Frigid - The First Accord
Prelude
On the frozen world of Icelandia, flight is more than movement through the sky. It is the foundation of an entire civilization.
The Icelandians are a long-lived winged people shaped by wind, ice, and generations of survival beneath harsh and unpredictable skies. Standing slightly shorter than most humans, their people are recognized by blue skin, white hair, and powerful feathered wings capable of carrying them across mountain ranges, frozen oceans, and violent storm currents.
From childhood, Icelandians are taught to trust the skies.
Young flyers learn how to read shifting winds before they are ever allowed to travel alone. Flight is woven into every aspect of their society, from transportation and exploration to warfare, trade, and communication between the distant regions of their world.
Yet Icelandia is not a unified land without struggle.
Across its four continents, noble houses, ancient traditions, and regional rivalries have shaped the planet for centuries. At the center of that balance stands Frostholm, the capital city of the northern continent of Icecrest, where the royal palace of Snowreach overlooks the frozen valleys below.
For generations the people of Icelandia have looked to the skies not only for freedom, but for survival.
The strongest flyers become guardians of the realm. The wisest become leaders. And those capable of mastering both may one day shape the future of their world itself.
Far from the capital city of Frostholm, beyond the mountain ranges and storm belts of the western continent of Sommara, the valley of Stormspire is home to the Aerial Command Academy.
There, Icelandia’s finest young flyers are forged into warriors, commanders, diplomats, and defenders of the skies.
Some will master combat.
Some will master leadership.
A rare few will change the course of Icelandian history forever.
Character Premise
Raised within the royal halls of Snowreach overlooking the frozen capital of Frostholm, Princess Frigid was taught from an early age that leadership is measured not by power alone, but by the ability to guide others through uncertainty.
As the elder twin by ten minutes, expectations followed her throughout every stage of her life. While her younger sister Freija chased speed and possibility through the open skies, Frigid devoted herself to discipline, structure, and understanding the fragile balance that holds a world together.
Where others rushed toward action, Frigid learned to observe first.
Where others relied on instinct, she trusted judgment.
Calm beneath pressure and deliberate in thought, Frigid believes true leadership is not about commanding with the loudest voice in the room. It is about remaining steady when others begin to falter.
But on Icelandia, titles alone do not earn respect.
Leadership must be proven through action, responsibility, and the willingness to carry consequences that others cannot.
As Icelandia begins to face opportunities and challenges unlike any in its history, Frigid finds herself called upon to lead at a moment when the future of her people may depend upon wisdom as much as strength.
This story takes place before the events of A Demon’s Rebellion and reveals the foundation of one of the Crimson Alliance Universe’s most disciplined and visionary leaders.
Chapter 1:
Stormspire
Eve of the Gauntlet
Far from the royal capital of Snowreach, across the western continent of Sommara where jagged mountain ranges overlooked the endless western ocean, stood the Aerial Command Academy known throughout Icelandia as Stormspire.
For generations Stormspire had trained Icelandia’s flyers, warriors, and future commanders beneath some of the harshest skies on the planet. Cadets arrived from across all four continents to study aerial combat, leadership, survival, and the discipline required to protect a world shaped by violent storms and unforgiving terrain.
But not all who entered Stormspire earned the right to graduate.
Only those who survived the academy’s final trial, known simply as the Gauntlet, were permitted to graduate and wear the insignia of the Aerial Command Academy.
Four years had passed since Frigid and Freija first arrived at Stormspire.
Tomorrow, Stormspire would decide who among the graduating class was truly ready to stand beyond its walls and who would remain for one additional year.
The wind never truly rested at Stormspire. It moved constantly through the mountain passes, rising along the jagged cliffs before spilling across the wide plains below. By the time it reached the western ocean coastline, the currents twisted and returned again, climbing the stone walls that surrounded the Aerial Command Academy.
Frigid had grown used to the sound over the past four years.
Still, tonight the wind felt different.
She stood near the edge of a stone overlook that faced west across the Stormspire region. The mountains rose behind her in dark ridges, their peaks catching the last faint glow of the setting sun.
Far below, the plains stretched outward toward a distant line of silver at the edge of the western sea.
Tomorrow would decide everything.
Around her, the other cadets moved through the academy grounds with quiet intensity. Some practiced final weapon forms in the fading light. Others checked the straps of their training armor or inspected the balance of their blades.
No one wasted energy on conversation.
Frigid rested both hands lightly on the shaft of her weapon. The double-ended spear was almost as tall as she was, its polished blades reflecting the dim evening sky. She had trained with it since childhood, learning how to control distance and movement while keeping opponents off balance.
Many cadets preferred swords.
Her younger twin sister Freija certainly did.
Frigid glanced across the training yard and easily spotted her sister among the others.
Freija moved with restless energy even at the end of the day. In each hand she held one of her ice short swords, the blades flashing as she ran through a sequence of strikes and turns. Her movements flowed almost effortlessly, like wind shifting through open sky.
Several cadets had stopped to watch.
That was nothing new.
Freija had always drawn attention during training.
Frigid allowed herself a small smile before turning back toward the horizon.
Freija thrived in the chaos of motion. The storms above Stormspire seemed to welcome her.
Frigid preferred something different.
She preferred order… control.
Understanding the field before the first strike was ever thrown.
Behind her, heavy footsteps approached across the stone walkway.
“Watching the wind will not help you tomorrow,” Instructor Halvrik stated.
The voice was calm but carried the weight of authority.
Frigid turned slightly and inclined her head as Halvrik stepped beside her.
The veteran warrior folded his arms across his chest while studying the plains below. His nearly white wings were folded tightly behind his back, their edges marked by scars earned long before most of the cadets had been born.
“The wind tells a great deal,” Frigid replied. “It shows how the flyers will move.”
Halvrik’s eyes shifted toward her.
“And what does it tell you tonight?”
“That many will rely on strength alone.”
A faint hint of amusement touched the instructor’s expression. “And you will not?”
Frigid looked again toward the distant ocean. “The Gauntlet is not meant to reward strength,” she said. “It reveals who can think clearly when strength begins to fail.”
Halvrik gave a single approving nod.
“You understand Stormspire better than most.”
The instructor turned his gaze toward the training yard where Freija’s blades continued to flash through the fading light.
“Your sister approaches the trial differently.”
Frigid followed his gaze.
Freija finished another rapid sequence before lowering her blades and laughing at something another cadet said.
“Yes,” Frigid said quietly. “She always has.”
Halvrik studied both sisters for a moment before speaking again. “The Gauntlet will test flight, combat and leadership.”
His voice lowered slightly.
“Only those who pass all three will stand on the western overlook tomorrow evening.”
Frigid tightened her grip on the spear without realizing it.
Four years at Stormspire had led to this single final trial.
Cadets who failed would remain another year to train and attempt the Gauntlet again.
Cadets who passed would graduate from the Aerial Command Academy.
From that moment forward, their futures would be their own.
Halvrik turned and began walking back toward the academy halls.
“Rest tonight,” he said over his shoulder. “Stormspire reveals truth when the sun rises.”
Frigid remained where she was as darkness slowly settled across the mountains.
Below, the wind continued to sweep across the plains toward the distant ocean.
Tomorrow the Gauntlet begins.
By tomorrow’s sunset, Stormspire will decide who was ready to graduate.
The Trial of the Skies
Before sunrise, the bells of Stormspire echo through the stone halls of the academy.
Cadets awake instantly. No one sleeps through the Gauntlet.
Inside the shared barracks chamber, armor racks line the walls and weapons rest neatly beside each sleeping platform. The room fills quickly with quiet motion as cadets prepare.
Straps tighten. Wing joints stretch. No one speaks loudly.
Today is the Gauntlet. Today is the final exam. By sunset, Stormspire will know who graduates and who returns for another year.
Freija is already awake and moving. She rolls her shoulders and stretches her wings, restless energy filling every motion. The excitement in her eyes is impossible to hide.
Frigid is the opposite.
She finishes securing the straps of her training armor with calm precision. Her double-ended spear, separated into two shorter sections for travel, rests against the wall beside her platform.
Freija glanced toward her sister. “Finally!” she said quietly. “Four years for one day.”
Frigid adjusted the final clasp on her armor. “One day that determines the rest.”
Freija grinned. “Then we should make it memorable.”
Frigid looked up at her calmly. “Try not to alarm the instructors today.”
Freija laughed softly. “But where’s the fun in that?”
Frigid shook her head softly before reaching for her spear.
Outside, the bells rang again through the stone halls of Stormspire.
The Gauntlet had begun.
Cadets emerged from the academy barracks in disciplined silence, their boots striking against the frozen stone walkways as they moved through the mountain fortress. Above them, narrow bridges connected the towering academy structures carved directly into the cliffs of Sommara’s western ranges.
The wind swept constantly through the open corridors.
Far below, waves crashed against the distant coastline while the morning sky above remained cold and clear. Even after four years at the academy, the sheer scale of the fortress could still make cadets feel small.
This morning, it felt even larger.
Groups of graduating cadets moved steadily toward the massive launch platform carved into the edge of the mountain itself. Instructors lined the elevated walkways overlooking the approach, their white and silver wings folded behind them as they silently observed the graduating class.
No one spoke casually now.
The anticipation hanging over the platform felt heavier than the mountain winds.
Frigid and Freija moved with the others toward the edge of the cliffside platform where the first stage of the Gauntlet would begin.
Below them, the plains stretched westward beneath Stormspire while powerful currents surged upward along the surrounding cliffs, twisting violently through the stone arches carved into the mountainside.
Perfect conditions for the Sky Trial.
The graduating cadets stood assembled across the massive launch platform overlooking the plains below. Some flexed their wings against the rising currents while others stared silently toward the distant obstacle markers stretching across the Stormspire region.
Instructors lined the outer edges of the platform in complete silence.
Among them stood Halvrik.
Massive impact barriers had been secured along several cliffside arches where the mountain currents became most unstable. Medical teams waited farther below near the more dangerous sections of the course, particularly near the lava channels carved through the lower western valleys.
No cadet failed to notice them.
A tall academy banner snapped sharply in the wind as one of the senior instructors stepped forward.
“The first stage of the Gauntlet begins now.”
His voice carried clearly across the platform.
“The Sky Trial.”
Several cadets straightened instinctively.
“You have flown portions of these routes throughout your training,” the instructor continued. “Today you will fly them as a complete sequence.”
His gaze moved across the graduating class.
“There are ten stages. Each stage carries a required completion time. A green signal permits advancement. A red signal marks failure of that stage.”
A distant signal tower near the cliffs suddenly flashed green, then red.
“Two consecutive red signals will result in immediate elimination from the Sky Trial.”
The platform remained completely silent.
“You are permitted failure.”
The instructor’s voice hardened slightly.
“You are not permitted collapse.”
Several cadets exchanged tense glances.
“The Sky Trial will test every skill Stormspire has demanded of you. Flight. Combat. Endurance. Adaptation. Mission execution. Recovery under pressure. Complete the course, and you prove you are ready to defend Icelandia beyond these walls.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“Stormspire does not train performers.”
The wind snapped violently through the banners behind him.
“It trains defenders of Icelandia.”
Silence settled once more across the platform.
Then the instructor stepped aside.
“First cadet.”
Silence held across the launch platform for several seconds after the instructor stepped aside.
Then one cadet moved forward.
Broad shouldered and taller than many of the others, the Dorland flyer carried himself with the confidence of someone already accustomed to being watched. Several nearby cadets gave him respectful nods as he stepped toward the edge of the platform. One reached out, striking his forearm lightly in support before moving aside.
The cadet smirked faintly.
Frigid recognized him immediately. Torven of House Vaelor. One of the strongest flyers in the graduating class.
And he knew it.
Torven rolled his shoulders once before stepping onto the outer launch stone. His dark blue wings flexed against the rising currents while the wind snapped violently around him.
Below, the Sky Trial stretched across the western valleys of Stormspire.
Ten stages.
Ten chances to fail.
Torven glanced once toward the instructors lining the cliff walls.
Then he leapt.
His wings snapped open with explosive force.
Several cadets instinctively leaned forward as he surged downward through the opening descent faster than anyone expected. He banked sharply through the first cliff arch, barely losing momentum as the mountain winds twisted violently around him.
A green signal illuminated on the distant tower.
The cadets behind Frigid shifted slightly.
Torven dove into the second stage aggressively, cutting dangerously close to the stone walls while maintaining remarkable speed through the turbulent air currents. Frost burst from the cliff edges as his wings carved through the narrow turns.
Another green signal flashed.
Now even some of the instructors watched more closely.
Torven entered the third stage almost recklessly fast. A powerful crosscurrent rolled through the canyon approach, but he angled into it perfectly, using the violent wind to launch himself upward between two stone markers before diving cleanly toward the fourth section of the course.
The third green signal ignited.
A few cadets exchanged impressed looks.
Freija’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“He’s pushing too hard,” Frigid said quietly.
Ahead, Torven accelerated again.
The fourth stage began where the cliff currents converged along a narrow stone funnel reinforced with massive impact barriers bolted directly into the canyon walls. The winds there shifted unpredictably as ocean currents collided with the rising mountain air.
Torven committed early.
For one brief second, it looked flawless.
Then the wind changed.
A violent crosscurrent slammed into his left wing.
Torven tried to correct immediately, but his momentum was already too great. His body twisted sideways through the air before one wing clipped the edge of the stone funnel.
The impact echoed across the cliffs.
Torven spun violently into one of the suspended crash barriers hard enough to shake the entire structure.
Several cadets flinched instinctively.
The green signals vanished.
A harsh red beacon ignited across the signal tower.
Below the cliffs, medical teams launched immediately into the air.
Halvrik stepped forward slightly, his voice carrying easily across the platform despite the wind.
“Stormspire does not test whether you can fly when conditions are perfect.”
His eyes remained fixed on the damaged crash barrier far below.
“It tests whether you are prepared when they are not.”
Another cadet stepped forward several moments later.
This time it was a female flyer from the northern cliffs of Icecrest named Yelena. Lean and sharp-eyed, she launched from Stormspire with far more restraint than Torven had shown. Her movements through the first four stages lacked his raw aggression, but her control remained steady even through the violent canyon currents.
Green.
Green.
Green.
Green.
At the fifth stage, Yelena dropped toward one of the recovery platforms built into the lower valleys beneath Stormspire. The stage tested precision landings, combat execution, and objective recovery. Flyers were required to complete three rapid landing cycles, delivering three weapon strikes against a training dummy at each platform before recovering a banner marker at the final station and launching again against the clock.
The landing cost her time.
By the time she regained the air and cleared the fifth stage marker, the signal tower flashed red for the first time.
Several cadets visibly tensed.
But Yelena recovered well.
She pushed harder through the sixth stage, weaving cleanly through a narrow series of cliffside arches before climbing sharply into the upper currents beyond the western ridges.
Green.
The seventh stage followed soon after, an endurance stretch across open air where the western winds battered the flyers without mercy. By the end of it, even from the launch platform far above, Frigid could see the strain beginning to show in Yelena’s wing movements.
Then came the eighth stage.
The lava channels below Stormspire glowed deep orange beneath the morning sky, cutting through the western valleys like rivers of fire. Violent thermal currents surged upward from the heat, twisting unpredictably into the colder mountain air above.
Medical teams already waited along the surrounding cliffs.
She entered the thermal zone cautiously at first.
Too cautiously.
The rising heat caught beneath her wings and threw her upward faster than expected. She corrected hard, but the second thermal struck almost immediately from the opposite direction.
Her rhythm broke.
Several cadets on the platform leaned forward instinctively as the flyer lost stability above the lava channels.
The signal tower flashed red.
The cadet tried to recover.
Then another violent thermal rolled upward beneath her.
Her wings folded unevenly.
“She’s stalling,” Freija said quietly.
Below, rescue flyers launched immediately from the cliffside medical platforms. They reached the struggling cadet moments before she lost full control above the lava river.
The instructors remained silent as the rescue team escorted her away from the course.
Now the platform at Stormspire was completely quiet.
No one needed to be reminded how dangerous the Gauntlet truly was anymore.
A third cadet eventually stepped forward.
Unlike Torven, Kale drew little attention when he approached the launch platform. His build was lean rather than imposing, and his expression remained calm as he studied the shifting currents beyond Stormspire’s cliffs.
Then he jumped.
His run through the opening stages lacked Torven’s explosive aggression, but every maneuver remained controlled. He conserved momentum where others fought the wind directly, banking smoothly through the cliff arches while keeping his speed steady through the canyon funnels.
Green.
Green.
Green.
Green.
At the fifth stage, however, the course punished him.
The landing platform beneath Stormspire’s western ridges was chaos of wind, stone, and exhausted movement. Kale landed cleanly, completed his weapon strikes, and retrieved the ribbon marker, but his relaunch came a fraction too slow.
The signal tower flashed red.
He did not panic.
That alone caught Frigid’s attention.
Instead of forcing speed recklessly through the sixth stage, he trusted the upper currents and allowed the wind to carry him through the cliffside arches with minimal wasted movement.
Green.
Several instructors exchanged subtle glances.
“He adjusted,” Frigid observed quietly.
Halvrik gave the faintest nod.
The cadet continued steadily through the seventh and eighth stages, surviving the lava thermals by avoiding the violent center currents entirely. By the time he reached the ninth stage, exhaustion showed clearly in every movement of his wings.
The ninth stage tested precision combat under fatigue. Flyers were required to complete five rapid landings across a series of platforms, delivering three accurate weapon strikes at each target station before launching again against the clock.
Still, he landed.
Three strikes.
Clean.
Second landing.
Three strikes.
Third.
Fourth.
Fifth.
But the repeated takeoffs had cost him too much time.
The tower flashed red again.
A few cadets lowered their heads slightly.
Two reds already.
Only the final stage remained.
Far below, the exhausted flyer launched from the final platform and climbed hard toward the open skies west of Stormspire.
The tenth stage.
The sprint home.
No obstacles remained now except distance, exhaustion, and the brutal mountain winds that battered flyers returning toward the academy cliffs.
Kale folded his wings tighter and accelerated.
For the first time since the trial began, the graduating class began watching in complete silence.
The flyer drove himself through the final stretch across the western plains, using every remaining current to gain speed toward Stormspire’s towering cliffs.
His wings shook from exhaustion by the time he reached the final ascent.
Then the signal tower flashed green.
A low breath escaped across the launch platform.
The cadet barely managed the final landing onto Stormspire’s stone platform before collapsing to one knee, breathing hard.
But he had finished.
The instructors said nothing.
They did not need to.
He had earned his place.
After him, the Gauntlet continued.
One cadet lost control during the canyon descent and slammed into an impact barrier during the second stage.
Another received consecutive red signals after struggling through the ground retrieval course and failing to recover time in the lava thermals.
Others completed the trial successfully, though none without visible strain.
With every launch, the platform at Stormspire grew quieter.
When Freija stepped toward the launch platform, the atmosphere around Stormspire shifted almost immediately.
Several cadets straightened instinctively.
Others exchanged quiet looks.
Freija either failed spectacularly… or accomplished something no one forgot.
There was rarely anything between.
Freija rolled one shoulder before stepping onto the outer launch stone. Her twin ice short swords rested across her back while the western winds whipped strands of white hair across her face.
Then she grinned. “Oh, this looks fun.”
Frigid closed her eyes briefly.
Freija jumped.
The launch itself was reckless.
At least it looked reckless.
She dropped almost vertically through the opening descent before snapping her wings open at the last possible second. The violent canyon currents caught her instantly, but instead of fighting them, Freija twisted directly into the turbulence and accelerated through the first stage faster than any cadet before her.
Green.
A few cadets immediately turned toward one another.
Freija barely slowed through the second stage. She moved through the cliff arches with terrifying precision, banking so close to the stone walls that frost burst outward behind her wings.
Green.
By the third stage, some of the instructors were watching differently.
“She trusts the currents too much,” one cadet muttered quietly.
“No,” Halvrik replied without looking away from the course. “She understands them.”
Freija entered the fourth stage at a speed that made several cadets visibly tense after Torven’s earlier elimination. The violent crosscurrents slammed unpredictably through the canyon funnel, but Freija flowed through them almost instinctively, adjusting her wings in rapid bursts while maintaining impossible momentum through the narrow stone corridor.
Green.
Frigid tightened her grip slightly around her spear.
Freija cleared the fifth stage with her first red after losing valuable time during the ground retrieval sequence. The landing itself had been clean, but Freija attacked the weapon strikes too aggressively, nearly overshooting one of the targets before recovering at the last second.
The tower flashed red.
Freija only laughed as she relaunched into the air.
“She enjoys this entirely too much,” Frigid murmured.
The sixth and seventh stages passed in a blur of speed and precision. Freija recovered her lost time quickly, weaving through the upper canyon currents while maintaining an aggressive pace that left little room for error.
Green.
Green.
Then came the lava thermals.
The eighth stage shattered several cadets before her, but Freija attacked it head-on. Rising heat exploded upward beneath her wings as violent thermal currents twisted through the western valleys.
Instead of avoiding the strongest currents, Freija used them.
She angled sharply upward through one thermal surge before diving through another, carrying momentum across the lava channels faster than anyone earlier in the trial.
Green.
A few cadets stared openly now.
By the ninth stage, exhaustion finally began catching her.
Freija landed hard on the first combat platform, drew one of her short swords, and struck the first three targets cleanly before relaunching toward the next station.
Second platform.
Three strikes.
Third.
Then the mistake happened.
As Freija launched from the fourth landing platform, one of her short swords slipped loose from its back sheath and tumbled downward toward the stone cliffs below.
Several cadets cursed under their breath.
Freija actually looked offended. “Oh, come on.”
Without hesitation, she folded one wing and dove after it.
Frigid’s eyes widened slightly as Freija disappeared beneath the cliff line before pulling sharply upward only moments later with the recovered sword clutched in one hand.
But the lost time had already cost her.
The signal tower flashed red.
Now the platform at Stormspire had gone completely silent.
One more red ended the run.
Freija landed at the final platform breathing visibly harder now. Even from the launch cliffs far above, Frigid could see the strain beginning to affect her sister’s wings.
Then Freija launched into the tenth stage.
The sprint home.
No obstacles remained now except distance, exhaustion, and the brutal western winds hammering the open skies between the valleys and Stormspire.
Freija accelerated.
The mountain currents screamed around her as she folded tighter into the wind. Frost spiraled behind her wings while the western skies themselves seemed to ripple around her growing speed.
Frigid’s eyes narrowed. “She’s actually attempting it…”
The air exploded.
A thunderous shockwave rolled across the western cliffs as Freija shattered through the sound barrier high above the plains of Sommara.
Several cadets physically flinched.
Freija streaked across the sky like a blue comet as the final approach to Stormspire rushed toward her.
Then she hit the platform hard enough to stumble several steps before collapsing flat onto her back against the cold stone.
For one brief moment, nobody moved.
The signal tower flashed green.
Freija stared upward at the sky, breathing so hard she could barely speak.
“I thought…” she gasped between breaths, “…it would be harder than that.”
Frigid stared at her in disbelief.
Freija grinned weakly.
Then she burst out laughing while still struggling to breathe. Then she passed out.
Several more cadets attempted the Sky Trial after Freija’s run.
Some completed it successfully, though none with her reckless speed.
Others failed.
One flyer received consecutive red signals after struggling through the repeated landing sequences of the ninth stage.
Another lost control during the canyon descent and slammed into an impact barrier before the sixth stage even began.
By midday, exhaustion and tension hung heavily across Stormspire’s launch platform.
Then Frigid stepped forward.
Unlike Freija, she did not grin at the course waiting below.
She simply studied it.
The winds had shifted slightly since the morning trials began. The western currents now rose harder along the outer canyon walls while the lava thermals surged more violently across the lower valleys.
Frigid noticed all of it.
Halvrik noticed her noticing.
Then Frigid stepped from the cliff.
Her descent lacked Freija’s explosive aggression, but there was something almost unnerving about how controlled it felt. Every movement carried purpose. Every adjustment came before the wind fully changed.
She was not reacting to the course.
She was reading it.
Green.
The second stage passed with the same calm precision. Frigid threaded through the cliff arches while conserving momentum through each turn, never flying faster than necessary and never losing unnecessary speed.
Green.
Several instructors exchanged subtle looks.
“She wastes nothing,” one observed quietly.
The third and fourth stages only reinforced it further.
Where other cadets fought the violent crosscurrents directly, Frigid used them to reposition herself before entering the next movement. Even the dangerous canyon funnel that eliminated Torven failed to disrupt her rhythm.
Green.
Green.
Frigid landed cleanly during the fifth stage and completed the weapon trials with practiced efficiency. Her separated spear sections locked together almost instantly before she drove both blades through the three strike markers with rapid precision.
Three hits.
Perfect center placement.
Green.
By the sixth and seventh stages, many of the remaining cadets had stopped speaking entirely while watching her.
Frigid never appeared rushed.
She never appeared panicked. She never appeared reckless.
Yet, somehow she continued gaining time.
Then came the eighth stage, the lava thermals.
Below the cliffs, waves of heat twisted violently upward from the lava rivers cutting through the western valleys. Several rescue flyers remained positioned nearby after earlier eliminations.
Frigid entered the thermal zone cautiously at first, studying the rising currents before committing to her route.
Then one of the thermals shifted unexpectedly.
Frigid adjusted immediately, but the second surge struck harder than anticipated and forced her sharply off line. For the first time during the trial, her rhythm visibly broke.
The signal tower flashed red.
A few cadets tensed instinctively.
Frigid stabilized herself almost immediately and continued through the remaining thermal corridor without further mistakes, but the lost time could not be recovered before the stage ended.
High above the platform, Freija folded her arms with a faint grin. “Welcome to the red light club.”
The ninth stage became a demonstration of pure discipline.
Land.
Strike.
Launch.
Repeat.
Every landing remained controlled despite the growing exhaustion in her wings. Every spear strike landed cleanly against the targets before she relaunched toward the next platform.
Green.
Only the final sprint remained.
Frigid launched into the tenth stage without hesitation.
Unlike Freija, she did not chase overwhelming speed.
She chased efficiency.
The western winds hammered against her as she crossed the open skies toward Stormspire, but Frigid used each current carefully, conserving strength while maintaining steady acceleration toward the academy cliffs.
By the time she reached the final ascent, exhaustion showed clearly in the tension of her wings.
Still, her landing onto Stormspire’s launch platform remained controlled and perfectly balanced.
No stumble.
No collapse.
The signal tower flashed green.
For several seconds, Frigid simply stood there breathing hard while the mountain winds swept around her armor.
Then Halvrik stepped forward slightly.
“Well flown.”
Coming from him, it sounded almost monumental.
Frigid inclined her head once.
Only then did she finally allow herself to exhale.
The Trial of Steel
The surviving cadets were given one hour to recover after completing the Trial of the Skies.
Inside the barracks halls of Stormspire, the atmosphere had changed completely since sunrise. Earlier confidence and restless conversation had faded into quiet focus as the remaining cadets repaired armor straps, checked weapons, stretched strained wings, and rehydrated before the second stage of the Gauntlet.
The graduating class was smaller now.
Empty sleeping platforms throughout the chamber served as silent reminders of who had failed the skies above Sommara.
Frigid sat near one of the narrow stone windows overlooking the plains below Stormspire while carefully inspecting the locking mechanism connecting the two halves of her spear. Nearby, Freija leaned back against the wall beside her platform with both wings stretched wide behind her.
“I still think the lava river was unnecessary,” Freija announced.
“You also thought breaking the sound barrier was necessary,” Frigid replied calmly.
Freija considered that for a moment. “That still feels correct.”
A few nearby cadets quietly laughed.
Then the academy bells echoed through the barracks halls once again.
This time the reaction felt different.
Cadets rose immediately and gathered their weapons before following the instructors from the upper halls of Stormspire down toward the plains training grounds beneath the western cliffs.
Far below the academy, enormous stone combat arenas had been carved directly into the earth over generations of Gauntlet trials. The circles were scarred by decades of combat training, their surfaces cracked and worn from countless battles fought beneath Stormspire’s shadow.
Additional figures already waited near the arenas.
Not instructors.
Not graduates.
Returning fifth-year cadets.
Frigid had seen a few of them around Stormspire throughout the past year but had never paid much attention to them.
Some had failed portions of the previous year’s Gauntlet and remained at the academy for additional training. Now they stood waiting in dark academy combat armor, rested and prepared for another opportunity to continue forward.
Unlike the graduating class descending from the mountains above, the returning cadets had not spent the morning fighting through the Trial of the Skies.
Freija raised an eyebrow. “Fifth-years?”
Frigid nodded once. “Apparently.”
Freija looked toward the waiting cadets again. “Interesting.”
The cadets assembled around the combat arenas as Halvrik stepped forward.
The veteran instructor allowed his gaze to move across both the graduating class and the returning fifth-years waiting nearby.
“The Trial of Steel begins now.”
Silence settled across the training grounds.
“The warriors waiting before you are graduates of Stormspire.”
Several of the armored figures inclined their heads slightly.
“They have returned to serve the academy and test the next generation.”
Halvrik folded his arms.
“They are not here to defeat you.”
His eyes narrowed.
“They are here to measure you.”
The wind moved through the arenas.
“Combat is not judged by victory alone. We will evaluate discipline, control, adaptability, judgment, and weapon proficiency.”
His gaze swept across the graduating class.
“A reckless victory is still a failure.”
Several cadets shifted uneasily.
“A disciplined defeat may still earn advancement.”
The first combat match of the Trial of Steel drew immediate attention from the remaining cadets gathered around the stone arenas.
The graduating cadet entering the circle came from Skarae.
Tall for an Icelandian male at nearly five feet seven, the broad-shouldered flyer carried a massive combat axe across one shoulder as he stepped into the arena. The weapon’s training edge had been covered with reinforced blunted plating, but its weight was still obvious.
All of the cadets recognized him.
Dren.
Strong. Aggressive. Difficult to stop once he built momentum.
Several cadets quietly expected him to win.
Then his opponent entered the arena.
A few surprised murmurs spread through the crowd.
The female was noticeably smaller than nearly everyone present, standing barely over four feet nine inches tall with narrow shoulders and compact wings folded tightly against her back. In each hand she carried a short climbing axe fitted with academy training guards along the hooked blades.
At first glance, the matchup looked completely unfair.
Dren clearly thought so too. “You’re my challenge?” he asked.
The smaller graduate simply rolled one shoulder lightly before taking her stance.
The instructor signaled the start.
Dren attacked immediately.
His covered axe carved through the air with tremendous force, the impact against the stone arena sending loud thuds across the combat circle when the smaller fighter narrowly avoided the first strike.
Several cadets nodded in approval.
That kind of power was difficult to defend against.
Dren pressed harder. Every strike forced movement.
The smaller fighter gave ground rapidly at first, slipping sideways between attacks while her climbing axes deflected only the outer edges of his weapon rather than meeting the force directly.
Again, Dren attacked. Again, she moved.
Frigid’s eyes narrowed slightly. “She’s studying him,” she observed quietly.
Freija grinned beside her.
The graduate suddenly stepped inside one of Dren’s wider swings before he could recover properly. One climbing axe hooked briefly against the lower shaft of his weapon while the second struck sharply against his armored ribs.
Dren stumbled backward, fully surprised.
The arena atmosphere changed instantly.
Now Dren attacked more aggressively. That became the mistake.
His strikes grew larger. Faster. Less controlled.
The smaller cadet continued slipping in and out of range with precise efficiency, forcing him to constantly reset his footing while his heavier weapon slowly drained more energy with every missed attack.
Then Dren overcommitted completely.
His axe slammed downward hard enough to crack the arena stone.
The returning graduate pivoted sharply around the outside of the strike, hooked one climbing axe behind the haft of his weapon, and used his own momentum to wrench it sideways.
Dren lost his grip.
The heavy axe clattered across the stone arena.
Before he could recover, the smaller fighter drove forward and struck twice against the center of his chest armor with the blunted heads of both climbing axes.
The instructor immediately raised a hand.
“Match.”
Silence hung briefly around the arena.
Then the returning graduate stepped back calmly while Dren stared at the fallen axe near the edge of the combat circle.
Frigid watched her for a moment.
Then she recognized her.
“That’s Veyra,” she said quietly.
Freija glanced toward the arena. “The flight instructor?”
Frigid nodded. “She failed the Trial of Steel during her fourth year. Our second year.”
Freija raised an eyebrow.
Frigid kept her eyes on the arena. “She returned the following year and graduated near the top of her class.”
Freija entered the combat arena with the same energy she carried into the skies above Stormspire.
Her wings remained partially spread behind her as she drew both ice short swords in one smooth motion.
Across the arena, her opponent waited silently.
This graduate carried a long spear fitted with padded training guards along both ends, giving him a massive reach advantage across the combat circle.
Frigid immediately understood the pairing.
“He’s meant to keep her away,” she observed quietly.
Freija grinned.
The instructor gave the signal.
The spear struck first.
The returning graduate lunged forward with impressive speed, forcing Freija sideways as the blunted spear tip cut through the air toward her chest.
Most cadets would have retreated.
Freija surged forward instead.
Steel cracked sharply across the arena as both short swords crossed together, catching the spear shaft for only a fraction of a second before Freija twisted her left blade downward, redirecting the weapon violently off line.
At the same instant, her right sword snapped forward and struck a glancing hit against the cadet’s chest armor.
Freija suddenly stood completely inside the spear’s reach.
She grinned up at him.
Several cadets laughed despite themselves.
The returning graduate reacted immediately, attempting to drive the spear downward across her position.
Freija ducked beneath the strike.
Then she spun.
Her wings flared outward as her entire body rotated low across the arena floor in a full sweeping turn. Both short swords slammed sharply against the backs of the cadet’s legs with enough force to completely take his footing away beneath him.
He crashed hard onto the stone arena.
Before he could recover, Freija stepped forward and crossed both blades cleanly against the center of his chest armor.
“Hello,” Freija said with a grin.
The instructor immediately raised a hand.
“Match.”
A few cadets exchanged surprised looks around the combat circle.
The fight had ended almost instantly.
Freija stepped back smiling while sliding both short swords into their sheaths.
Her wings remained half spread behind her from lingering adrenaline.
Combat energized her almost as much as flying.
Frigid entered the arena after several more combat matches had concluded.
Some cadets advanced while others watched another chance at graduation disappear beneath the instructors’ judgment.
The Trial of Steel continued without pause.
Unlike Freija, Frigid did not feed off the energy surrounding the combat circles. She stepped calmly onto the worn stone arena carrying her double-ended spear balanced loosely in one hand while the mountain winds swept steadily across the plains.
Across from her stood another returning graduate.
He carried a traditional spear fitted with reinforced training guards along its end. Taller and broader than Frigid, he settled quickly into a disciplined stance near the center of the arena.
Frigid immediately recognized the difference.
This opponent would not lose control emotionally the way Dren had.
The instructor gave the signal.
Neither fighter attacked immediately.
The two spear users circled carefully across the arena stone while the wind shifted around them. The graduate struck first, driving his spear forward in a sharp thrust aimed toward Frigid’s shoulder, but her double-ended weapon rotated smoothly across her body and intercepted the attack before redirecting it harmlessly aside.
The crack of reinforced shafts echoed sharply through the arena.
Again, the older graduate attacked. Again, Frigid intercepted him.
Her weapon moved differently than the traditional spear opposite her. One blade defended while the second constantly threatened from another angle, forcing her opponent to hesitate each time he attempted to close distance safely.
Frigid advanced gradually, controlling the center of the arena one step at a time while forcing her opponent backward toward the outer boundary stone.
“She’s guiding him,” one cadet observed quietly nearby.
Freija folded her arms with a grin. “That’s my sister. She always does.”
The graduate suddenly accelerated, driving forward with a rapid sequence of spear strikes intended to overwhelm Frigid through sheer pressure.
For the first time, Frigid gave ground.
The older graduate pressed harder, sensing momentum beginning to shift in his favor.
That became his biggest mistake.
Frigid blocked another incoming strike near the center of the arena before sharply twisting the shaft of her weapon sideways.
A locking click echoed across the combat circle.
The double-ended spear separated instantly into two shorter weapons.
Several cadets reacted in visible surprise.
The graduate hesitated only briefly, but that hesitation was enough.
Frigid moved immediately.
One half-spear knocked his weapon off line while the second struck sharply against his armored ribs. Before he could fully recover, Frigid pivoted past the outer edge of his spear and swept one weapon behind his knee while the second locked firmly across his upper chest.
He lost balance and crashed backward onto the stone arena.
Frigid stepped forward instantly, crossing both half-spears against his throat guard before he could rise.
Silence settled briefly around the arena.
The instructor raised a hand.
“Match.”
Several cadets exchanged surprised looks as Frigid calmly stepped away and reconnected both halves of her spear with another sharp locking click.
Unlike Freija, she showed no outward excitement after the victory.
For Frigid, the fight had simply gone according to plan.
As the final combat matches concluded across the plains beneath Stormspire, the remaining cadets slowly gathered near the instructor platform overlooking the arenas.
The graduating class had grown smaller once again despite the addition of the new fifth-year cadets.
The Trial of Steel had stripped away whatever confidence still remained beneath exhaustion and adrenaline.
Armor showed fresh dents and scoring marks from the arena fights. Wings hung lower now from accumulated strain, and even the mountain winds crossing the plains no longer felt refreshing after the brutality of the day.
Freija stood beside Frigid while adjusting one of the straps along her wrist guard.
“I liked that one more than the lava river,” she admitted.
“That concerns me,” Frigid replied calmly.
Freija grinned.
Above them, Halvrik studied the remaining cadets from the elevated stone platform overlooking the training grounds. His gaze moved across the formation slowly before finally settling on the reduced group that remained standing beneath Stormspire’s shadow.
No one spoke.
By now, every cadet understood what the silence meant.
They had reached the final stage of the Gauntlet.
Halvrik’s voice carried across the plains.
“The Trial of Steel is complete.”
A brief pause followed.
Then his expression hardened slightly.
“Prepare yourselves for the Trial of Command.”
The Trial of Command
The remaining cadets were given only a brief rest after the Trial of Steel.
Weapons were returned to their racks and armor straps loosened, but the relief was short lived. Muscles ached from the strain of the earlier trials, and wings that had battled the violent air currents above the cliffs now felt heavy and sore. Still, no one complained. The Gauntlet was not designed for comfort.
When the summons came, the cadets gathered once more on the plains training field below the Stormspire cliffs.
The mountains rose sharply behind them, jagged and dark against the afternoon sky. Far to the west, the plains stretched toward the distant silver line of the coastline. The wind still moved steadily across the grasslands, though it lacked the brutal force that churned through the cliffs above.
The cadets formed a line.
Several spaces within that line now stood empty.
The Gauntlet had already claimed its share of failures.
Instructor Halvrik stepped forward and studied the group in silence for several moments. His pale wings rested folded behind his back, the long feathers shifting slightly in the wind.
“The first trial tested your mastery of the sky,” he said.
His voice carried easily across the field.
“The second tested your mastery of steel.”
His gaze moved slowly across the cadets who remained.
“The final trial will determine whether you are worthy to command others.”
Halvrik allowed the uneasy silence to settle across the field before continuing.
“Your objective is not personal victory.”
His gaze moved steadily across the assembled cadets.
“Your objective is mission completion.”
At another signal from the instructor platform, movement began across the far side of the plains.
Groups of first and second-year cadets started crossing the field toward the remaining Gauntlet contenders. Some looked nervous. Others looked openly excited at being included in the academy’s final trial.
Murmurs quietly spread through the formation.
Each command unit would consist of three leaders and ten lower-year cadets.
One primary commander.
Two subordinate commanders.
The teams themselves would decide who filled each role.
Farther across the plains, additional groups of third-year cadets gathered near a series of distant stone towers rising above the grasslands. Unlike the younger trainees, these units were already organized beneath the direction of recent Stormspire graduates who had returned to oversee the opposing force for the exercise.
The atmosphere shifted immediately.
This was no simple training drill.
Halvrik continued.
“The younger cadets assigned to your command have been promised rewards if their team succeeds.”
A few of the first-years exchanged excited looks at those words.
“Privileges. Additional flight access. Academy honors.”
Freija smirked quietly beside Frigid. “So now everyone wants to win.”
“That is the idea,” Frigid replied.
Halvrik’s expression never changed.
“You may lose squad members.”
“You may lose command positions.”
“You may lose your primary commander.”
Several cadets shifted slightly at those words while some of the younger trainees looked toward one another with growing uncertainty.
“Complete the mission and your team succeeds.”
“Fail the mission and your team fails.”
The wind swept sharply across the plains beneath Stormspire.
“Stormspire does not reward commanders who protect themselves at the expense of the objective.”
“Your objective is simple. Infiltrate the opponent’s tower. Capture their flag and hold it up for victory.”
The first command unit assembled near the center of the plains beneath Stormspire.
Leading the team was a fourth-year cadet from Icecrest named Vaelor, a disciplined flyer from one of the lesser noble houses of the northern territories. Beside him stood two returning fifth-years chosen as subordinate commanders. The first was a broad-shouldered male named Korrik assigned to lead the ground assault team. The second was a calm, sharp eyed female named Selyra from Sommara who would command aerial support.
Ten lower-year cadets quickly gathered around them awaiting orders.
Vaelor wasted little time.
Korrik’s ground team of five would advance directly toward the tower using the scattered stone ridges for cover while Selyra’s team of five flyers provided aerial reconnaissance and pressure from above. Vaelor himself would move between both elements to maintain coordination during the assault.
It was a solid plan.
The signal to begin echoed across the plains.
Immediately the teams surged into motion.
Third-year defenders positioned around the distant tower reacted quickly as Korrik led the ground assault through the tall grasslands beneath the cliffs. Training weapons rimmed with colored paint cracked against shields and armor while aerial cadets swept overhead through the shifting winds.
At first the attack unfolded smoothly.
Selyra’s flyers forced several defenders away from the tower approach while Korrik’s unit pushed steadily forward across the western ridge line.
Then the defense counterattacked.
A group of third-year cadets hidden behind a lower stone rise suddenly emerged along Korrik’s exposed flank.
Paint rounds exploded across armor.
One lower-year cadet dropped immediately after taking a direct strike across the chest. Another was marked moments later trying to pull him behind cover.
Korrik reacted aggressively instead of regrouping.
That became his mistake.
He drove forward attempting to force the defenders backward before they could establish position.
Three paint strikes slammed across his shoulder and chest armor almost instantly.
“Eliminated!” one instructor shouted from the observation ridge.
Korrik froze in visible frustration while two remaining members of his ground unit were quickly overwhelmed beside him.
The entire assault line collapsed.
Above the battlefield, Selyra immediately recognized the danger.
“The ground team is breaking!” she shouted.
Vaelor turned sharply toward the western ridge where defenders were now advancing toward the exposed lower-year cadets.
For a brief moment the entire mission hung on the edge of failure.
Then Vaelor adapted.
“All aerial units descend!” he ordered immediately.
“Selyra, split the flyers into two groups. Pressure the left flank and pull those defenders away from the ridge!”
The command structure shifted instantly.
Recon flyers became assault support. Lower-year cadets repositioned across the field while Selyra redirected her aerial teams low across the grasslands, forcing the defending third-years to divide their attention.
The battlefield became chaotic.
Paint strikes cracked across shields and wings as cadets collided through the shifting plains beneath Stormspire. Vaelor moved constantly through the confusion, redirecting units, recovering broken formations, and driving the remaining cadets steadily toward the tower objective.
Finally a second-year cadet broke through the defensive line and slammed both hands against the hanging tower banner.
The flag dropped free.
A horn blast echoed across the plains.
“Match!”
For a brief second the entire battlefield froze.
Then the victorious command unit erupted into cheers.
Lower-year cadets shouted excitedly while several collapsed laughing into the grass from exhaustion.
And louder than anyone else stood Korrik.
Despite the bright paint marks covering his armor from elimination, the returning fifth-year raised both fists into the air and shouted triumphantly toward the rest of his team.
They had completed the mission.
The Trial of Command was over.
They were the first graduates of this year’s Gauntlet.
That was all Stormspire cared about.
A few more command exercises unfolded across the plains beneath Stormspire before Freija’s unit was finally called forward.
This time her command group consisted of Kale and a returning fifth-year male named Tavik.
The three quickly gathered with their assigned lower-year cadets while the opposing third-year defenders organized themselves around the distant tower objective.
Unlike several earlier command groups, Freija’s team did not rush immediately into planning.
Instead they studied the field.
The tower stood near the center of a shallow ridge system surrounded by open grasslands broken by scattered stone outcroppings. Defenders positioned around the fortification could easily spot a direct assault from nearly every angle.
Freija narrowed her eyes thoughtfully while watching the terrain.
“They’re too focused forward,” she said.
Tavik glanced toward her. “Meaning?”
Freija pointed toward a series of lower ridges circling far behind the tower.
“Everyone attacks from the front,” she explained. “Nobody’s forcing them to turn around.”
Kale studied the route for a moment before understanding immediately. “You are thinking of a flanking unit.”
Freija grinned. “A hidden one.”
Tavik considered the idea carefully before giving a slow nod. “It could work.”
Within moments the plan took shape.
Tavik assumed the primary command role and organized the main ground assault force of four second-years. Kale would lead the aerial support with four cadets to pressure the tower from above while drawing defenders toward the front of the battlefield.
Meanwhile Freija volunteered to take two cadets wide around the outer ridges completely out of sight before striking from behind once the defenders committed themselves forward.
The signal horn sounded.
The command trial began.
Tavik immediately advanced the main ground unit toward the tower while Kale’s flyers swept overhead through the afternoon winds, forcing the defending third-years to respond to the approaching assault.
Paint strikes cracked across shields and armor almost immediately.
The defenders reacted exactly as Freija had predicted.
Most of their forces shifted toward the front lines where Tavik’s ground team steadily pressured the outer defenses beneath Kale’s aerial harassment.
Then the counterattack came.
A defending flyer broke through Kale’s formation and landed a direct paint strike across the chest armor of one of his lower-year cadets.
“Eliminated!”
Another cadet on the ground took a heavy strike across the leg moments later and collapsed behind the ridge line clutching the marked armor.
The battlefield tightened instantly.
Tavik pushed harder trying to maintain momentum, but a second paint strike clipped across his wing during the advance. Bright color streaked across the outer feathers as the returning fifth-year stumbled briefly before regaining balance.
“Wing damaged!” an instructor called.
Still Tavik kept moving.
The defenders focused entirely on the front assault now.
That became their mistake.
Far behind the tower, Freija finally moved.
She and her two lower-year cadets exploded over the rear ridge line almost simultaneously, sweeping low behind the defenders before anyone realized what had happened.
Paint strikes slammed into the backs of multiple third-year cadets.
One defending commander turned just in time to see Freija drop directly behind him with both short swords already crossing toward his chest armor.
“Surprise.”
The strike landed cleanly.
“Eliminated!”
Chaos erupted around the tower.
The defenders suddenly found themselves surrounded from multiple directions as Freija’s rear assault collapsed their entire formation from behind. Kale immediately redirected his flyers downward while Tavik’s ground team surged forward through the confusion.
Within seconds the defending third-years realized the position was lost.
Several raised their hands in surrender.
A horn blast echoed across the plains.
“Match!”
Cheers exploded across the battlefield.
The lower-year cadets shouted excitedly while collapsing into the grass from exhaustion and adrenaline. Even Tavik laughed despite the bright paint streak covering one damaged wing.
Then several of the younger cadets grabbed Freija and lifted both her and the two members of her rear assault team into the air while the entire unit celebrated around them.
Freija laughed loudly above the chaos, her wings spread wide against the mountain winds sweeping across the plains beneath Stormspire.
Freija’s squad continued celebrating long after the instructors had already begun preparing the next command exercise across the plains.
When she finally returned toward the observation line beside Frigid, traces of bright paint still marked parts of her armor from near strikes during the assault.
Freija folded her wings behind her with an exhausted grin. “That was definitely the best one so far.”
Frigid glanced toward the battlefield where the next command group was already beginning their advance. “You enjoyed yourself too much.”
“That is because winning is enjoyable.”
Before Frigid could answer, the newest command exercise began unfolding across the grasslands below Stormspire.
This team relied heavily on aerial pressure.
At first the strategy appeared effective. Flyers swept aggressively toward the tower while the ground units pushed directly through the center field beneath them.
Then the defenders adapted.
The opposing third-years stopped reacting to the aerial pressure entirely and instead concentrated their forces against the advancing ground team. Without support, the ground assault collapsed quickly beneath concentrated paint strikes while the aerial units became isolated above the battlefield.
Within minutes the tower remained secure.
A horn blast echoed across the plains.
“Match.”
Freija winced slightly. “Ouch.”
Frigid remained silent while studying the field below.
The defenders slowly reset their positions around the tower while eliminated cadets regrouped near the outer ridges.
“They separated their attacks too early,” Frigid observed quietly.
Freija glanced toward her sister. “The ground team lost support.”
Frigid nodded once. “They forced the defenders to choose only one threat.”
For a moment she continued studying the battlefield in silence while the wind shifted steadily across the plains beneath Stormspire.
Then the instructors called the next command group forward.
Frigid stepped onto the field alongside her assigned commanders.
The first was another fourth-year cadet named Kaelen, an experienced flyer from Frostholm with strong aerial instincts and calm discipline under pressure.
The second was a returning fifth-year named Varric, tall, thin, and sharp eyed, with more direct combat experience than either of the younger cadets beside him.
Ten lower-year cadets quickly assembled around them awaiting instructions.
Unlike several earlier command groups, Frigid did not begin immediately discussing the tower itself.
Instead, she studied the surrounding terrain.
The western grasslands rolled unevenly toward the objective while scattered ridges and stone formations created multiple blind approaches hidden from direct aerial observation.
Then Frigid began assigning teams.
Kaelen would lead three cadets from the air along the left approach.
Varric would command another three flyers from the right.
Frigid herself would remain farther back with two cadets equipped for ranged support.
That left two cadets unassigned.
Varric frowned slightly. “You’re leaving the ground assault with only two and no commander?”
Frigid shook her head. “I’m leaving it unseen.”
Both commanders looked toward her.
Frigid pointed toward a shallow series of lower ridges winding almost completely behind the tower position.
“The defenders are expecting three attack angles now,” she explained calmly. “Front air support. Left pressure. Right pressure.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“They will not expect four.”
Understanding slowly crossed Varric’s expression.
The most experienced lower-year cadet was quietly assigned command of the hidden ground team while Frigid carefully reviewed a series of simple hand signals to be used once they reached position behind the tower.
No verbal communication.
No aerial exposure.
Only timing.
The signal horn echoed across the plains.
The command trial began.
Almost immediately Kaelen’s left aerial team swept low across the grasslands while Varric’s flyers pressured the tower from the opposite side. Paint strikes cracked through the air as the defenders reacted to the split assault exactly as Frigid expected.
Every defender turned outward toward the visible threats.
Far below the battle, the hidden ground team disappeared completely beneath the ridge lines behind the tower.
Frigid remained farther back with her two ranged cadets positioned along an elevated stone rise overlooking the battlefield. Her separated half-spears rested lightly in her hands while she tracked movement patterns across the defending formation.
Then she saw it.
A raised hand signal near the rear ridge.
The hidden team was in position.
“Now,” Frigid ordered calmly.
The battlefield erupted instantly.
Kaelen and Varric drove their aerial teams aggressively toward opposite sides of the tower while Frigid’s ranged cadets launched paint-tipped throwing shafts downward into the defenders’ rear formation, forcing confusion across the entire position.
One defender turned toward the new threat just as the hidden ground team surged over the rear ridge directly into the tower itself.
The defenders never recovered.
A single paint strike clipped across one cadet’s wing during Varric’s advance, but the formation held together as the hidden team captured the tower banner from behind.
A horn blast echoed sharply across the plains.
“Match!”
For a moment the defenders simply stared in disbelief toward the rear approach they had never even realized existed.
Then the victorious lower-year cadets erupted into cheers around the captured flag while Kaelen laughed openly in surprise.
Varric shook his head once before looking toward Frigid.
“You planned that from the beginning.”
Frigid calmly reconnected both halves of her spear with a sharp locking click.
“The defenders stopped looking behind themselves,” she replied.
There is More to Read with the CAU
The Crimson Alliance Universe is constantly expanding with new characters, worlds, and stories. Explore more and continue your journey.
Character Premise
On the frozen world of Icelandia, not all leaders rise through force.
Some are shaped through restraint.
Born with wings that mark her as one of Icelandia’s skyborn people, Princess Frigid was raised among the towering spires of Frostholm to understand the weight of command long before she was ever asked to carry it. Where others saw the sky as freedom, she saw it as responsibility. Every flight, every decision, every word spoken in the halls of Snowreach carried consequences beyond herself.
While her younger twin sister, born just ten minutes after her, chased speed and possibility through the open skies, Frigid studied structure, discipline, and the fragile balance that holds a world together.
She does not lead by instinct.
She leads by understanding.
But leadership on Icelandia is not earned through title alone. It must be proven through action, judgment, and the ability to stand firm when others would falter.
As new challenges begin to test the limits of tradition and control, Frigid must step beyond observation and into command. The question is no longer whether she is ready to lead.
It is whether she can lead in a way the world has never seen.
This story takes place before the events of A Demon’s Rebellion and reveals the foundation of one of the Crimson Alliance Universe’s most disciplined and deliberate leaders.
Chapter 1:
Stormspire
Eve of the Gauntlet
Icelandia was a world shaped by wind and stone.
High mountain ranges cut across its continents, and violent storms rolled endlessly across the skies. The long-lived blue-skinned Icelandian people who called the planet home had long ago learned to live within that chaos. Born with white hair and powerful wings, they were flyers by nature, masters of the air currents that swept across their frozen and mountainous world.
But flight alone did not make a leader.
For generations, the greatest warriors and strategists of Icelandia had trained at one place far from the royal capital of Frostholm. On the western continent of Sommara, where jagged peaks rose above vast plains and the western ocean winds never truly rested, stood the Aerial Command Academy.
Stormspire.
The academy accepted cadets from across the four continents of Icelandia. Warriors, explorers, future commanders, and those who simply wished to master the demanding discipline of flight and combat.
Among the newest graduating class were two cadets whose presence carried unusual weight.
Frigid and Freija, twin daughters and princesses of the ruling house of Icelandia.
Despite their royal birth, the sisters had trained under the same brutal expectations as every other cadet at Stormspire. Titles meant nothing within the academy walls. Only discipline, skill, and leadership mattered.
It was here that Icelandia’s most demanding training took place. For four relentless years cadets endured brutal flight trials, weapon combat, leadership roles, and tactical exercises designed to break arrogance and forge discipline. Some graduates would go on to serve in the Aerial Command defending their world. Others would return to civilian life carrying the lessons of Stormspire into leadership across the world.
Only those who completed the academy’s final trial, known only as the Gauntlet, were allowed to wear its insignia and would graduate.
The wind never truly rested at Stormspire. It moved constantly through the mountain passes, rising along the jagged cliffs before spilling down across the wide plains below. By the time it reached the western ocean coastline, the currents twisted and returned again, climbing the stone walls that surrounded the Aerial Command Academy.
Frigid had grown used to the sound over the past four years.
Still, tonight the wind felt different.
She stood near the edge of a stone overlook that faced west across the Stormspire region. The mountains rose behind her in dark ridges, their peaks catching the last faint glow of the setting sun. Far below, the plains stretched outward toward a distant line of silver where the ocean met the horizon.
Tomorrow would decide everything.
Around her, the other cadets moved through the academy grounds with quiet intensity. Some practiced final weapon forms in the fading light. Others checked the straps of their training armor or inspected the balance of their blades.
No one wasted energy on conversation.
Everyone understood what waited at sunrise.
Frigid rested both hands lightly on the shaft of her weapon. The double ended spear was taller than she was, its polished blades reflecting the dim evening sky. She had trained with it since childhood, learning how to control distance and movement while keeping opponents off balance.
Many cadets preferred swords.
Her younger twin sister Freija certainly did.
Frigid glanced across the training yard and easily spotted her sister among the others.
Freija moved with restless energy even at the end of the day. In each hand she held one of her ice short swords, the blades flashing as she ran through a sequence of strikes and turns. Her movements flowed almost effortlessly, like wind shifting through open sky.
Several cadets had stopped to watch.
That was nothing new.
Freija had always drawn attention during training.
Frigid allowed herself a small smile before turning back toward the horizon.
Freija thrived in the chaos of motion. The storms above Stormspire seemed to welcome her.
Frigid preferred something different.
She preferred order… control.
Understanding the field before the first strike was ever thrown.
Behind her, heavy footsteps approached across the stone walkway.
“Watching the wind will not help you tomorrow,” Halvrik stated.
The voice was calm but carried the weight of authority.
Frigid turned slightly and inclined her head as Instructor Halvrik stepped beside her.
The veteran warrior folded his arms across his chest while studying the plains below. His nearly white wings were folded tightly behind his back, their edges marked by scars earned long before most of the cadets had been born.
“The wind tells a great deal,” Frigid replied. “It shows how the flyers will move.”
Halvrik’s eyes shifted toward her.
“And what does it tell you tonight?”
“That many will rely on strength alone.”
A faint hint of amusement touched the instructor’s expression.
“And you will not?”
Frigid looked again toward the distant ocean.
“The Gauntlet is not meant to reward strength,” she said. “It reveals who can think clearly when strength begins to fail.”
Halvrik gave a single approving nod.
“You understand Stormspire better than most.”
The instructor turned his gaze toward the training yard where Freija’s blades continued to flash through the fading light.
“Your sister approaches the trial differently.”
Frigid followed his gaze.
Freija finished another rapid sequence before lowering her blades and laughing at something another cadet said.
“Yes,” Frigid said quietly. “She always has.”
Halvrik studied both sisters for a moment before speaking again.
“The Gauntlet will test flight, combat and leadership.”
His voice lowered slightly.
“Only those who master all three will stand on the western overlook tomorrow evening.”
Frigid tightened her grip on the spear without realizing it.
Four years at Stormspire had led to this single final trial.
Cadets who failed would remain another year to train and attempt the Gauntlet again.
Cadets who passed would graduate from the Aerial Command Academy.
From that moment forward, their paths would belong to them.
Halvrik turned and began walking back toward the academy halls.
“Rest tonight,” he said over his shoulder. “Stormspire reveals truth when the sun rises.”
Frigid remained where she was as darkness slowly settled across the mountains.
Below, the wind continued to sweep across the plains toward the distant ocean.
Tomorrow the Gauntlet would begin.
And by sunset, Stormspire would decide who was ready to leave.
The Sky Trial
Before sunrise, the bells of Stormspire echo through the stone halls of the academy.
Cadets awake instantly. No one sleeps through the Gauntlet.
Inside the shared barracks chamber, armor racks line the walls and weapons rest neatly beside each sleeping platform. The room fills quickly with quiet motion as cadets prepare.
Straps tighten. Wing joints stretch. No one speaks loudly.
Today is the Gauntlet.
Freija is already awake and moving. She rolls her shoulders and stretches her wings, restless energy filling every motion. The excitement in her eyes is impossible to hide.
Frigid is the opposite.
She finishes securing the straps of her training armor with calm precision. Her double-ended spear rests against the wall. Every movement is controlled and deliberate.
Freija glances at her sister.
“Finally,” she says quietly. “Four years for one day.”
Frigid adjusts the last clasp on her armor. “One day that determines the rest.”
Freija grins. “Then we should make it memorable.”
Frigid gives a small nod. “That depends on how many mistakes you plan to make.”
Freija laughs softly. “None.”
Outside, the bells ring again. The Gauntlet has begun.
The cadets gather along the massive stone launch platform carved into the cliffs of Stormspire.
Below them the plains stretch westward toward the distant silver line of the western coastline.
The wind surges upward along the cliff walls, powerful and unpredictable.
Perfect flying conditions for Stormspire.
Instructors line the cliff edge observing silently. Halvrik stands among them.
A tall academy banner snaps violently in the wind.
Then a command rings across the platform.
“The first trial of the Gauntlet begins.”
“The Sky Trial.”
One by one cadets leap from the cliff.
Wings snap open. The wind immediately grabs them.
The air currents are violent, twisting between the cliffs before spilling out across the plains below.
This is no simple flight.
Stone arches carved into the cliff walls mark the first stage of the course. Cadets must pass through them at speed while maintaining control in turbulent winds.
Beyond the cliffs, tall marker pylons rise from the plains.
Each cadet must retrieve a ribbon marker and return to Stormspire.
The instructors watch every movement.
Freija launches without hesitation.
Her wings snap open and she plunges directly into the strongest current.
Instead of fighting the wind, she rides it.
She twists through the first stone arch with breathtaking speed, banking sharply before diving toward the plains.
Her movements are explosive and fearless.
She flies like the storms themselves.
Several cadets watching from the cliffs exchange glances.
Freija makes the course look easy.
Then Frigid launches.
Her takeoff is quieter. More measured.
She spreads her wings and lets the rising current lift her smoothly into the sky before adjusting her course.
Where Freija attacks the wind, Frigid studies it.
She watches the currents move across the cliffs and chooses the cleanest path between them.
Her flight wastes no motion.
She moves through the stone arches with precise control, adjusting altitude and speed with minimal effort.
The instructors notice.
One of them nods slightly.
Not everyone handles Stormspire so well.
One cadet misjudges a crosscurrent and spins violently before stabilizing.
Another struggles to hold altitude.
A third is forced to abandon the course entirely.
The moment a cadet loses control, academy rescue flyers launch instantly from the lower platforms.
The fallen cadet is escorted safely away from the trial. If injured, they are taken to the medical bay.
The Gauntlet allows no second attempts today.
The instructors continue watching.
One by one the remaining cadets return to the cliffs, each carrying the ribbon marker taken from the plains.
Some land smoothly.
Others arrive exhausted.
A few don’t return. Immediate failure of the first leg of the Gauntlet. One more year at the Academy.
Halvrik watches the final landings with unreadable calm.
When the last surviving cadet touches down, he steps forward.
“The Sky Trial is complete.”
The cadets stand in silence, their wings trembling from the strain.
Halvrik’s voice carries across the platform.
“Prepare yourselves.”
“The second trial begins shortly.”
The Trial of Steel
After a brief recovery period, the surviving cadets are escorted down from the Stormspire cliffs.
They travel along a carved stone path descending toward the plains below the mountains. The wind is calmer here, though the towering cliffs still loom above them.
At the base of the mountains lies a wide training field used for the academy’s ground combat exercises.
This is where the second trial takes place.
The cadets are exhausted from the Sky Trial. Wings ache. Muscles burn.
Stormspire gives them little time to recover. The Gauntlet continues to the next stage.
The plains training ground is marked by stone circles forming multiple combat arenas.
Freija enters the arena first. Then her opponent.
Her twin ice short swords flash immediately as the match begins.
She fights fast. Her style is aggressive and relentless, pushing her opponent constantly onto the defensive.
She closes distance rapidly, forcing mistakes through pressure.
Her blades move like lightning strikes.
Within moments her opponent is disarmed and forced back across the boundary stone.
The instructors mark the result.
Freija exits the arena smiling, beaming with energy, her wings still half spread with adrenaline.
Combat energizes her.
Frigid enters a different arena shortly afterward.
Her double-ended spear immediately creates distance between her and her opponent.
Where Freija attacked, Frigid controls.
She moves slowly at first, studying her opponent’s stance and breathing.
The spear spins lightly in her hands as she tests angles and timing.
Her opponent attempts several quick advances.
Each time the spear intercepts them before they can close the distance.
Frigid forces the fight to occur exactly where she wants it.
Control replaces chaos.
Finally, her opponent overcommits to a forward strike.
Frigid pivots.
The spear shaft locks against their weapon arm and twists sharply.
The opponent is forced to the ground.
The instructor raises a hand.
The match has ended.
Throughout the field, multiple combats take place simultaneously.
Some cadets fight brilliantly.
Others lose control of their emotions.
A few are disarmed quickly.
The instructors record everything.
Not just victories. But also judgment.
Cadets who rely only on strength often exhaust themselves.
Cadets who lose discipline fail.
Stormspire rewards those who think clearly under pressure.
Halvrik watches both sisters from the instructor platform.
Freija’s style is like a storm breaking across the battlefield.
Frigid’s style is calm and deliberate.
Two completely different approaches.
Both dangerous in their own way.
Another instructor beside him murmurs quietly. “They fight nothing alike.”
Halvrik replies simply. “They do not need to.”
As the final matches conclude, the remaining cadets gather once more.
Sweat and exhaustion mark every face.
Halvrik addresses them again.
“The Trial of Steel is complete.”
A brief pause.
“Prepare yourselves for the final trial.”
The Trial of Command
The remaining cadets were given only a brief rest after the Trial of Steel.
Weapons were returned to their racks and armor straps loosened, but the relief was short lived. Muscles ached from the strain of the earlier trials, and wings that had battled the violent air currents above the cliffs now felt heavy and sore. Still, no one complained. The Gauntlet was not designed for comfort.
When the summons came, the cadets gathered once more on the plains training field below the Stormspire cliffs.
The mountains rose sharply behind them, jagged and dark against the afternoon sky. Far to the west, the plains stretched toward the distant silver line of the coastline. The wind still moved steadily across the grasslands, though it lacked the brutal force that churned through the cliffs above.
The cadets formed a line.
Several spaces within that line now stood empty.
The Gauntlet had already claimed its share of failures.
Instructor Halvrik stepped forward and studied the group in silence for several moments. His pale wings rested folded behind his back, the long feathers shifting slightly in the wind.
“The first trial tested your mastery of the sky,” he said.
His voice carried easily across the field.
“The second tested your mastery of steel.”
His gaze moved slowly across the cadets who remained.
“The final trial will determine whether you are worthy to command others.”
Several cadets shifted at those words.
Across the field, groups of younger trainees stepped forward. They were cadets from the academy’s lower years, brought here not to compete but to serve as units for the final exercise.
Halvrik continued.
“Each of you will lead a squad.”
The trainees moved to stand beside the graduating cadets as names were called and assignments made. Within moments each remaining Gauntlet participant stood at the head of a small unit.
“Your objective is simple,” Halvrik said. “Advance across the Stormspire plains, capture the tower assigned to your squad, hold the position against a simulated attack, and return.”
He paused briefly.
“We are not measuring your strength.”
His eyes sharpened.
“We are measuring your judgment.”
The command to begin came without ceremony.
Squads moved across the plains in different directions as the exercise began.
Freija took command of her group with immediate energy. Her instructions were quick and confident, and her squad responded instantly to the urgency in her voice. They advanced rapidly across the grasslands, wings beating hard as they closed the distance toward their assigned tower.
Freija led from the front.
Her approach was bold and aggressive, pushing her unit forward with relentless momentum. When they reached the tower, they secured the position quickly and prepared for the simulated attack.
Even from a distance it was clear that Freija’s leadership inspired action.
Her squad moved fast and struck hard.
But the instructors watching from the ridge above also saw the risks in her approach.
Frigid received her squad shortly afterward.
Where Freija had moved immediately, Frigid paused.
She studied the terrain stretching across the plains. Low ridges and scattered stone outcroppings interrupted the open grassland, creating natural points of cover and observation. The steady wind flowing from the west tugged at her wings as she considered the field.
Then she began assigning positions.
Two members of her squad were sent into the air to watch the surrounding terrain. The others moved forward in staggered formation as the unit advanced.
Their progress was slower than Freija’s squad.
But it was deliberate.
Frigid gave her commands quietly and clearly, adjusting their movement as the terrain shifted beneath them.
When they reached their tower, she positioned her squad in overlapping defensive positions before the simulated attack began. Each cadet understood exactly where they needed to stand and what role they were responsible for.
The attack came swiftly.
Training units moved across the field to challenge the position.
Frigid’s squad held.
They adjusted when pressure shifted, repositioned when needed, and maintained their formation without confusion. Frigid’s voice never rose above a calm command.
From the observation ridge, Halvrik watched the exercise unfold.
An instructor beside him studied the two sisters as their squads carried out the final phase of the trial.
“They lead very differently,” the instructor remarked.
Halvrik gave a faint nod. “The storm inspires action,” he said quietly.
Below them, Freija’s squad surged forward again as the exercise concluded.
Halvrik then shifted his gaze toward Frigid’s unit as they secured their position with careful precision.
“The strategist ensures survival.”
One by one the exercises concluded across the plains.
Squads began returning toward the starting position, some victorious and others clearly shaken by mistakes made during the trial. The instructors recorded every detail.
Strength alone meant little here.
Stormspire measured judgment.
When the final unit returned, Halvrik stepped forward once more.
“The trials are complete. You have each completed the Gauntlet.”
The cadets stood silently in the wind.
Exhaustion now settled into every muscle and feather.
Halvrik turned and gestured toward the towering cliffs behind them.
“Return to Stormspire.”
The cadets began the long climb back toward the academy.
When they reached the stone overlook above the cliffs, the sun had already begun its slow descent toward the distant coastline. Golden light stretched across the plains below, painting the grasslands and mountains in warm color.
Frigid stepped onto the overlook and paused.
It was the same place she had stood the night before, watching the wind move across the land and wondering what the Gauntlet would demand of them.
Now it was finished.
The remaining cadets gathered along the edge of the overlook as the wind rose once more around the stone towers of Stormspire.
Only a handful of cadets remained now.
The Gauntlet had begun with many more.
Some had faltered in the sky when the violent currents above the cliffs proved too much. Others had been disarmed during the Trial of Steel. A few had struggled to command their squads during the final exercise across the plains.
Stormspire had measured them all.
Now only those who had endured every trial stood together on the overlook.
Frigid looked quietly along the line of cadets beside her. Their armor was scuffed and dusted with the marks of combat and flight. Wings drooped slightly from exhaustion. Muscles ached from the strain of the day.
No one spoke.
Instructor Halvrik stepped forward once more.
The wind tugged gently at the long white feathers of his wings as he faced the remaining cadets. Behind him, the stone towers of the Aerial Command Academy rose against the glowing sky.
“You have completed the Gauntlet,” he said.
His voice carried easily across the overlook.
“The trials of sky, steel, and command have measured your skill, your discipline, and your judgment.”
He paused, studying the small group before him.
“Stormspire does not grant its honor lightly.”
Several instructors stepped forward, each carrying a small wooden case.
Halvrik opened the first case.
Inside rested a series of polished insignia pins, each crafted in the shape of stylized wings spread wide in flight. At the center of each pair of wings rested the small crest of Stormspire.
“These wings mark those who have endured the trials of the Aerial Command Academy,” Halvrik continued. “From this day forward, you carry the discipline of Stormspire wherever your path may lead.”
One by one the cadets were called forward.
Each stepped before Halvrik in silence.
The instructor placed the insignia carefully upon the clasp of their training armor. The small metal wings caught the fading sunlight as they were secured in place.
When Freija’s name was spoken, she stepped forward with the same confident energy she carried into every trial. For the first time all day, however, the fierce excitement in her eyes softened slightly as Halvrik fastened the insignia to her armor.
“You fly like the storms of Icelandia,” Halvrik said quietly.
Freija allowed herself a small smile. “I learned from the best winds Stormspire could offer.”
She stepped aside, her new insignia gleaming in the golden light.
At last Halvrik called the final name.
“Frigid.”
Frigid stepped forward calmly.
The wind brushed lightly across the overlook as she stopped before the instructor.
Halvrik studied her for a moment before placing the insignia in position upon her armor.
“You do not fight the wind,” he said quietly.
Frigid met his gaze. “No,” she replied. “I listen to it.”
Halvrik secured the wings in place and gave a small nod of approval.
“You understand Stormspire well.”
Frigid stepped back into line beside her sister.
For a moment the instructors said nothing. The wind continued to sweep across the mountains, carrying with it the fading warmth of the day.
Then Halvrik spoke once more.
“From this moment forward, you are graduates of the Aerial Command Academy.”
He gestured toward the wide plains stretching beyond the cliffs.
“Some of you will serve within Aerial Command.”
“Others will carry the discipline of Stormspire into different paths across Icelandia.”
His gaze moved briefly across the two sisters before returning to the group.
“But wherever you go, remember this.”
“The wind that shaped you here will follow you always.”
The sun slipped lower toward the coastline, its final light blazing across the plains.
The newly graduated cadets stood together on the overlook of Stormspire, their insignia catching the last golden rays of the day.
The Gauntlet was finished.
Their futures had just begun.
Graduation
After the final command exercise concluded across the plains below Stormspire, the remaining cadets gathered once more along the western overlook beneath the academy towers.
They stood facing the stone spires of the Aerial Command Academy while the ocean winds rose steadily at their backs beyond the cliffs of Sommara. Far below, the western sea reflected the fading light blue of the descending sun.
The formation standing there now looked different from the one that had assembled before sunrise.
Fourth-year cadets stood beside returning fifth-years who had finally reclaimed their path through the Gauntlet after another year beneath Stormspire’s discipline.
Exhaustion marked every face.
Armor bore fresh scoring from steel and paint strikes alike while dust from the plains still clung to boots, wings, and weapons. Some cadets stood with wrapped joints or fresh bandages from the day’s trials, yet none allowed fatigue to break their posture.
Stormspire had tested them in the sky, in combat, and in command.
Now those who had endured every trial stood together beneath the towers of the Aerial Command Academy.
Instructor Halvrik stepped forward once more.
The wind tugged gently at the long white feathers of his wings as he faced the remaining cadets. Behind him, the stone towers of the Aerial Command Academy rose against the glowing sky.
“You have completed the Gauntlet,” he said.
His voice carried easily across the overlook.
“The trials of sky, steel, and command have measured your skill, your discipline, and your judgment.”
He paused, studying the small group before him.
“Stormspire does not grant its honor lightly.”
Several instructors stepped forward, each carrying several small wooden cases.
Halvrik opened the first case.
Inside rested a series of polished insignia pins, each crafted in the shape of stylized wings spread wide in flight. At the center of each pair of wings rested the small crest of the Academy.
“These wings mark those who have endured the trials of the Aerial Command Academy,” Halvrik continued. “From this day forward, you carry the discipline of the Academy wherever your path may lead.”
One by one the cadets were called forward.
Each stepped before Halvrik in silence.
The instructor placed the insignia carefully upon the clasp of their training armor. The small metal wings caught the fading sunlight as they were secured in place.
When Freija’s name was spoken, she stepped forward with the same confident energy she carried into every trial. For the first time all day, however, the fierce excitement in her eyes softened slightly as Halvrik fastened the insignia to her armor.
“You fly like a living storm,” Halvrik said quietly.
Freija allowed herself a small smile. “I learned from the best winds Stormspire could offer.”
She stepped aside, her new insignia gleaming in the fading light.
At last Halvrik called the final name.
“Frigid.”
Frigid stepped forward calmly.
The wind brushed lightly across the overlook as she stopped before the instructor.
Halvrik studied her for a moment before placing the insignia in position upon her armor.
“You do not fight the wind,” he said quietly.
Frigid met his gaze. “No,” she replied. “I listen to it.”
Halvrik secured the wings in place and gave a small nod of approval.
“You understand Stormspire well.”
Frigid stepped back into line beside her sister.
Halvrik allowed the silence to settle across the overlook once more.
Then he turned slowly toward the western cliffs overlooking the ocean beyond Sommara.
“Cadets,” he said calmly.
The assembled graduates straightened instinctively.
“Turn.”
One by one the newly graduated cadets turned away from the towers of Stormspire.
The western ocean stretched endlessly beyond the cliffs while the fading sun burned blue across the distant horizon.
For a moment, only the wind could be heard.
Halvrik’s voice carried quietly behind them.
“Stormspire stands behind you now.”
The wind swept steadily across the cliffs overlooking the western sea.
“This marks the beginning of your new life. Your new future.”
His gaze remained fixed toward the fading horizon.
“The wind that shaped you here will follow you always.”
The sun slipped lower toward the coastline, its final light blazing across the plains beneath Stormspire.
Beside her, Freija quietly reached over and took Frigid’s hand.
Frigid turned slightly toward her sister.
For the first time since sunrise, both of them simply smiled.
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