I'm an Extra, so What?

They stopped only when exhaustion threatened to overcome caution.

A small clearing presented itself near a creek that whispered gently through stone, its waters untouched by corruption.

Vines laced the trees overhead, giving the glade an otherworldly luminescence.

Though there were no signs of pursuit, the group remained on edge.

The stranger's appearance had changed everything.

Gregor volunteered for first watch, settling onto a rock with his axe across his lap, eyes sharp in the firelight. His breath came slow and steady, but his knuckles were white.

Luka sat a little apart from the group, tending to Snow's scales.

The baby dragon lay curled on his lap, fast asleep, his tiny chest rising and falling beneath his pearlescent hide.

A few singed patches marked where the transformation had overwhelmed his small frame.

He looked peaceful now, but the glow hadn't faded entirely.

"He used too much," Serene said, crouching beside Luka with a small vial of tonic in hand. "Even if it was just for a moment, channeling that much ancient mana—he's lucky he didn't burn out."

Luka said nothing at first, continuing to gently stroke Snow's spine. "He didn't hesitate. He saw the danger and acted."

"That's what worries me." Serene's voice softened. "He's just a hatchling. But he's carrying the burden of a god."

Across the fire, Arthur brooded quietly.

He hadn't spoken much since the fight.

Though his ribs were bandaged, his pride bore the deeper wounds. He'd been tossed aside.

Again. Outshined. Again.

Luka's eyes flicked to him but offered no sympathy.

"He's getting stronger," Serene said.

Luka nodded. "And the enemy knows it."

She tilted her head. "Do you think that man was telling the truth? That he doesn't want to harm Snow?"

"No," Luka said without hesitation. "He wants what's inside him. That's not protection. That's possession."

Serene fell silent.

From his watch post, Gregor called out softly, "Movement in the trees."

Everyone froze.

Arthur had an arrow notched in seconds. Serene's shield snapped to her arm. Luka rose, shifting Snow gently onto his cloak.

But nothing came from the trees.

Instead, something shimmered in the firelight—an object, floating down from the canopy above like a falling leaf. It landed in the dirt with a soft rustle.

Arthur stepped forward cautiously and picked it up.

A feather.

Long. Pure black. Iridescent at the edges, as if dipped in midnight oil.

"…A message," Arthur muttered.

Luka moved closer. "Let me see."

The feather shimmered as he touched it—then, without warning, a whisper echoed in all their minds:

"Three anchors remain.One lost to the deep.One sealed in ice.And one… waits for the flame to rise."

The feather crumbled to dust.

Silence returned like a thunderclap.

Gregor looked around. "What in the hells was that?"

"Not a threat," Luka said. "A riddle. A warning. Maybe both."

Serene murmured, "One lost to the deep… the sea, maybe. Sealed in ice? That could be far north. But the last one—'waits for the flame'—it's close. It's the next one."

Arthur scoffed quietly. "Assuming we live long enough to find it."

Luka turned toward the dark treeline, his expression unreadable. "We'll find it. And we'll protect Snow. Even if we have to burn through whatever stands in the way."

Snow stirred in his sleep, as if responding to Luka's words, his small claws tightening in the folds of the cloak.

Elsewhere – The Ruined Tower, Midnight

Rain lashed the stones of the broken keep, the wind howling through shattered windows like wailing spirits.

In the heart of the tower stood a circular chamber, overgrown with black moss and thorns. The air shimmered with arcane residue, a heavy scent of decay and forgotten oaths.

A figure stood before a cracked mirror embedded in the floor, cloaked in black.

His face was obscured beneath a shadow-crowned hood, his fingers adorned with rings forged from dragon bone and tainted crystal.

The stranger from the forest.

Before him hovered a slowly spinning obelisk fragment, its surface writhing with red veins of corrupted mana.

"They've awakened the hatchling," he whispered, voice smooth as oil. "The song sings once more. The flame lives."

He extended a hand.

The mirror rippled, revealing an image of the group—Luka, Serene, Gregor, Arthur, and Snow—seated around their fire, unaware of being watched.

"The fool child leads them. And the wyrmling remembers..."

His lips curled into a cold smile.

"But memory is not enough."

The chamber darkened. A pulse of mana exploded outward, the stones groaning under the force.

"Let the second trial begin."

And with a flick of his hand, the vision vanished—replaced by the icy echo of howling winds.

Back in the Forest – Dawn Approaches

Morning light seeped gently into the glade, casting everything in silver and green.

Snow woke first, stretching with a little yawn before crawling onto Luka's chest and nudging him awake with his snout. Luka stirred with a groan and sat up, brushing twigs from his cloak.

The melody had changed.

Still faint—but faster now.

Urgent.

"Time to go," Luka said, rising.

Arthur already stood, arms crossed, looking into the trees. "The flame waits. Let's not keep it waiting."

The group packed quickly. The air felt different now—brisk, biting. And in the distance, the forest thinned into mountains that gleamed with frost.

The second anchor was waiting.

And so was something else.

Something colder than death.

.

.

.

Two Days Later – Northern Slopes of Ildrenn's Spine

The forest thinned as the land rose.

Snow crunched beneath their boots — no longer moss, but frost.

The temperature had dropped steadily since they crossed the river two days ago.

By now, the air was thin and sharp, biting at exposed skin, and their breaths clouded in front of them with every exhale.

Snow rode bundled in Luka's cloak, only his eyes and snout visible beneath the cloth. He didn't shiver. In fact, the cold didn't seem to bother him at all.

"I don't like this," Gregor muttered, tugging his fur-lined collar tighter. "It's too quiet."

"It's too empty," Arthur corrected. "No birds. No tracks. No wind, even. Just... still."

Luka didn't answer. His eyes were focused on the towering peaks ahead—white stone cliffs etched with veins of frozen mana. Beyond them, if the song was to be believed, lay the second anchor.

A gust of frigid air howled down from above.

And then, from somewhere high on the cliffs—a sound.

Not the melody.

Not corrupted beasts.

A howl.

Long. Echoing. Wrong.

Serene stopped mid-step, one hand on her mace. "That wasn't a wolf."

Snow's head emerged from the cloak, ears twitching sharply. His pupils narrowed.

The song had grown faint since morning. But now it throbbed again, steady and strong—as if the land were guiding them through danger. Urging them onward.

The mountain greeted them not with paths, but with jagged stone ridges and ledges choked in snow. Luka led, Serene behind him, Gregor and Arthur watching the rear.

Hours passed.

By midday, the sky grew darker.

Not from weather—but something unnatural.

A grey dome of swirling clouds covered the peak they climbed toward. Lightning flickered deep within it—but there was no thunder.

"This is it," Luka said, stopping at the top of a ridge.

Before them stretched a wide basin cradled between four jagged peaks—its center dominated by a frozen lake.

And at the lake's center—

An obelisk.

Encased in a spire of translucent blue ice.

Black veins spiraled across its surface like claws trapped mid-scratch, pulsing faintly with red light.

"That's not sealed in ice," Arthur muttered. "That is ice."

Serene stepped closer, gaze tight. "It's not just frozen... It's imprisoned."

Gregor grunted. "So what's keeping it that way?"

As if in answer, a wave of pressure slammed into them.

Not physical. Not magical. Something deeper—emotional.

Fear.

Luka flinched as Snow suddenly leapt from his cloak and took flight, wings beating hard as he darted forward toward the lake.

"Snow!" Luka shouted.

But the baby dragon didn't stop.

He hovered over the edge of the ice—staring down at the obelisk. Trembling.

The others moved quickly to follow—but halfway across the snowy slope, the lake cracked.

A single fracture tore across the surface with a sharp, ringing snap.

Then another.

And then the ice exploded.

A massive figure burst forth—ten feet tall, wreathed in mist and frost. Humanoid in shape but skeletal, with glowing ice in place of eyes and jagged claws of frozen obsidian.

Its chest was hollow, and within its ribs, a fragment of black stone pulsed — another piece of the obelisk, lodged in its heart like a buried dagger.

A Warden.

One of the original anchor guardians—twisted by time, left to rot beneath the seal of ice.

It screamed.

Snow let out a burst of light and darted backward.

Luka stepped forward. "Positions! Don't let it get near Snow or the anchor!"

Arthur had his bow out in a heartbeat, sending three mana-tipped arrows at once—only to see them freeze midair and shatter. "It's deflecting mana!"

Gregor didn't hesitate—charging with a shout, swinging his axe wide.

The blow struck true, cleaving across the warden's midsection—but frost immediately climbed his weapon's handle, forcing him to drop it with a curse.

"Use heat!" Serene cried. "Holy or flame!"

She thrust her shield forward, and a burst of radiant light struck the warden in the chest. It staggered, steam rising from the impact, and roared in pain.

Luka vanished into shadow and reappeared behind the creature, blades wreathed in shimmering sparks of leyline flame.

He drove both into the back of its legs, severing tendons made of frozen sinew.

The Warden collapsed with a crash—but its hand swept out in a vicious arc, slamming Luka across the ice and into a boulder.

"Luka!" Serene shouted, charging.

The Warden rose again.

Cracks spread from its body.

No—from the ice beneath it.

The seal was breaking.

Snow soared high above and let out a sharp, trilling cry.

The song answered.

From the cliffs came a rush of wind—pure, warm, and radiant. A current of forgotten power surged down the mountainside, swirling around the lake, pushing back the oppressive cold.

Snow's body glowed again.

Not like before.

This time it was controlled. Channeled.

The baby dragon hovered above the lake, his wings extended wide. A halo of runes spun around him, the same runes carved into the temple's ceiling days ago.

Then—

He opened his jaws.

A stream of silver-gold flame erupted forth, slamming into the Warden's chest.

The obelisk fragment inside the creature cracked.

Then shattered.

The warden let out a long, final moan—and collapsed into snow and dust.

Silence returned.

The ice around the obelisk slowly receded, melting under the influence of Snow's fire.

Luka groaned as Serene helped him up. His ribs ached, his head rang—but his eyes were fixed on the now-exposed obelisk, dark but no longer pulsing red.

"It's done," he said, voice hoarse.

Arthur lowered his bow. "That was just one. There's still one left."

Gregor kicked aside a hunk of melting ice. "And then... he comes."

Snow landed beside Luka, his glow fading, his body shrinking again—but this time, he didn't collapse. He chirped softly.

Stronger. Clearer.

Growing.

And behind the clouds overhead—

A shadow watched.

Waiting.