Cassia’s breath hitched as the whisper faded, swallowed by the chamber’s cold silence. The runes above her shimmered, slowly rotating like a celestial wheel. She felt watched, not by eyes, but by memory itself.
The voice returned, gentler this time... yet older.
"...Then step forward, daughter of frost. Let your purpose reveal itself."
Cassia exhaled shakily. She wasn’t sure if it was courage or stupidity guiding her feet, but she walked. Every step toward the pedestal made the air vibrate, the hum of ancient magic resonating through her bones.
The ice beneath her boots cracked softly, not in threat, but in recognition.
The blade was close now.
Winterfang.
She reached out, fingers hovering inches above the frozen air surrounding it. A barrier, cold enough to burn, radiated outward.
Cassia hesitated.
"What... are you?" she whispered.
The voice did not answer directly.
Instead, the chamber trembled.
Frost sprayed across the walls as the runes dimmed, then blazed alive with new light. A shape pulled itself from the ice, a silhouette forming like mist condensing into a figure.
A man stepped forward.
Or rather... the echo of one.
He wore armor of ancient design, fur-lined, heavy with frost and age. His beard was braided with silver cords. His eyes glowed the same blue as the torches, calm, cold, patient.
Cassia froze.
"Uriel Thirell...?"
The spirit regarded her with a stern, assessing gaze.
"...Your blood remembers me."
Cassia’s heart pounded. "I’m not from the Thirell line."
"Blood is not only carried," the spirit said. "It is inherited by choice...."
He raised his hand, the ice around the pedestal shifting in response.
Cassia swallowed. "What do you mean?"
"You serve my descendant," Uriel replied. "That already deems you worthy to wield the blade..."
He laughed.
"Even your father... that beast of a man, your entire line is worthy of the sword."
Uriel stroked his beard, his face surprisingly calm and friendly despite his incredibly toned and huge figure.
He was like the personification of a giant, his crimson hair and eyes unmistakably inherited by Justinian.
"Why not have the sword call to your own kin?"
"It’s simple... that child has already grown strong enough without it."
Uriel replied bluntly, and Cassia couldn’t help but laugh. She agreed with him entirely.
"I’m not one to revel in theatrics or rituals; the sword is yours."
"Then what was the draugr’s deal?"
"A mere guardian."
Cassia calmed down, her body language shifting to something more casual, as if she were talking to her lover’s father, or more accurately, his very old grandpa.
And it wasn’t an entirely inaccurate comparison; Uriel himself acted like one.
"I have to say... I’m glad my descendants also inherited my good taste in women."
Uriel clapped, amused, for such a mythical figure, a literal spirit, one that was only able to exist through sheer willpower and strength itself.
Was joking...
Cassia blinked. "You... joke?"
"I died, girl, not turned into a statue," Uriel snorted. "Death didn’t rob me of humor. If anything, it sharpened it."
She couldn’t help but exhale a laugh. Her nerves eased slightly, only slightly, but enough for her shoulders to loosen.
Uriel stepped closer, his presence vast, like a winter storm condensed into a man’s silhouette. Despite that overwhelming aura, his expression softened.
"You came here for a blade," he said, "but blades are simple. Purpose is not."
Cassia felt her throat tighten. "I... I wasn’t planning to take anything for myself. This was supposed to be just a simple investigation."
"And yet," Uriel cut her off, "The ruin opened for you. Not him. It chose the one whose heart was ready, not the one whose bloodline dictated it."
The runes above them flickered, responding to his words.
Cassia found herself looking at the sword again, Winterfang, still humming within its icy cradle. It felt wrong to think of it as hers. Wrong... and terrifying.
"I’m no hero," she whispered.
Uriel barked a laugh that echoed through the chamber.
"Neither was I."
Cassia jolted. "You founded the Thirell duchy."
"And before that? I was a hunter. A hotheaded fool who punched hundreds just because they insulted my beard." His grin widened. "Do not confuse legend with the miserable man who created it."
"And let us not forget how my duchy is currently a shadow of its former self."
Cassia stared, caught completely off guard.
Uriel stepped next to her, folding his massive arms.
"My sword isn’t special," he said, voice dipping low. "It’s merely a tool to enhance the one who is wielding it. Those who crave Winterfang are devoured by it. But you... I’m sure the sword will make you even more beautiful in my descendant’s eyes."
Cassia inhaled deeply; she wasn’t sure whether she should feel embarrassed or whether showing emotion like that to a literal legend was proper.
"So what now?" she asked quietly.
Uriel gestured to the pedestal.
"Now? You claim what answered your call."
Cassia hesitated. Her fingers hovered once more over the icy barrier around the blade.
"But... I’m not Justinian. I’m not even a Thirell."
Uriel arched a brow.
"You fight beside my descendant. You protect him. You temper him. And, most importantly," he leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper
"—You can beat sense into him when he’s being a stubborn ass. That alone makes you family."
Cassia choked on her own breath.
"W-What—?!"
Uriel laughed so hard the chamber vibrated.
"Go on, girl. Take the sword before I decide to haunt your wedding out of sheer impatience."
Cassia turned crimson. "Hold on— you can’t just—!"
Uriel waved her flustered protest away like she was a child insisting she didn’t like sweets.
"Please. You think spirits don’t see these things? The way you worry for him, if that isn’t devotion, then I died missing half my senses."
Cassia opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Nothing came out except a strangled noise that made Uriel grin wider.
"You Thirell men..." she muttered, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "All of you are insufferably eccentric."
"We call it honesty," Uriel corrected proudly. "Now quit stalling. I’d like to return to my eternal nap sometime this century."
Cassia huffed, cheeks still burning, but the humor helped steady her hands.
Helped settle her fear.
She stepped forward.
The barrier around the sword flared, a halo of frost forming around her fingertips. The air grew so cold it stung her lungs, but she didn’t pull back this time.
Uriel’s voice softened, almost fatherly.
"Do not think much about it. Remember, it’s merely a sword."
Cassia whispered, "Yeah, a sword that can decimate armies..."
Uriel didn’t hesitate to chuckle.
"Do what you will with it."