Eyes of the Heart

Lixil, the Deathless Gem, lived up to her name. Battered and broken, she clawed her way up to the surface—injured, not dead—as Frostheart continued to self-destruct. But her injuries were severe. Wicked slivers of sapphire riddled her body, and the diamond gems that powered her human shell were half gone. Her left eye was a gaping ruin, and the right eye’s light was weak and flickering, a far cry from its usual witch-fire glow.

Her two lieutenants, Mordrom and Draxard, rushed out to meet her as she collapsed at the entrance to the old Arena catacombs. Mordrom’s abnormally long fingers fretted, tugging at the air, his face, and the vast array of cutting and gem-setting tools that hung from his belt as he reviewed her wounds. His hands hovered, fluttering like pale moths over her ruined eye, and his mouth turned down in a tight frown.

Sir Draxard took her in his mountainous arms and carried her clear of the entrance before laying her gently in the snow. His stern, impassive face never changed, but the masks that whirled around his head showed dismay and worry as he glanced down at Lixil’s crumpled form.

“What happened?” He rumbled, as his eyes scanned the horizon for signs of pursuit.

“Too late,” Lixil hissed. “The wizard…” She paused. Her remaining diamond glittered. “Frostheart is destroyed.”

The three were silent for a moment. The setting sun spread across the snow like a stain as Mordrom cracked his knuckles slowly, one by one.

“We will end him.” He fingered a particularly sharp tool at his belt. “We will need more shells anyway if Frostheart is no longer an option.”

Lixil shook her head. “The wizard is lost. But we—” Her gaze grew unfocused. “We perhaps, are not.” She grasped the sapphire spike spearing her leg. There was no blood, but the skin around the wound had turned a pale blue. “There is a new Chant,” she said softly. “Remake me.”

“Deathless—” Mordrom began, but she pressed one shaking finger against his lips.

“Quickly.”

With a look, Mordrom and Draxard moved in unison. Draxard gently held her down, his skull armor creaking, while Mordrom unfurled cloth and lay out his tools with surgical precision. Then, bracing himself, Mordrom took the sharp sapphire in hand and pulled.

It slid free with a sickening thunk, azure and violet lights drifting like clouds beneath its surface. Mordrom’s fingers blistered and blackened where they touched the gem, but he did not flinch. Instead, he moved the gem quickly to his workspace and began to carve. Facet after facet appeared under his skilled hands as he worked through the night. Flashes of light met each blow, and multi-toned chimes, like the ringing of bells, echoed off the Hyperborean Mountains and among the stars as Mordrom knapped, ground, and polished the sliver into two, brilliantly cut gemstones.

As dawn slowly began to rear its head, Mordrom gingerly grasped one of the newly-formed gems with his calipers. Frozen mist poured off its surface as he moved the shimmering sapphire from his workspace to Lixil’s ruined socket. As he placed it slowly into her, a blast of cold wind ruffled his sleeves. She gasped, and the diamond in Lixil’s right eye cracked like a faulty lens. The light within it sputtered out.

Quickly, Mordrom placed the second gem in its place. There was a deep, azure pulse from both sapphires as the second gem slid into her flesh, and with the sound of breaking ice, her eyes opened.

All around the temperature dropped violently. Frost bloomed on Lixil’s fingertips, and the color bled from her very being. Even her clothes turned bone-white. All around the mountainside, the local birds fell instantly silent. A predator had appeared.

“Come, children.” Lixil sat up suddenly and gripped both of them by the shoulders. “Now we are more.” She stood. “Now we are free.” She smiled. At last, the only voice within her head was her own. “The means to escape Volosolov is finally within our grasp—we cannot delay. Gather all the Frostheart remnants you can.” The rising sun sparkled off her pale blue skin like frost on a pane of elven glass. “All who wish shall be reborn. A new Chant has begun.”

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