Theo, everything had changed. West hadn’t even made it back to his own quarters before East issued him new orders. Orders he hadn’t questioned. Orders he understood before they were even spoken.

Join the Level B training.

Be visible.

Be calm.

Be there in case some threads snap.

Was it to keep the apprentices in check should panic erupt? To shield them if another rupture clawed its way through the barrier?

Maybe.

But West suspected the reasons ran deeper. Darker. Of course, this involves to what was happening to both Frost, Silvermist, and the Professors.

West didn’t even understand why East and Cloud had let them linger outside Frost’s chamber in the first place.

It was reckless.

They shouldn’t have been allowed to see Frost in that condition—not even from a distance—on top of that, they used forbidden spells. They could have been easily chased out of the chamber without questions. And yet, East did nothing.

If they confirmed with their own eyes what had begun to take root within Frost—what he was becoming—everything would spiral into chaos.

It would no longer be rumor.

It would no longer be whispered suspicion.

It would be undeniable truth.

And truth, in this world, had a price far heavier than silence.

Professors, despite being mortal scholars of magic, were still powerful enough to warrant political attention. They were ranked just a level below the elusive Guardians—those who patrolled the veils between realms—and a step above ordinary registered sorcerers. Their authority wasn’t absolute, but it was respected, and more importantly, heard.

If even one of them raised an official concern with the High Circle, it could escalate the situation faster than the Academy could contain it. The High Circle, after all, was no small tribunal. It wasn’t the Triad—the three divine arbiters who held dominion over regional magical disputes within the Academy. No. The High Circle stood above even them.

It was the body of immortals.

An assembly of titans, ancient gods, and elder beings whose presence predated the Guardian Realm itself.

Entities like the Lunar King, who shaped the tides of fate with a flick of his moonstone ring. The Thunder God, whose voice once cracked the sky and shattered stars. And Seraphina—the Goddess of Truth and Mercy—who burned bright enough to blind even false prophecy.

If they got involved...

The Academy would no longer be seen as a place of balance and order. It would be seen as a threat. Or worse—a cradle. And all apprentices might be dragged down with all of this as well.

West clenched his fists at the memory of Silvermist lying in stasis, shadows coiling at her fingertips like sentient ink, her breathing shallow and rhythmic, as if the she wasn’t truly asleep—but caught in the lull of something inside her.

And yet East, with his ever-calm voice and maddening mystery, had said nothing. Had simply allowed the Professors to pause just outside the sealed chamber. Let their senses graze the edge of that unstable aura, just enough to make their skin crawl and their instincts scream.

Why?

Why risk it?

Why allow the them to sense what was being suppressed inside?

Unless... it wasn’t an accident.

Unless East wanted them to begin asking questions. To prepare. To choose a side when the time came.

It was truly a risky choice and yet, West doesn’t want to question his master’s reasonings for too long. He must really have his reason and whatever it was, West couldn’t understand yet.

But if the High Circle got involved now—if those ancient beings turned their full gaze upon the Academy and saw the fraying threads—there would be no room for mercy. No room for reform.

There would only be culling.

West couldn’t help but think of his other two friends. Ezekiel, had been reassigned to the eastern seal chambers alongside Sebastian, who—despite his aloof nature—had silently agreed to assist the Academy’s top barrier sorcerers. Together, their task was clear: maintain the stabilization of the central barrier.

Because something—someone—was trying to break free from within it.

The Academy barrier was weakening. Subtly. But not invisibly. The signs were there for those attuned enough to feel them. And West had felt them long before anyone else dared to whisper it.

So when Amethyst stepped closer, her shadow brushing against his, her fingers suddenly twisted into his collar and yanked, West didn’t resist. Didn’t blink.

He simply turned his head slowly, finally meeting her eyes.

Blankly.

Coldly.

Not with malice—but with the quiet void of someone shouldering too much knowledge, too much burden, with too little space left to feel.

Their eyes locked. Hers a blazing sapphire—silver flecks shimmering with restrained frustration and the need for truth. His were darker than usual, the kind of darkness not borne of shade but of distance, as if his soul had walked too far ahead and left only a shell behind to hold the line.

"You’re not saying anything," Amethyst hissed, her voice soft now but sharp enough to cut. "Why? Why, West? Do you always see us as inferior to you?!"

He still didn’t speak.

But something in his expression—barely perceptible to most—shifted. The corner of his mouth almost twitched. Not quite a frown. Not quite anything.

Around them, the air had become taut, heavy with anticipation. The runes embedded in the arena floor flickered erratically now, the ancient symbols pulsing as if echoing Amethyst’s pounding heart. Several apprentices looked up from their own incantations, eyes darting briefly toward the confrontation.

Yet none intervened.

Not out of fear. Not entirely.

But because they, too, had sensed it—the change. The drain in the aether, the way the shadows clung too greedily to light. Their instructors, positioned across the twelve sectors, remained still as well, brows furrowed and incantations paused mid-chant.

A few lowered their relics, exchanging silent glances with one another as if weighing whether now was the moment to act—or wait just one heartbeat more.

The tension was evident. A fragile hush blanketed the arena, broken only by the occasional sizzle of unstable runes or the distant rustle of leaves outside reacting to mana flux.

"It’s not that I chose not to say anything," he muttered, voice low and strangely hollow—like it had been scraped raw from the inside. "But even I can’t... put things into words."

The weight of unspoken truths dragged his gaze sideways, toward Cullen and Levi.

Neither of them spoke.

Not even a flicker of emotion crossed Cullen’s face, which was usually painted with either a lazy smirk or bored detachment. Now, it was simply blank. Cullen, too, remained unusually still, his shoulders squared but his arms lax at his sides.

Neither of them had reacted when Amethyst nearly shoved West by the collar. Not out of fear. But because they understood.

Cullen exhaled softly through his nose, the first movement from him since the confrontation began. He took a step forward, slow and calculated—his body language gentle, almost soothing, as though trying to dissolve the tension coiling between Amethyst and West. His hand even lifted slightly, palm open, a silent signal that said enough.

But just as he moved to speak, the air shifted.

Not a gust.

Not a crackle.

Not even a breeze.

But a change that was felt, not heard.

Suddenly, something unseen pulled across the space between them like an invisible curtain of pressure. The atmosphere didn’t explode or howl—it simply... stilled. Every sound in the arena seemed to vanish, leaving only the echo of silence pressed between their heartbeats.

Then—

A single strand of Amethyst’s hair lifted.

Not from a breeze, but from a presence. A shift so absolute, so clean, it was as though the very laws of the air had been rewritten.

Amethyst’s body stiffened. Her hand, still fisted in West’s collar, trembled—not from fear, but from something far deeper. Something instinctive. She knew whose presence it was and it makes her chest twinge.

And then—he spoke.

"That’s enough, Amie."

The voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.

It was everywhere, all at once—whispering through the seams of the air, threading into Amethyst’s ears, pressing into the hollows of her chests like a second heartbeat.

Her hand dropped.

Immediately.

Fingers unfurled from West’s collar as if scorched by a heatless flame. Her eyes widened, lashes trembling, and she turned—slowly—because rushing was impossible in the presence of Zephyr, the Wind Guardian.

He didn’t need fanfare. He didn’t need lightning or thunder.

He simply stood there behind her, in robes that shimmered with the breath of the skies—no wind stirred them, and yet they flowed as if the world bent around him.

His azure-white hair fell past his shoulders in smooth strands, glowing faintly like threads of moonlight woven by speed itself. His eyes—glacial blue with a ring of shifting gold—met hers, not unkind, but sharp. Piercing. Like he could read everything she had been about to say, and all the things she had buried instead.

Amethyst’s breath caught.

"M-Master Zephyr..." she whispered, stepping back without realizing it, her spine straightening into a reflexive bow of respect.

The Wind Guardian gave her a look that didn’t need to speak reprimand.

It simply was.

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