Chapter 4: Cool and Collected
A flurry of sleet breezed through the Frosticon District, expanding the ever-present layers of snow atop the rooftops and lampposts in between glazed-over streets. In contrast to the rest of Mixopolis, this district remained perpetually frigid, a perfect replication of the faraway Frozen Volcanoes that were its basis. How it did so was an utter conundrum, but not one most Mixels bothered to question, even if it was so unbearably cold few outside the Frosticons themselves often visited it. Nevertheless, it was just as lively as all the others, with many Mixels bustling throughout the streets, going through the rhythms of their daily routines.
On either side of the packed, icy roads, numerous shops and local businesses lined the streets, thriving with constant activity. Like any other day, the midday rush brought in a throng of customers, filling the streets with life and granting the district's shopkeepers steady flows of profit. A tribe borne from a domain of eternal winter, the Frosticons had learned to utilize their natural abilities to the fullest, bending their frozen home to their will and repurposing the ice that composed it, from building sculptures to powering gigantic cooling units and everything in between.
On one side of the vibrant yet relatively serene Hoarfrost Square, within a more traditionally built shop, a feline Frosticon stood at a grindstone, carefully sharpening her latest creation. Since the crack of dawn she had been on her feet, whether she was ensuring her store was utterly pristine with not a single blemish to be seen, organizing her vast array of meticulously polished implements, or molding stubborn, rigid blocks of ice into lethally sharp weaponry.
There was almost never a waking moment in which Isikel wasn't striving to hone her craft, but it was for good reason: not only did she possess a deep affinity for forging intricate devices from nothing but the raw elements, she bore the burden of upholding her father's legacy as a master weaponsmith. Mixopolis was the ultimate opportunity for her – days after the districts were fully set up, she moved shop and had been flourishing ever since.
As she finished refining her newest weapon, a large scimitar with a serrated edge as sharp as Spikel thorns, she heard the doorbell's familiar ring, the unmistakable sign of yet another eager customer. Looking up, she was somewhat pleased to see a familiar face: a portly Fang Gangster with molar-like spikes on his hands and feet, giving them the appearance of miniature maws.
Crunchon, as he was called, was the foreman of the local logging site in the Fang Gang District and one of Isikel's most prominent customers. The two had initially met when Crunchon had spotted a batch of her tools during an outing to the Frosticon District, and, enamored by their craftsmanship, had promptly purchased the entire arsenal. Since then, they had formed a sturdy, prosperous friendship built upon their mutual benefits: Isikel provided Crunchon with a steady supply of tools, which greatly accelerated productivity at the logging site, while the latter gave the former a source of much-appreciated company and news from around Mixopolis.
"Howdy, Isikel," the Fang Gangster said, his expression jovial. "Still hard at work as always, I see."
"Of course," Isikel replied, placing the scimitar on one of numerous racks adorning the walls, its surface glimmering in the radiant sunlight. "With all of my customers, I've gots to be prepared for any sort of order. So, what do you need this time? Saws? Spears? Perhaps a hammer?"
"Actually, I need a whole bunch of your finest rimeblades, if you don't mind. About a dozen or so," Crunchon replied, glancing at the gallery of crystalline weaponry before him. "We have an especially large order of logs coming in as we speak and they have to be properly carved and refined by tonight. Think you can handle that?"
"Sure. Just let me see if I've gots enough ice for that first."
Turning on her heel, Isikel headed to the back of the shop, turning down a short hallway that ended with an imposing bronzium door, its edges lined with pearlbrass. A gust of freezing air enveloped her as she swung the door open. Stepping inside the gloomy, featureless storage room, its stone walls as cold and harsh as icy stalactites, she briefly scanned the area, eventually finding…
Nothing.
Isikel's face fell instantly. In her haste to keep her inventory stable and plentiful, she had completely neglected to monitor her supply of raw ice. Somehow, she had managed to burn her way through a month's worth in just under three weeks, a realization that came with her intense chagrin. Of all the times for her stockpile to be completely depleted, fate couldn't have picked a more inopportune moment.
Muttering a curse under her breath, she exited the storage room, making her way back through the main building with her ice-tipped tail solemnly drooping behind her. As Isikel approached Crunchon, seeing his expectant yet understanding face, she sighed regretfully. Efficiency and punctuality were qualities she prized more than almost anything else, and she despised the few inevitable occasions where she failed to deliver.
"I've just run out. I used the last of my ice for this morning's batch," she stated, her voice monotonous. "The rimeblades won't be ready until I've gotten back from Chillagmite Peak. My apologies."
"Ah, no worries," Crunchon replied, waving a hand dismissively. "I'm sure we've gots some time to kill before the shipment comes in. Besides, I can always count on you to deliver, can't I?"
Isikel cracked a grateful, if slightly strained smile. If no one else, she had the Fang Gangster's unwavering support in dire situations. "Thank you," she said. "That is most appreciated."
Not wanting to leave her best customer empty-handed, she removed the scimitar from before from the wall, alongside a second, equally intimidating sword. "You can take these for now," the Frosticon continued. "The rest will not take too long."
Crunchon lightly chuckled, taking the frozen weaponry off her claws. "Much obliged," he said. A shiver raced down his spine as he felt the harsh, unforgiving coldness of the blades, threatening to freeze his hands solid.
"Have a good day," Crunchon called as he exited the shop, the bell's tinkling chime accompanying his receding footsteps. Once he was out of both sight and earshot, Isikel slumped over the counter, sighing solemnly. Even with Crunchon's gracious reassurance, she still felt a pang of dissatisfaction in her heart. Growing up, she had been taught to avoid as many mistakes as possible, to ensure everyone she supported did not have to contend with any errors on her part. Her now-nonexistent ice reserve was another debilitating setback that plagued her career. A minor one, but debilitating nonetheless.
Such an issue could hardly be left unresolved, however, especially with the upcoming week. Sauntering over to the opposite wall, she turned to her most prized possession, more than even the most flawless weapons of her extensive collection: her brick-red popspruce toboggan, which occupied a good third of the wall's surface.
The toboggan was indispensable to her father during his travels in the Frozen Volcanoes and beyond, whether for transporting traded goods from other tribal lands, as a surprisingly effective means of personal transport, or to drag mounds of freshly dug ice from the biome's formidable mountains to work his proverbial magic on. As with the business, the toboggan had been handed down to Isikel herself when she had come of age. It held an indescribable amount of value, and she treasured it just as much as her own life.
Wrestling it from the wall, a feat which cost her a great deal of stamina, Isikel shoved it through the narrow entrance, the wood clattering against the frozen earth as it landed. She then pulled her weapon of choice from the wall, a finely sharpened spear so diligently refined one could mistake it for a stalactite extracted directly from an icy cavern. She firmly shut the door, making sure to prop up a sign indicating her temporary absence. Grabbing the handle of the toboggan, Isikel began yet another arduous trek to Chillagmite Peak.
The toboggan was as wide as a young Borer and nearly as heavy, which made it incredibly useful for making the inevitable trips Isikel took whenever necessary. Of course, this also meant transporting it was a daunting trial in itself – whenever she set out, she always felt as if she were a blindfolded Slugleech traveling up Mixel Mountain…backwards. Despite its cumbersome design, she begrudgingly accepted its flaws, for it was her most reliable means of maintaining her livelihood.
As a silver lining, the long trip at least gave Isikel time to appreciate her tribe's district. As with the others, the simplistic yet whimsical landscapes of the Frosticons' homeland had been replicated with immense attention to detail; Isikel sometimes felt it was as if she had never left.
Complex and elegant sculptures molded from enormous icebergs and huge popsicles in multiple colors decorated street corners in between buildings constructed from popspruce and cobblestone, a thin layer of snow coating each roof like icing atop a multitude of layered cakes. Numerous Frosticons could be seen in all directions, chatting, walking, playing in the snow, or simply sleeping beside the roads – the majority of them were, by nature, a sedentary tribe. Completing it all, a continuous flurry of minute snowflakes drifted throughout the air, gleaming like precious diamonds in the Lightbulb Sun's glare. One could go so far as to call it a winter wonderland.
Perhaps it was her internal desire to handle matters more gradually, but Isikel found these trips somewhat therapeutic. Though it was for the necessity of her job, they were, in a way, a break from the fast-paced lifestyle she was accustomed to. They gave her time to relax her nerves, to adequately plan ahead for the future…and to be alone with her thoughts.
As of recently, Isikel was beginning to feel a gradually increasing enervation, one that only seemed to increase in intensity with each passing day. Maybe heftier orders had become more frequent lately, or maybe there had been one too many slip-ups in her work – today's, for instance. Although her stoic visage was quite effective at masking this inner distress, it did not distract her from these sensations gnawing away at her psyche. At any given moment, the pressure to push herself toward her utmost limits could come crashing down on her like a collapsing mountain, and she could only stand her ground for so long.
Rigid and obstinate were adjectives often attributed to Isikel, ones she was not unused to hearing. Her general attitude was straightforward and efficient, refusing to tolerate any sort of interference or distraction. This attitude persisted beyond the workplace, permeating every aspect of her lifestyle.
Yet she suspected it was this very attitude that was the catalyst for her internal dilemma. Perhaps the drive to provide unrivaled quality and satisfaction had begun to overpower her mental limitations, forcing her to remain on edge. How long then, she wondered, would it be before she inevitably cracked, like a giant iceberg melting in the summer heat?
As greatly as it bothered Isikel, she ultimately accepted that it would be an issue to confront when she was mentally prepared to do so. For now, she had more urgent matters to contend with.
A few minutes later, Isikel had arrived at an expansive courtyard, lined with roads of polished slate and decorated with poppuffs and bushels of snowdrops. The main attraction, surrounded by a thin ring of wreathgrass, lay in the very center: Chillagmite Peak.
Nothing short of utterly gargantuan, it was a collection of pure ice and snow built up over months, even years. It had grown to the point where it could be seen from several districts over. To the Frosticons, the peak was symbolic of their symbiotic relationship with nature: it supplied them with a never-ending bounty of fresh ice for whatever purposes they so desired, and in return, any leftovers were added back to the peak, maintaining the constant cycle. This process was one all Frosticons lived by, and one none questioned or defied, for it would contradict the traditions of their ancestors.
Even now, several Mixels encircled its base, furiously slamming against the compact snow, pulverizing it into fragments and chunks of varying sizes…with some degree of restraint, of course. Unyielding as the peak was, it was still one of ice, and it was universal knowledge to all Frosticons that ice was as fragile as it was resilient. Even the smallest incorrectly placed fracture could give way to a catastrophic avalanche that would plunge the square into pandemonium.
Fortunately for Isikel, precision was one of her strongest qualities. Locating the optimal points within the base and pounding them into frozen debris had become second nature to her, as it had for any other Frosticon. Setting the toboggan down, she promptly marched toward the mountain, brandishing her spear as she did so. Ducking under stray chunks of ice, Isikel made it to roughly a foot from the mountain itself, pinpointing a suitable spot for her to begin her excavation.
"Hello, Isikel!"
A booming voice from her left suddenly caught her attention, making her perk up. A short distance away, waving his oversized iceberg of a hand, was Bergus, another frequent acquaintance of Isikel's. "Ah, greetings, Bergus," she replied, her tone level. "Busy day as usual, I take it?"
"Yeah," the titanic Frosticon responded, crushing a hunk of ice into a snowy mist as he spoke. "Boss say high season coming soon, so he want ice gathered double time. It tiring, though, always carrying ice back and forth, back and forth, over and over. Me try not to disappoint him though."
Bergus dumped another load of ice and sleet into his leaden canister, it rattling with each impact. "What about you? Need more for weapons?"
Her spear jabbed through the snow, piercing the mountain like a superheated blade slicing through metal. "Precisely," she stated. "There have been a lot of tall orders lately…more than I'd like, to be honest." She sighed. "But I've been managing, so to speak."
"Me understand that," Bergus said. "Me deal with heavy loads all the time. Me strong, me know that. Sometimes me get huge pieces to bring all the way back, and me take care of it like it nothing." His expression turned pensive as he continued.
"But it get hard…too hard sometimes. Sometimes me feel me might shatter apart into ice cubes." Isikel nodded. She could recall several occasions when she caught glimpses of him hauling hunks of ice so large enough to qualify as small glaciers, and how visibly he struggled while doing so.
"That's understandable. We all have our limits at one point or another," Isikel stated, stabbing into a particularly stubborn portion of the mountain. "It's more complicated than that, though."
Bergus paused for a moment, turning to the feline Frosticon with a somewhat perplexed expression. "What you mean?" he asked.
Isikel sighed again, her labored breath forming a wispy cloud in the sub-zero air. As much of a shining example of wisdom and determination as she was, she had never found the courage to disclose her innermost thoughts to anyone. At the same time, frustratingly enough, she wanted nothing more than to open the metaphorical floodgates to her soul, for even the slightest moment of relief.
For the briefest of moments, she hesitated, second-guessed herself. Questions whizzed around her brain like a swarm of hoverflies, but Isikel knew better than to let them cloud her judgment. If it wasn't addressed, this mounting pressure would only continue to grow exponentially, to the point where it might shatter her will entirely.
"Bergus…" she began. "...Have you ever felt as if there's a massive weight constantly on your shoulders? You can't feel it physically, nor can you do anything to lighten it, but it's always there, no matter how hard you try? Have you ever wanted to get rid of it, but never did because you were scared you would collapse under its sheer weight?"
Bergus said nothing, but slowly nodded.
"That's how I feel, at least how I've felt recently," she went on, ceasing her excavation of the mountain's raw materials. "Maybe it's because I impose such high standards on myself, or perhaps I've let so much stress build up that it's finally getting to me. Either way, I want to free myself from it and give myself some space to breathe."
Bergus remained silent for a moment longer, processing this unexpected information. It was not abnormal for prolonged silences to intersperse conversations between the two – Bergus was not normally a thinker, as helpful as he was to others. He was grateful Isikel was a patient Mixel – many others would have become quickly irritated by his delayed responses.
"Hmmm," the bulky Frosticon murmured, his brow furrowed. "Well, me understand that," he said. "Like me said, even me get overwhelmed sometimes with how strong me am. It normal to feel stressed." His eyes became softer in that moment, a glint of wisdom flickering within them, fleeting yet bright. "But me think…you can get through this, even if you not think so."
Isikel cocked her head. "What makes you say that?"
"Well, Mixels like me, we strong in here," Bergus continued, gesturing to his arm. "But you…you strong in here." He then gestured to his head. Isikel was confused at first at the sudden gesture, but it wasn't long before a newfound clarity glimmered in her eyes. His vocabulary may have been relatively rudimentary, but his words carried a poignance that pierced her soul. Already, Isikel could feel the weight on her shoulders fading away.
"All the time, me see you work harder than almost all of us here, and me know it because you strong in mind," Bergus explained, his voice thundering yet gentle. "Me not know how you do it, but you tell yourself to keep going, even when it seem impossible."
He pointed a thick, frost-covered finger at Isikel's chest. "This no different. You mind may give you problems, but you mind can also make those problems go away. Me know you can do it, so you should too."
The seemingly insurmountable sense of weight from before melted away, allowing Isikel to exhale with relief. She couldn't help but smile widely as she processed Bergus' speech. As slow and bumbling as he was, she knew she could always count on his support, and he never failed to cheer her up.
Her eyes met Bergus' own again after a few moments, her expression now one of gratitude. "Thanks, Bergus," she said, her smile unwavering. "That means a lot. It really does."
"No prob," he replied, his own expression jovial. "Happy to help."
The duo promptly returned to their regular routines, continuing to chip away at Chillagmite Peak's shining, frigid surface. With renewed clarity and focus, it was not long before Isikel settled into a steady rhythm, meticulously carving out pieces to add to her ever-growing pile. Bergus, on the other hand, preferred a more direct approach – his wild swings and smashes were effective for the most part, but also distractingly loud and totally disorganized. It was common for him to summon flurries of frozen debris in the process, which earned him reprimands from his fellow Frosticons. Isikel, though, had grown used to his style of work, and rarely let it distract her from her own.
Even with her consistent pace, however, Isikel was struggling to meet her quota – the toughness of the icy mountain, admirable as it was, seemed to be working against her today. After an hour, she was still over a pound short. Rimeblades were a particularly laborious tool to craft, so she needed all the ice she could possibly get right now. It didn't help that her spear was gradually dulling from the constant impacts, either. Nevertheless, she kept pushing forward, for Crunchon's sake and for her own.
A spray of snowy shrapnel flew across Isikel's face, prompting her to turn in Bergus' direction. The Frosticon had succeeded in unearthing a solid prism of ice, half as large as he was and likely just as dense. Amid the clangor of tools clinking and striking the mountain, she heard a number of voices shouting annoyed remarks in Bergus' general direction. Whether out of obliviousness or deliberate ignorance, he did not respond.
What caught Isikel's attention, however, was the worryingly large cavity formed from Bergus' excavation. Although amicable and loyal, Bergus was the textbook definition of not knowing one's own strength – his formidable physical stature and not-so-formidable wit often made for a troublesome combination, resulting in more than one incident involving snowed-in streets. Even if he was willing to help undo his mistakes, it didn't hurt to remain vigilant.
"That's enough for now, Bergus," she said, caution tinting her tone. "Any more and you might risk the peak collapsing."
Bergus glanced to the hole, and then back to Isikel. "It doesn't seem that big," he replied. "I think it be fine for another few hits."
"Last time you said that you ended up covering Winterval Lane in six feet of snow."
"It fine, Isikel, don't worry," Bergus reassured, his tone characteristically naive. "Besides, me do this thousand times! Me know it won't shatter." Without another thought, his arm swung around with incredible speed, slamming into the gaping crater.
The sound of the resounding impact made everyone's heads turn.
The next sound, one of cracking and splintering ice, sent shivers down their spines.
Silence filled the air. The tension was suffocating. All eyes were fixated on Bergus and the crevasse of his own creation.
Bergus hesitated, gazing intently at the hole, waiting for any sign of instability. When nothing came to pass after several suspenseful moments, the hulking Frosticon breathed a sigh of relief, letting the tension ebb away. His actions may have been reckless, but his strength had almost never failed him. Bergus felt a sense of newfound confidence, assured that regardless of his carelessness, the revered peak stood as indomitable as always.
Except it didn't.
The cracks on its pristine surface started small, but exponentially increased in number, triggering a deafening alarm in the minds of every Frosticon present. Isikel could only watch helplessly as the fissures spread like kudzu, interlacing the frosty surface like a network of pure destruction as the dozens of Mixels below watched in equal anticipation and dread.
A millisecond later, the great spire of Chillagmite Peak gave way.
It collapsed in on itself in the blink of an eye, the roar of the implosion resounding throughout the entire district. Massive, jagged slabs of ice plunged to the ground like a shower of oversized hailstones, sending the frantic crowd scattering in all directions. Isikel and Bergus both ran in opposite directions, ducking and leaping over chunks of what was once the gigantic peak as they struggled to formulate a solution.
Racing to escape the relentless avalanche, Isikel readied her spear, gripping it firmly in her claws. As a huge chunk of ice plummeted down from above, Isikel jabbed the spear directly into it, cleaving it in two. Even with the wear and tear, it still proved effective for now.
There was little time to rest, however, as more chunks of ice, accompanied by a torrent of snow, descended upon her in a calamitous barrage, forcing her to think fast and act faster. Again and again, she swung her spear about, slicing apart glaciers in seconds, letting the resulting debris accumulate around her. She had lost sight of Bergus, but was confident that he was holding out as well as she was.
Alas, the spear could only take so much strain. As Isikel obliterated a giant hunk of ice, splitting it into minuscule crystals, the spear split along with it. Grunting in frustration, the now-defenseless Isikel took off in another direction, seeking an opening. She certainly had the resources, but she needed time to forge another weapon – a resource she currently sorely lacked. All she could do was flee from the onslaught and hope that it subsided quickly.
And yet, she felt the urge to help, the urge to do something to fight back against this catastrophe. What could she do alone, though, when Mixels were at their weakest? Ducking under another piece of the former peak, her eyes frantically scanned the area. It was futile, however – the snow uprooted from the destruction had created a thick, opaque haze that her sight could not penetrate, regardless of how hard she tried. Isikel was getting desperate. She was running out of time, and Bergus was nowhere to be found. More debris hurtled to the ground by the second.
A huge shard of ice landed a few inches away from Isikel, blocking her path. She turned to run, only to be met with another, and another, trapping her in like a captive Mixamal. Isikel's heart was pounding. Her eyes darted about, searching for anything to use to her advantage. Her shallow breaths condensed in the frigid air, further obscuring her vision. She couldn't hear the avalanche over the blaring alarms in her own head. In what was likely her last moments, she only wished she had been able to make her father proud one last time, and that she had saved as many other lives as she could.
Like a sledgehammer, an arm punched through one of the glaciers, leaving a jagged hole in its core.
Isikel looked up, startled. To her immense relief, the arm was unmistakably Bergus', who was there to help her even amidst the disaster he created. His fist then uncurled, revealing an azure Cubit in his palm. Isikel lunged forward, grabbing onto the Cubit and activating its illusion.
Both Frosticons began to melt like ice cream, their bodies dissolving and coalescing into a single puddle. The puddle then rose upward, oozing and writhing as it changed shape. Its form eventually solidified, becoming a hefty Mix with a stocky cannon arm.
Bursting free from their makeshift prison, the Mix rushed into action, dodging the falling wreckage. Their larger arm fired off a barrage of ice blocks, blasting through the mountain's remains with ease. Two minds acting as one navigated their way skillfully through the area, demolishing chunk after chunk, leaving a thick layer of crystalline snow in their wake.
Several imposing shadows emerged from beneath the Mix, causing them to look up. Hurtling from the heavens were enormous boulders of pure frost on a collision course with the Mix.
Planting their feet firmly within the granular snow, the Mix readied their cannon once again. As the boulders grew closer, closer still, they did not flinch, steadying their aim to ensure utmost accuracy. When collision seemed all but inevitable, the Mix fired, unleashing a rapid-fire onslaught of ice-cold destruction.
In mere seconds, the broken pieces of the mountain crumbled apart as cuboid projectiles blazed through them, cascading harmlessly to the ground as a deluge of snowflakes. Snowy explosions filled the air as the Mix continued firing, drawing from every ounce of their willpower and stamina, their arm on the verge of overexertion.
After uncountable shots, the last of the icy boulders had been eliminated. All that remained of Chillagmite Peak was a dense blanket of snow and scattered chunks of ice that spanned the entire courtyard – it now resembled a warzone more than the site of a monumental landmark.
As the Mix split, their energy exhausted, the rest of the nearby Frosticons slowly appeared from their hiding places, warily stepping back into the open. After a brief moment of tension as the clusters of Mixels surveyed the area, murmurs and clamors filled the air, with many distraught at the sight of the revered mountain reduced to almost nothing.
"This is terrible!" one Frosticon cried out. "The snow's flooded everywhere, and our mountain's completely gone! Now how are we gonna get our ice?"
"Well, at least it's mostly snow. We can always rebuild it," another chimed in. "Though it'll definitely take a while…"
Suddenly, one particularly irate Frosticon spoke up, pointing their fingers at Bergus, who was scanning the wreckage for any signs of salvaging the peak. "Hey!" they yelled. "He's the one who caused all this, isn't he? Whaddya gots to say for yourself, you reckless moron?!"
As the crowd erupted into jeers and shouts, pelting Bergus with makeshift snowballs, the heavyset Frosticon struggled to defend himself, spouting profuse apologies as he did so. Isikel was prepared to stand up for her friend, but before she could, something caught her eye. A gleam of light seemed to be shining through the heavy snow. She carefully approached it, trying to get a clearer focus on the unknown light source. Upon closer inspection, it seemed to be almost wholly submerged within the snow – likely scattered about during the collapse, she assumed.
Brushing away the sleet with her claw, she exposed the glimmering light to the outside world…or rather, what produced it. To her surprise, a large azure Cubit shard lay before her, shimmering in the midday light.
Enamored by the mysterious artifact, Isikel reached out to touch it. The instant she did so, it shone with the intensity of the Lightbulb Sun, nearly blinding her in the process. The overwhelming light was but a precursor to what came next, however, as voices of an unknown number swarmed throughout her mind, speaking in sublime yet imposing tones.
"Once again, the shard falls into the hands of another young successor," the voices whispered, resonating throughout Isikel's skull. "But be warned: the object you now wield contains unfathomable power, beyond any other Cubit. Ensure it is protected, for the sake of the world and Mixelkind."
Before the feline Mixel could formulate a response, the voices dissipated instantly, and Isikel was thrust back into reality. Bewildered, she stared at the Cubit shard in her claw, whose glow had all but faded. She glanced around, but all she saw was the ruins of the mountain, Bergus, and the surrounding crowd. Whoever those voices belonged to, they were certainly not to be found here. Isikel decided to pocket the shard for later – clearly, such an object required further examination.
As she approached Bergus, she noticed the crowd had mostly dispersed, with their attention now on coordinating a reconstruction of Chillagmite Peak. Bergus turned back to meet her, his expression remorseful.
"Me sorry for all this," he said, his tone regretful. "Me thought it not shatter. Me put you and everyone else in danger, and now mountain gone."
Isikel's countenance remained stoic as usual, dark eyes boring into Bergus. Her expression softened slightly, however. "It's alright. We all make mistakes," she reassured. "And after all, you were the one that helped me out. I owe you for that. You did destroy the mountain, but you can still make up for it as well."
"Me guess so," Bergus replied. His eyes drifted to the side, taking notice of something else. "Plus you gots enough ice for your tools now."
Isikel turned toward where Bergus was looking, and her eyes widened. Beside her toboggan, which was inexplicably totally intact, was a humongous pile of fresh ice, almost as tall as herself. She could feel herself grinning. With such a vast surplus of ice, forging Crunchon's rimeblades would hardly be an issue.
"Wow," she breathed. "Wasn't expecting that much to pile up."
"Guess avalanche was sort of good thing after all," Bergus chuckled.
"I suppose so," she replied. "You wouldn't mind helping me bring it back to my shop, by chance? I'm a bit exhausted from narrowly surviving a mountain collapse."
"Of course! Least me can do after all this."
Isikel hoisted the toboggan onto the wall of her shop, returning it to its rightful place among the rest of her prized possessions. It would remain there for quite a while, given the impressive supply of ice that currently lined her storage room – thanks to Bergus' assistance, of course. He had since returned to help with the cleanup efforts for Chillagmite Peak, leaving her to continue her work in solitude.
Wandering over to the storage room, she quickly dipped inside, emerging with her arms filled with chunks of ice. Making her way over to the workstation, she unceremoniously deposited the load onto the counter, giving herself time to catch her breath. With another brief inhale, Isikel cleared her mind, prepared to forge yet another flawless addition to her expansive collection. Closing her eyes, she gradually lifted her claws, drifting them about in gentle yet decisive motions. A moment later, the ice's structure began to twist and warp, as if in response to her consciousness.
It swirled about in a mesmerizing dance, particles floating up and over each other before coagulating into a solid shape. Soon after, a thick hilt had taken form, icy crystals orbiting it as they began to unify under the Frosticon's will. Unbeknownst to Isikel, the more she manipulated the raw ice, the brighter the Cubit shard that now hung around her chest began to glow.
More crystals spiraled upwards, reassembling themselves into the first inklings of a blade. The Cubit shard began to emit an iridescent azure light, channeling primeval energy through Isikel's body. The mass that had gathered around the developing blade like a miniature tornado grew exponentially, glowing as brightly as the shard. Eventually, a concrete shape emerged, one of an intimidatingly sharp sword with a finely carved tip and an angled blade, perfect for slicing through even the most stubborn stone.
The weapon fully formed, and its glow abruptly faded. Opening her eyes, Isikel was taken aback by what she had created – the rimeblade was almost twice the normal size, with the tip decorated with additional spikes. It was beautiful, in the most intimidating way possible. Isikel was speechless. Never before had she made anything bearing such craftsmanship, let alone a rimeblade. Did she unknowingly awaken some hidden potential, or a new technique locked within her subconscious?
Isikel glanced down at the Cubit shard, its untainted surface softly glowing. As far as she was concerned, this crystal was a complete enigma: it appeared out of nowhere, somehow spoke to her mentally, and randomly glowed when she touched it. It was bizarre, yet its presence was oddly alluring. For whatever reason, she felt a sense of connection to it, a distant familiarity.
Come to think of it, she did feel more energized than usual when crafting that rimeblade. Far more energized, as if she was tapping into a reservoir of clandestine power. Could the shard itself have influenced her blade?
If that was the case, it was undeniable there was far more to this Cubit shard than what met the eye. If using her natural abilities was enough to activate it, then the Maximum Mixel only knew what its full potential entailed. What did the voices mean by "keeping it safe for Mixelkind", anyway? What did anything they said mean? Was she truly destined to discover this shard?
That would be a mystery to leave for another time, another place. For now, she prepared to focus on her commission. She had more than enough ice to complete the batch, and her strange newfound power would definitely speed things up.
Isikel smiled softly to herself as she went to retrieve the next batch. Between the boundless potential the shard offered and the support of her friends, she had little to worry about. By the looks of it, the near future looked quite promising. No matter what obstacles she faced, she would remain tenacious and press onward, just as she always had and always would.