FROZEN FIRE

The Truth About Rennick

Olaf kicked open the door to Rennick's hideout and the old thief didn't even flinch.

Rennick sat at his usual table, a half-empty bottle of rotgut in front of him. His one good eye fixed on Olaf like he'd been expecting this visit. Like he'd been waiting for it.

"Took you long enough," Rennick said.

Olaf crossed the room in three steps. His hand shot out and grabbed Rennick by the throat. Frost spread across the old man's neck.

"You knew," Olaf said. "You knew what was under that temple. You knew I'd find the Flame. You sent me there on purpose."

Rennick didn't struggle. He just looked up at Olaf with something that might have been regret.

"I knew there was something under that temple," he said. "I didn't know what it was. Not exactly."

"Liar."

"I'm a liar by trade, kid. Comes with the territory." Rennick's voice was calm. "But I'm not lying about this. I knew there was power there. I knew it was old. I didn't know it was the damn Frozen Fire."

Olaf's grip tightened. The frost spread further up Rennick's throat.

"Then why did you send me?"

"Because you were the only one who could go." Rennick's eye met his. "The temple was keyed to you. To your blood. Your parents—they left something behind. A mark. A protection. The temple wouldn't open for anyone else."

Olaf felt the words hit him like a physical blow. His hand loosened.

"My parents?"

Rennick nodded slowly. "Your father was a scholar. Before he became a smuggler. Before he met your mother. He was part of an order. A secret order. They studied the Flame. They protected the fragments."

Olaf released him. Stepped back. Frost still clung to Rennick's neck, but the old man didn't seem to notice.

"The Watchers," Rennick said. "That's what they called themselves. They knew about the Great Burning. The truth behind it. They'd been guarding the fragments for centuries. Waiting for the Bearer to return."

"Waiting for me."

"Waiting for someone. They didn't know who. They just knew the Bearer would come." Rennick reached for his bottle. Took a long drink. "Your father was a Watcher. When he met your mother, he left the order. He wanted a normal life. A family. But the Church found out what he knew. They killed him. They killed her. And they would have killed you too, if I hadn't taken you in."

Olaf's hands were shaking. The cold fire surged in his chest. Frost spread across the floor beneath his feet.

"You raised me," he said. "You taught me how to survive. And you never told me any of this."

"I was trying to protect you."

"From what?"

Rennick set the bottle down. His face was grave. "From the truth. From the burden. From everything you're carrying right now." He gestured at Olaf's hands. "Look at you. You're covered in ice. You can't even stand in a room without freezing everything. You think I wanted this for you? You think I wanted you to become a living weapon?"

Olaf looked down at his hands. The symbols blazed bright. Frost coated his fingers.

"I didn't ask for this," he said.

"Nobody does. But here you are." Rennick stood up. His legs were unsteady. "The Watchers are gone now. The Church hunted them down. Killed them. Burned their records. Your father was the last. And when he died, the knowledge died with him."

Olaf felt something cold settle in his chest. Something that wasn't the fire.

"Then how do you know so much?"

Rennick was silent for a long moment. Then he spoke.

"Because I was a Watcher too."

Olaf stared at him.

"I left the order before your father did," Rennick said. "I was tired of hiding. Tired of running. Tired of watching good people die for a secret they couldn't even share." His voice cracked. "When your father was killed, I took you in. I thought I could keep you safe. I thought if I kept you away from the truth, the Church would never find you."

"But they found me anyway."

"They found you because you found the Flame." Rennick's eye was wet. "Because you were always going to find it. It was in your blood, kid. The mark of the Watchers. The call of the fragments. You were destined for this, whether I wanted it or not."

Olaf felt the cold fire rage inside him. Felt the symbols burn on his arms. He wanted to scream. To break something. To freeze everything.

But he didn't.

He just stood there, breathing, holding it in.

"You should have told me," he said. "From the beginning. You should have trusted me."

"I wanted to." Rennick's voice was barely a whisper. "Every day. I wanted to tell you who you were. What you were. But I was afraid." He looked away. "I was afraid you'd hate me. I was afraid you'd leave. I was afraid you'd become like your father—obsessed with the Flame, consumed by it, destroyed by it."

Olaf closed his eyes. The cold fire pulsed. The symbols dimmed.

"I don't hate you," he said finally. "But I don't trust you either."

Rennick nodded slowly. "I don't expect you to. I don't deserve it."

"Where are the fragments?" Olaf asked. "The real locations. Not the ones on the map. The ones the Watchers knew about."

Rennick looked at him. Something shifted in his eye. Surprise. Respect. Fear.

"You want to gather them all?"

"I need to." Olaf met his gaze. "The seal is breaking. The gods are waking up. If I don't find the fragments—if I don't become strong enough to stop them—the world is going to end."

Rennick was silent for a long time. Then he reached into his jacket. Pulled out a small, worn notebook.

"This was your father's," he said. "He gave it to me before he died. Before the Church came for him."

Olaf took the notebook. His hands were trembling. The frost on his fingers melted as he touched the worn leather.

"Everything he knew," Rennick said. "Everything the Watchers knew. The locations of the fragments. The rituals to gather them. The history of the Great Burning. It's all in there."

Olaf opened the notebook. The pages were filled with tiny, cramped handwriting. Diagrams. Maps. Symbols.

His father's handwriting.

Olaf felt something break inside him. The cold fire surged. He couldn't stop it. He didn't want to stop it.

"I'm going to find them," he said. "All of them. And I'm going to end this."

Rennick stepped forward. His hand touched Olaf's arm.

"Whatever you do, kid, be careful. The Church isn't the only thing hunting you." His voice dropped. "The Scavenger King is looking for you too. He heard about the Flame. He wants it for himself. He wants to use it to conquer the world."

Olaf looked at him sharply. "The Scavenger King?"

"He controls the Borderlands now. All of it. He's been building an army. Waiting for the right moment to strike." Rennick's grip tightened. "He knows about the fragments. He knows you're looking for them. And he'll do whatever it takes to stop you."

Olaf felt the cold fire surge. The symbols on his arms blazed bright.

"Let him try," he said.

He turned and walked out the door.

---

Seraphine was waiting outside. She was tense, her hand on her dagger, her eyes scanning the darkness.

"What happened?" she asked. "I heard shouting."

Olaf held up the notebook. "The locations of the fragments. All of them."

Seraphine's eyes widened. "He gave it to you?"

"From my father." Olaf's voice was flat. "He was a Watcher. A secret order. They've been guarding the fragments for centuries."

Seraphine stared at him. Then she nodded slowly. "That explains a lot. My father mentioned the Watchers in his notes. But he never found any of them. He thought they'd all been killed."

"They were. Except for Rennick."

Seraphine looked at the notebook. "What's in there?"

"Everything." Olaf opened it. The pages were filled with his father's handwriting. Names. Places. Dates. "The first fragment is beneath Verath. Just like you said. But there are others. Hidden in places the Church doesn't know about." He looked up. "We need to move. Now. Before the Scavenger King finds us."

"The Scavenger King?"

"He's been looking for me. Rennick just told me. He wants the Flame. He wants to use it to conquer the world."

Seraphine's face went pale. "That's impossible. He controls the Borderlands, but he's just a gang leader. A warlord. He doesn't have the power to—"

"He has an army. And he has informants everywhere." Olaf closed the notebook. "We need to get to Verath before he finds us. Before the Church finds us. Before everything falls apart."

Seraphine nodded. She pulled out the map. "The quickest route is through the Eastern Pass. But it's dangerous. The Church patrols it heavily."

"Then we find another route."

"There isn't one. Not unless we want to go through the Wastes again."

Olaf looked toward the Frozen Wastes. The ice glittered in the moonlight. The shapes beneath the surface were still. Watching.

"No," he said. "Not the Wastes. Not yet."

"Then we go through the Pass. We move fast. We move quiet. And we hope the Church doesn't catch us."

Olaf started walking. Seraphine fell into step beside him.

Behind them, in the darkness, Rennick stood in the doorway of his hideout. His one eye was fixed on Olaf's retreating figure.

"Be careful, kid," he whispered. "The world needs you."

But Olaf didn't hear him.

He was already moving. Already planning. Already preparing for the fight to come.

The fragments were out there. Waiting for him.

And the Scavenger King was hunting him.

And the Church was hunting him.

And the seal was breaking.

Olaf felt the cold fire surge in his chest. The symbols on his arms burned bright.

He was the Bearer of Frozen Fire.

And he was going to save the world.

Or die trying.