The eternal glacier—once a cold, silent monolith—was now a fractured monument of devastation.

  Burning craters smoldered across its surface like scars. Crimson steam hissed from the shattered ice, where tongues of fire had clashed with the ancient cold. Cracks ran like veins through the translucent frost, glowing faintly with the remnants of unnatural energy.

  Broken weapons lay abandoned, some still crackling with unstable energy.

  The Riftwalkers—most unconscious, some possibly worse, their breaths shallow and fading—were strewn across the ice like collapsed constellations, their dimming presence a reflection of a fight that had never favored them.

  And in the heart of it all stood David.

  Motionless. Alone. Eyes locked on nothing.

  The wind howled through the crags like a scream trying to escape the throat of the world. It tugged at his cover, biting into his skin with frozen teeth, but he didn’t flinch.

  His eyes, dim and half-lidded, stared into the distance—where both the Azurefrost and the Zenith Shard had once been.

  Gone. Just like that.

  His mind was a howl of silence—louder than any scream. And within it, one truth echoed with merciless clarity:

  He had failed.

  He had told himself he would become stronger after the Shapeshifter. Promised. Sworn. He had committed himself to change. To stand tall the next time.

  But when it mattered most, he’d faltered again. Not against an unstoppable monster—no, against the weight of his own limitations. The worst part? That same promise now felt fragile.

  It wasn’t despair that dug into his chest. It was anger.

  Not at Zephiron. Not at Azrikal. It was all directed at himself.

  But it wasn't the kind that explodes, but the kind that coils in silence—tight, cold, and ruthless.

  His fists clenched, skin stretching taut over his knuckles as the tremble of restrained fury surged through him. The cold couldn’t reach him anymore—not when something hotter was burning under his skin.

  System notification—

  ? ? ? EMOTIONAL DEVIATION DETECTED ? ? ?

  A cascade of system messages chimed in.

  ? ? ? REMEMBER: YOU’RE JUST A PRISONER, NOT A HERO ? ? ?

  ? ? ? POWER COMES. PATIENCE IS THE KEY ? ? ?

  ? ? ? YOU’VE SURVIVED LIKE INSTRUCTED. THAT IS ENOUGH FOR NOW ? ? ?

  The words scrolled across his vision like insults. He grit his teeth.

  Survive? He was done surviving.

  He’d survived the Shapeshifter. Survived the prison. Survived this—whatever this was. But that wasn’t victory. That wasn’t growth. That was being overlooked.

  He knew it from the beginning. The whole fight—every second—had been a calculated bluff. A gamble.

  He remembered the moment Zephiron had turned his back, eyes full of something close to pity. Not even hatred. Not even caution. Just disregard.

  And David couldn’t stomach that.

  He hadn’t survived because he was strong. He had survived because they let him. He had been a non-threat. A background piece.

  That cut deeper than any blade.

  His chest rose again. His heart pounded louder than ever now—not with fear, but with something different. Sharper.

  Resolve.

  He wasn’t going to stay the same.

  He looked out over the glacier’s warped terrain. The light from the fires flickered across his face, casting half of him in shadow.

  “I won’t stay weak.”

  He hadn’t let them go. They had walked past him like he didn’t matter.

  But this wasn’t over. He would find them. He would find the shards. And when he did—

  He wouldn’t be overlooked. He would become the kind of threat they regretted not finishing.

  In his current condition, David wasn’t dying. Not yet.

  But he wasn’t standing either—not in the way that counted. He moved like a man hollowed out, running on instinct alone. Blood soaked the edges of his coat. Mana? Nearly gone. And yet… he kept walking.

  Because someone had to.

  He was in no condition to help everyone. Not really. But he had to try.

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  Somewhere in the wreckage, a thought clawed at him.

  Maybe this is what redemption looks like. Maybe, if he saved enough lives, his sins would stop echoing behind every breath. Not grand gestures. Not forgiveness. Just doing the right thing while there’s still time.

  Time bled from the world like heat from a corpse. He staggered across the battlefield—ashen snow melting into strange, oily puddles, Riftwalkers unmoving, broken.

  He headed for the nearest one. Captain Halsten.

  Face-down. Half-buried in fractured frost. Blood trailing down from where his helmet had shattered.

  David dropped beside him and turned the man’s body. His heart nearly stilled—Halsten’s face was barely visible beneath blood and frost. Eyes were half-lidded, barely twitching. Breathing, yes, but shallow. Slipping.

  Without a second thought, David clasped his hands—light flared at his fingertips, wild and desperate. He had done this before, for Rebecca.

  It had to work again.

  His hands ignited with radiant energy, the Healing Burst pulsing like a heartbeat as he slammed them into Halsten’s chest. The captain’s body jerked slightly, a crackle of frost breaking from his armor.

  No time to be gentle.

  Again. Another burst. And again. Each one drained more of David’s strength. Then—

  A cough. Wet and sharp. Blood splattered across the ice.

  David froze. Halsten clung to consciousness now—just barely.

  "...Forget me," he whispered, blood at the corner of his mouth. "Help them... they need you more. I’ll survive... somehow."

  David didn’t argue. He nodded and rose unsteadily, legs trembling beneath him.

  He turned and stumbled through the wreckage, his breath ragged, his muscles on the verge of collapse. There—Cain. Crumpled beside a jagged spike of ice, unmoving.

  David dropped to his knees and ignited another Healing Burst. Again. And again.

  Mana poured from him like sand through a shattered hourglass. The third burst almost knocked him flat. By the fourth, his vision blurred. A sharp, metallic taste rose in his mouth.

  No. Keep going. One more.

  Cain’s eyes snapped open with a grunt. He flinched from the light. He stirred. Blinked. Tried to speak.

  "Am I... glowing... or is that just brain damage?" he muttered, breath shallow, a faint smirk tugging at cracked lips. His eyes drifted past David, unfocused but searching.

  "If I were you..." he rasped, his voice thin and frayed like wind through torn cloth, "I'd check on the quiet ones... they bleed... without making a fuss..."

  Even in his weakened state, the weight in his voice unmistakably pointed towards—Ezra and others.

  But David was finished. His hands fell limp to his sides. His mana pool was bone-dry. No level-ups to refill it. No second wind.

  Another failure, he thought. I tried… but it’s never enough.

  He collapsed onto one knee, breath ragged. This was it.

  Then—

  A shadow loomed.

  The captain, barely standing, limped toward him. Dragging a bloodied leg, eyes squinting through pain, he bent and pulled something from a nearby satchel.

  Without a word, he tossed it at David’s feet.

  Crystals. Dark, jagged, shimmering with unstable energy.

  “Didn’t know you were a healer,” Halsten said, voice hoarse but now steady. “But even healers run out of energy. Take ’em—Rift Reserve Crystals. We packed a few, just in case. Even without a healer on the team.”

  David stared at them. Rift Reserve Crystals.

  His stomach twisted. The crystals glowed faintly in the snow, familiar in the worst possible way.

  A memory struck—of dark halls, cold restraints, experiments whispered behind soundproof walls. Screams echoing in his skull. The source of these crystals—the truth behind them. The price of these crystals wasn’t gold. It was human life.

  His hand hovered. Trembled.

  But this wasn’t the time. The Riftwalkers… they weren’t the enemy. They didn’t know. They couldn’t.

  And lives were still hanging in the balance.

  He took the crystals.

  Eyes burning, hands shaking, he inhaled deep—then cracked one open.

  Mana returned with a violent jolt. His veins lit up with energy so sharp it nearly dropped him. But he stood.

  STATUS

  HP : ????? 11?

  DEFENSE : ????? ??

  MANA : ????? 1??

  Not for vengeance. Not for penance. But for the atonement of his sins.

  His mind was clear now—not from the Rift Reserve Crystal pulsing in his body, but from the weight pressing hard against his chest—the weight of the lives around him.

  Responsibility. That’s what fueled him now.

  David moved with purpose. Ezra lay still in the snow, bruised, lips pale, blood drying on his temple. David didn’t hesitate.

  Light burst from his palms, soft and pulsing. Unlike Halsten or Cain, this time his mana answered without struggle. It flowed freely.

  Ezra stirred. Groaned. Lids fluttered open to meet David’s. No words. Just gratitude in exhausted eyes.

  David was already gone.

  One after another, he found them. The fallen. The still-breathing. His light weaved through torn flesh and splintered bone, mending what it could.

  But even resolve couldn’t conjure infinite mana.

  His hands trembled again. The light flickered. The familiar burn of emptiness crept into his veins.

  David reached into the satchel. Amid the assortment of crystals, only a single Light crystal remained. The other crystals—Fire, Water, Earth—glimmered faintly, alien and unresponsive to his element. Useless, no matter how much he wished otherwise.

  He crushed the last Light crystal, silently hoping it would be enough. Warmth surged through him, energy tingling beneath his skin.

  He pushed forward. The remaining members were fewer—and their injuries, thankfully, less critical. Cuts, bruises, fractures—nothing like the devastation he’d first encountered.

  He worked methodically, chest heaving, light flashing, sweat dripping. Until the last of them breathed steady and lay still.

  He finally allowed himself to breathe. Only then did he realize—all eyes were on him.

  Cain. Ezra. The captain. The others—wounded, recovering, silent.

  Their gazes weren’t of suspicion or fear. Just... quiet awe. Maybe even disbelief.

  David shifted on his feet awkwardly, suddenly aware of the silence he'd carved in the chaos.

  Then Halsten stepped forward. Barely able to stand, the captain limped toward him, dragging his leg—his coat blood-soaked and stiff.

  He squinted through pain.

  "So..." he began, voice rough, “how the hell did you survive the fall?”

  David hesitated. He hadn’t prepared for this.

  He glanced down, swallowed once, then spoke the half-truth.

  “The snow,” he said quietly. “I landed on it—cushioned the impact. No broken bones. Just luck, I guess.”

  Halsten raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Luck? That’s one deadly fall to walk away from.”

  David didn’t answer.

  The silence lingered before Halsten pressed again, his tone sharpening.

  “And those brutes from before? What happened to them? You didn’t fight them, did you?”

  David blinked, the tension still clinging to his shoulders. Everyone was looking at him, waiting.

  His gaze darkened. For a moment, he didn’t speak. A shadow passed over his face. Then he spoke—quiet, but not unsure.

  “…They didn’t see me as a threat,” he said at last. “Didn’t even look twice. Just walked past.”

  A beat passed.

  “I wasn’t worth their time.”

  Halsten frowned. Something about that didn’t seem right—but the way David said it… There was no bravado, no pride. Only quiet, bitter truth.

  It seemed believable. After all, If his entire team had failed, what hope did David have alone?

  Halsten studied him, unreadable.

  Part of him wanted to challenge the answer. It didn’t sit right—not with the way the battlefield looked now, not with the raw silence left behind.

  But David wasn’t lying. That much was clear.

  So the captain simply nodded and let it go.

  “…Well,” he said, settling back against a rock with a groan, “whatever the reason, you’re here. You pulled us out. That’s what matters.”

  David gave a small nod.

  Halsten let out a slow breath, then added, softer this time, “Not bad for someone they didn’t notice.”