The caravan moved slowly across the frozen plains, the wind biting at faces and biting deeper into bones that were already weary from Frostholm's merciless cold. The sled's runners scraped over hardened ice, leaving faint grooves as Hayate and Nagare strained against the weight of the carriage. Within, the Frostholm team tended to their precious and precarious cargo.
Yoshiya Hazeru sat forward on the driver's bench, hands gripping the reins, pale and trembling from exhaustion. His robes, though layered, could not hide the fatigue in his posture. Beside him, Omina Mizuraga tried to steady the horses, her gloved hands tightening around the reins. The boar pouldrons warmed them somewhat, but each gust of frigid wind reminded them how severe the northern reaches could be.
Inside the carriage, the air was thick with the scent of resin and faint smoke from Akihiro Kongo's Kindling Light. The small orb of warmth hovered weakly, casting a faint glow across the frozen faces of the five Ostorian survivors. The child huddled against Yami Kurikage's robes, still shivering from the aftereffects of being thawed. Two adult civilians and a soldier were carefully bundled together, unconscious but breathing steadily, while the final two females rested in makeshift blankets.
At the back of the carriage, two frozen Valerian soldiers were packed tightly. Akihiro's hands glowed faint green as he worked to secure them with Wild Growth, the spirit magic forming spectral vines around their limbs and torsos. "This will hold them… for now," he muttered, his voice strained from the cold and the effort of maintaining the barrier.
Fukashi Senyaku frowned at the restraint. "Do we really have to carry these Valerian?" he asked, adjusting the alchemical satchels at his side. "They're not our concern—they're research specimens at best, not prisoners."
Yami tilted her head, robes fluttering in the draft from the caravan doors. "Research, yes," she said quietly, "but they're also evidence. We need to know what's happening here. They're part of the puzzle."
Fukashi groaned but said nothing further. Akihiro, standing behind the carriage as much as his frozen feet allowed, simply nodded, keeping Kindling Light alive. The warmth flickered weakly, like a candle fighting against the wind.
The journey south was slow and perilous. Every step over the ice was measured. Yoshiya's mana had been dangerously drained by the Purify spell that thawed Akihiro and the civilians; his breathing came in shallow, measured gasps. Each time a faint frost touched his robes, he shivered uncontrollably, though he refused to call for a break.
Omina guided the carriage carefully but not with Yoshiya's practiced precision. The sled veered slightly at turns, threatening to jolt the passengers and cargo. "Steady, steady," she muttered under her breath, hands tight on the reins.
Inside, Yami recorded everything in her leather-bound journal. Observations on frost density, anomaly spread, and the effects of the Frost Engine were meticulously written, each note sharp and exact. "If this reaches Korvath before we do," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else, "someone has to be ready for it."
Fukashi bent over the thawed Ostorians, murmuring protective charms and checking pulses. The five were safe, but unconsciousness and frost shock had left them vulnerable. "We need to stop in Reflynne," he said softly, "at least until they regain their senses."
The caravan passed over the first ridge of Frostholm's surrounding hills, and in the distance, the lights of Reflynne flickered like beacons of life. Even through the fatigue, a sense of relief passed through the group. They were one step closer to safety—and one step closer to reporting the events that had unfolded here.
Akihiro's Kindling Light pulsed weakly at the front of the carriage, and the team fell into a careful rhythm: Omina guiding, Yoshiya silently enduring the lingering mana exhaustion, Yami documenting, Fukashi tending, and Akihiro maintaining warmth. Even the Valerian soldiers at the back, bound and silent, seemed to sense the urgency.
Every mile south was a victory, each breath of thawed air a small reprieve. The ice road stretched endlessly before them, but for now, the caravan moved as one—carrying survivors, evidence, and the weight of what had been frozen and what had been saved.
As the first faint lights of Reflynne emerged closer, Yoshiya allowed himself a short, trembling exhale. The Frostholm mission was far from over, but for the moment, the worst was behind them. The caravan pressed on, southbound, over the ice, into the dawn of a new hope.