Not far away, leaning casually against the crystalline wall of the chamber, stood Winter. The Progenitor looked so completely at home in this frozen environment that Zeke found himself wondering why the man had ever bothered with civilization at all. Compared to the meeting hall where they had first spoken, this setting seemed to suit him far better, as if it was an extension of himself.
"Greetings, Progenitor," Zeke said, making sure not to keep him waiting. Although Winter had always shown him a degree of goodwill, his presence alone was enough to make even the steadiest resolve waver.
Winter inclined his head slightly, his unreadable gaze fixed on Zeke. "Your return is sooner than expected. Has something happened in the human lands?"
Zeke gave a short nod. "There have been... complications."
Winter snorted. "There always are, with your kind. All the scheming and plotting instead of an honest fight. No good ever comes from it."
Zeke chose not to respond.
Combat, while effective, was far from the ultimate solution to every problem. At least, not for him. He still had a long way to go in that regard. Besides, arguing philosophy with the Progenitor was not why he had come.
"So?" Winter prompted. "What do you need?"
Zeke shook his head, a faint smile playing at his lips. Winter's readiness to assist him, even before hearing the details, was unexpected but certainly appreciated.
"I did not come to make my problems your burden."
Winter studied him for a long moment. "Then what brings you here?"
Zeke pulled his robes tighter, the chill in the cavern steadily gnawing at his endurance. "Is there any chance we could speak somewhere else?"
Winter shook his head firmly, leaving no room for debate. "I cannot abandon my watch."
Zeke's brow rose, his eyes drifting toward the depths of the cavern where a dense, icy mist hung in the air. Behind the layers of frost, he could just make out the silhouette of someone seated cross-legged, encased in what seemed like sheets of living ice.
"Is that... Snow?"
Winter nodded, a flicker of warmth breaking through his frosty expression. "You had best watch your back, little Dragon."
Zeke did not take those words lightly. Winter was not the sort to speak idly. If he claimed that Snow was catching up, then it was no empty warning. It meant the little girl was truly closing the gap between them.
That thought... it unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
His gaze drifted around the cavern, and now, with greater focus, he noticed something he had overlooked at first. The chill in the air was not solely Winter's doing. No, the freezing aura, so alike to Winter's own, emanated from deeper within the cave, from the place where Snow sat encased in mist and ice.
Intriguing.
"Is this what the snakes were after?" Zeke asked, referring to the true cause of the recent war.
Winter's expression turned grim. "Quite observant of you," he replied. "Go on, use your third eye to take a closer look."
"Third eye?"
"Whatever power it is you possess to see what should remain hidden."
Zeke gave a slight nod. He was not surprised that Winter had noticed his ability. He had never made a particular effort to conceal his Sphere of Awareness, and anyone paying close attention could likely tell he possessed some form of supernatural sight.
However, as he tried to extend his perception to encompass the cavern, he encountered something that had never happened before. It was not that his vision was blocked, as would happen with a magic-repelling item or a sealed area. No, this was something entirely different. It felt as though the center of the cavern did not merely resist his probe but outright rejected it, overriding his senses completely.
His best guess was that the Mana in that place was so pure, so absolute in its nature, that no other type could coexist with it. It was a domain of pure, unyielding ice, and not even his Spatial affinity could slip through the cracks.
"Fascinating," Zeke murmured to himself.
Winter gave a firm nod. "This is the true nature of Winter's Heart. The treasure that made me who I am today, and the same one that will raise my girl to those very heights."
Zeke froze as the weight of those words sank in. His mind raced to grasp the full implications of what he had just learned. "It is an honor to be allowed here, Progenitor."
Winter shook his head, his gaze steady. "If you had wanted this treasure, you could have claimed it when I lay on my deathbed. I do not fear your greed."
"Just my knowledge of this place already puts you in danger."
Winter's lips curled into a feral grin, sharp and wild. "Knowledge is knowledge, and power is power. If they dare to covet what is mine, let them come."
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Zeke nodded slowly.
Who was he to worry about a being like Winter? The man had not survived for centuries by being a fool, and his confidence was well-earned. Few could match it, and those who could were not likely to take the risk.
"…That brings me to the reason I've come," he said after a short pause. "There is, in fact, something you possess that I do covet."
"You change your tune quickly, little dragon," Winter remarked.
Zeke shook his head. "I am not here to steal or beg. I seek to establish a trade."
Winter's brows drew together, faintly furrowed. "Speak plainly. What do you want?"
Zeke pointed downward, toward the heart of the mountain. "I desire the metal deposits within your mountain."
Winter's expression stayed unreadable. "My people have already mined as much as they could reach. Surely, you do not expect me to go digging myself?"
A smirk tugged at Zeke's lips at the image of Winter with a pickaxe in hand, but he quickly pushed the thought aside. Now was not the time for jokes.
"I will retrieve it myself."
"…Then you will need help refining the ore?"
"I have that covered."
"…Then you want my people to ensure its safe transport?"
"I will handle that as well."
Winter gave him an exasperated look. "Enough of this. Speak clearly. What is it you need from me?"
Zeke rifled through his pockets and produced a contract he had prepared in advance. "I need you to sign this."
Winter did not reach for it. "What does it say?"
"It establishes that you and I have come to an agreement regarding the amount and manner in which this trade will take place. Including my compensation—"
Winter waved him off. "Just take it, if you can. It is of no use to us."
Zeke shook his head, holding up the contract. "You don't understand. I'm not after the metal. I'm after this."
Winter gave him a look as though he had lost his mind. "You are after that piece of paper, the one you brought yourself."
Zeke nodded, a broad grin spreading across his face. "With your signature on it, if you please."
Winter's frown deepened. "Human foolishness knows no bounds," he muttered, finally extending his hand toward the contract. "Give it here."
Zeke did so without hesitation. As he briefly wondered how Winter intended to sign it, the Progenitor casually dragged his fingertip across one of his sharp canines, splitting the skin. A single drop of blood welled up and fell onto the parchment.
The moment the blood touched the paper, frost began to spread rapidly across it. But Winter pressed his finger down firmly, halting the advance of the ice.
"There. It is done."
Zeke took the contract back, his expression grave. It wasn't just the unusual method of signing that weighed on him, but the sheer presence radiating from the document itself. Holding it felt like cradling a royal decree, its authority pressing against his senses.
He had originally planned to send the contract straight to his vault in Tradespire through spatial transfer, but now he reconsidered. If anyone happened to inspect it, they might freeze on the spot, overwhelmed by the lingering aura.
That was the power of a Progenitor. Even a single drop of his blood could kill an ordinary human just by being near it.
"You don't intend to read it?" Zeke asked, trying to ease the tension.
Winter gave him an amused look. "What for? Even if you tricked me, do you have the strength to take what I am unwilling to give?" His expression hardened, his gaze sharp as ice. "Let me give you some advice, little Dragon. Do not place your faith in the ways of humans. Words on paper cannot protect you…" He tapped the side of his head. "This can." Then, he lowered his hand to press against his chest. "…And this." Finally, he raised his arm and flexed his bicep. "…And that."
A moment of silence descended as Winter relaxed back into his seat.
"That is all," he declared with certainty. "The rest will fail you when you need it most. Remember that."
Zeke nodded sincerely. The longer he navigated the circle of the powerful, the more he realized this hidden truth. Rules, laws, and agreements were nothing but playthings to be broken when the circumstances made it inconvenient to honor them.
"I do not partake in these customs because I believe they will shield me from my enemies or force them to their knees," Zeke said at last.
Winter's expression did not shift, but Zeke could tell the Progenitor was listening with sharp attention.
"I follow them to conceal my true motives."
Winter's gaze narrowed slightly, a glimmer of interest flickering in his icy eyes.
"Explain."
Zeke adjusted the contract in his hands, feeling the cold from Winter's blood still seeping through the parchment. He did not rush. He let the weight of the moment settle, knowing Winter valued clarity over haste.
"Paper and ink mean little," he began. "But they are not meant for me. They are traps laid in plain sight. In the courts of men, where blades are sheathed and battles are waged with words, a signature can reveal more than the sharpest sword."
He held up the contract between two fingers, letting Winter see the frost still clinging to its edges. "The strong have no need for these games. You do not. But the ones who thrive in shadows, the cowards who cling to titles and laws, they live and die by these scraps of parchment. When they sign, or refuse to, they show their hand."
Winter's face remained unreadable, but Zeke felt a current of approval beneath the stillness, like the undercurrents beneath a frozen lake.
"I follow these customs not to bind myself," Zeke continued, his voice steady, "but to better see the chains wrapped around others, and who holds them. Every agreement, every false promise, every contract signed in blood or fear tells a story. It leaves a trail."
A small, knowing smile curved his lips as he tapped the side of his head, echoing Winter's earlier gesture. "And when the time comes, I will know where to strike, against whom, and how."
From deep within Winter's chest came a sound like the grinding of glaciers. It could have been laughter or the echo of ancient power stirring.
"Hah… so you do play their game," Winter said at last, his eyes gleaming like frozen steel. "But only to better tear it apart."
Zeke inclined his head in quiet acknowledgment.
For a long moment, silence stretched between them, heavy as a mountain. Then, Winter's lips curved into a thin, fierce grin.
"Good," he said. "Good. So long as you remember that, little Dragon, you will not lose your fangs."
With a simple flick of his hand, he gestured toward the exit, as if dismissing a storm he had grown tired of watching.
"Go then. Hunt your prey. We will speak again."
Zeke turned, carefully folding the signed contract. He could still feel Winter's gaze lingering on his back as he left the chamber.
A self-deprecating smile tugged at his lips as he stepped outside. So much for avoiding philosophical debates. Somehow, the Progenitor always managed to draw that side out of him, no matter his intentions.
With that thought, Zeke vanished from the mountain, leaving the Wilderness behind only hours after his arrival.
It had been a short visit, but a fruitful one. He had achieved everything he came for. Now, all that remained was the return trip to Tradespire.
His journey through space ended in the blink of an eye, and a heartbeat later, he stood once more in his personal domain within the cube.
Time to go home.
But as he stepped through the portal and back onto the Alexandria, he immediately sensed that something was wrong.
His eyes narrowed as he slowly turned his head toward the armchair in the corner of the room. There, seated with unsettling ease, was an unfamiliar man, calmly observing him.