Chapter 107 Towards the Sanctum
Damien
First light comes cold and thin, bleeding slowly over the mountain like it’s reluctant to touch what waits ahead of us. The fire has burned down to embers by the time I rise, the camp already stirring in quiet readiness, soldiers moving with that familiar, disciplined silence that comes before something important. No one jokes. No one drags their feet. Everyone knows what today is. I check the perimeter myself, even though it’s already been checked twice. Old habits die hard, especially when you’re about to walk into the heart of something that has shaped fear for centuries. Frost crunches softly beneath my boots, clinging stubbornly to stone and grass alike, the air sharp enough to sting when I breathe too deeply. Above us, the mountain looms, its peak swallowed by cloud, its face scarred where stone has been carved away to make room for something that does not belong to nature. The Glacial Sanctum waits. By the time the sun clears the ridge, the camp is ready. Packs secured. Weapons checked. Plans have been run through probably one too many times. There are no wasted movements and no hesitation. I find Bella near the edge of the clearing, standing very still, eyes fixed on the mountain ahead. She’s already dressed, already prepared, posture calm but alert, like she’s bracing herself without realising it. I step in close, close enough that she feels me before she hears me.
“You ready?” I ask quietly.
She exhales once, slow, and steady, then nods. “As I’ll ever be.”
That’s all I need. I squeeze her hand once, grounding us both, then turn back to the rest of the camp.
Ashlyn sits on a fallen log with Paul’s dragon coiled nearby, his massive body angled deliberately to block the wind from her back, wings tucked but alert. He hasn’t shifted all night. He won’t, and I get it. Ashlyn looks up as I approach, irritation already sharpening her expression.
“Let me guess,” she says. “I’m benched.”
“For now,” I reply evenly. “You and Paul stay here. Out of sight. Out of trouble.”
She opens her mouth to argue, then closes it again, jaw tightening. “I hate this,” she mutters. “I hate not helping. I came all this way just to get kicked off the team for collecting a dragon's heart accidentally.”
“I know,” I say. “But you've got some shit to sort out. We can't have Paul's dragon giving us all away and burning any man that gets close to you.”
Paul’s dragon lifts his head slightly at that, eyes tracking me, assessing. I meet his gaze without flinching.
“You protect her,” I tell him. “That’s your task. Nothing else.”
He rumbles once, deep and approving, tail curling closer around Ashlyn.
Bella steps forward then, lifting Gilfred gently from her shoulder and placing him into Ashlyn’s arms. The little gecko immediately latches on, claws gripping fabric as he peers up at Ashlyn with bright, judgmental eyes.
“Babysit,” Bella says softly. “Both of you.”
Ashlyn snorts. “Wow. A dragon and a lizard. Living the dream.”
Gilfred clicks at her, unimpressed.
“You’ll be fine,” Bella adds, her smile small but sincere.
Ashlyn adjusts Gilfred to her shoulder with a sigh. “If I die of boredom, I’m haunting all of you.”
I give her a look. “Stay alive.”
“Always,” she replies dryly.
With that settled, I give the order to move.
We don’t walk together. That was the plan we settled on. Not one I approved of, but one I could logically understand, was best. Bella goes ahead alone, straight up the main approach, her pace unhurried, posture open, power settled rather than flaring. To the Sanctum, she will look like one of their own. Another elemental drawn here by cold and inevitability. The guards won’t see a threat when they look at her. They’ll see someone who belongs. They will open the gate for her. Once inside, she will talk to the people quietly. She will tell them her story. She will let them know they are not cursed and do not need to be isolated from the world out here. She will convince the people that love will balance their powers and that the first frostborn has been deceiving them all.
The western path narrows quickly, forcing us into a single file. Stone presses in close on either side, rough beneath gloved hands where we steady ourselves on the climb. Frost slicks the rock in thin, deceptive layers. It looks harmless until you put your weight on it and learn otherwise. The mountain doesn’t roar its displeasure here. It watches quietly, patient and cold. My soldiers move with me without a word. Every step is deliberate. Weapons stay sheathed but ready. Hands signal instead of voices. We’ve done this together before — not this place, not this enemy, but this kind of approach. This is where speed matters less than control. I feel the Sanctum before I see more of it. There's pressure behind the eyes and a steady drain of warmth from the air. I can feel the power has been held in this place for too long, never allowed to balance itself.
The dragon beneath my skin stirs, uneasy but contained.
She’s inside now, he rumbles.
I'm grateful for our bond, grateful that in this moment I can not be with her, at least my dragon can. I can’t see Bella, I can’t hear her, and that absence sits heavily in my chest. But my dragon is with her mind, and he will tell me if we need to rush The Sanctum.
She can handle this, I answer.
He agrees without hesitation, and we climb higher. The stone here bears old marks — grooves where ropes once dragged, handholds worn smooth by generations of use. This entrance wasn’t meant for ceremony. It was built for work. For supply runs. For things that didn’t matter enough to be seen. A narrow ledge opens ahead, tucked into the mountain's curve. From here, I can see the western access clearly — a recessed opening framed by iron braces driven straight into the rock. No gate. No guards posted in sight. Just frost-scarred stone and a darkness that breathes cold. I raise a fist. The line halts instantly. Two soldiers move forward at my signal, checking wards, fingers hovering just above the etched runes without touching them, whispering that they are of old magic, neglected, but still dangerous if mishandled. We bypass it carefully, slipping through the mountain’s blind spot exactly as planned. I spare one glance back the way we came, toward the main approach hidden by stone and distance. Toward Bella. Trust is not the absence of fear. It’s the decision to move anyway. I turn forward again, lowering my hand, and we disappear into the mountain.