Chapter Text
Morning light knifed through the skylight, painting the cavern in pinks and golds. Frost had crept over their packs, but spirits were high. The team woke to a promising day, the night's tension all but forgotten.
"Back to the rockfall," Logan announced after a quick breakfast of granola and Oran-Berry chips. "The sooner we clear it, the sooner we learn what's thumping under our feet."
Faye shouldered her camera. "And hopefully snag another crystal shard before the Cryogonal wake up cranky."
Sierra tightened her patched boot, nearly ready to go. "Remember, compassion for Pokémon first, artifacts second."
Nick waved a wrench, twirling it like a nunchuck. "Don't worry, my tools are strictly cuddle-friendly."
They doused the fire, packed gear, and headed for the collapsed passage. A last glance upward revealed the Cryogonal still dormant—but frost patterns on their faces had subtly shifted, as though they were beginning to stir. Time to move on or risk another Pokémon's wrath. Logan flexed cold-stiff fingers around the pickaxe. The rockfall sealing last night's corridor now looked even meaner—huge quartz slabs wedged together like puzzle pieces that hated being solved. He frowned at the scene. The Cryogonal must've inadvertently frozen the rocks solid as glue. That wasn't the only problem though.
"Move one boulder and the whole ceiling might throw a tantrum," Nick muttered, eyeing the sleeping Cryogonal overhead.
"We promised Juniper steady progress," Logan said practically, though secretly frustrated by the icy wall. "If we can't clear it, we'll find a way around. Diligence means options." He pressed the Aurorian shard against the mound. It glowed—but instead of outlining a crack to chip, a trail of emerald light slithered backward along the cavern floor, forming arrows that pointed deeper into the mountain.
Faye blinked. "Is the map… redrawing itself?"
Sierra traced the glowing arrows around the room until they converged on a patch of wall veined with evergreen-colored crystal. Silent glyphs ignited—three trees, a moon, and a forbidding red X.
Nick snapped a photo, even now a scholar. "That looks like 'Shortcut This Way, Also Probably Doom.'"
Logan's heart thudded. The Frost Veil Pass lay beyond that wall. If the shard signaled a tunnel under the pass, they could dodge rockfalls and the waking Cryogonal. But the red X screamed keep out.
"Could be a sacred grove," Sierra said softly. "Local rangers talk about a hidden Snorunt sanctuary. Trespassing would break every rule in the guidebook..."
"Detour around it, then," Faye offered, shoving her glasses back up her nose. "Long way, sure—but peaceful conscience."
Logan glanced at their dwindling fuel canister. "Long way means two extra nights, maybe more in tighter tunnels. And my parents think I'm due back for choir practice on Thursday."
Nick grinned. "Priorities: ancient history, then Do-Re-Mi." No one laughed: the hollow joke fell flat as a Stunfisk. The invisible heartbeat they'd felt during the night rumbled again, faint but certain. Time was clearly a factor.
"Let's scout first," Logan decided. "I'll check the ridge above and see how bad the collapse really is. Maybe clearing it is easier than the map thinks."
Faye clipped her rope to his belt. "I'm coming. Two eyes, one brain." Faye made deliberate eye-contact and beamed, her signature silliness warming the mood like a quiet flame. They both scrambled up the ledge, taking care to not disturb any loose quartz. An icy side-shelf that granted a bird's-eye view of the blockage sprawled ahead like an Ekans. The boulders continued for at least twenty meters, cemented by fresh ice.
Faye whistled. "That's a full-blown glacier sneeze. We'd need dynamite—or a Charizard."
"Which we left in our other jeans," Logan sighed. The irony of his own PC-bound Charmander's missing help was not lost on him.
He shifted his weight to double back, and the shelf groaned beneath them.
Not good!*
He shoved Faye aside just as a spiderweb of cracks raced under his boots. He jumped backward away from the spiraling fractures, but the ledge crumbled away from his feet and sheared off the rest of the wall. The safety rope tightened abruptly, but slammed him into the wall mercilessly. His ankle twisted with a sickening *crunch* before he slid to a stop on his knees, half-dangling from his belt with his front to the stone. Tears and a hot pain flared behind his eyes. He bit his lip to keep from swearing. Fighting through the pain, Logan tried to back safely down the wall. A sharp rock sheared his rope near the carabiner and he tumbled on his back down the side of the rockfall. The journey unceremoniously dumped him onto a lower slope. He howled in pain anew at the rough landing.
"Logan!" Faye rappelled down and knelt by him hurriedly, nearly slipping on rocks herself in her rush. Sierra arrived in a sprint from the rockpile, looking both shocked and horrified by the scene. Even Nick was wide-eyed with concern and barely-contained panic.
"You okay?!" Sierra blared as the two joined Faye in looking his leg over.
"It's just a sprain," Logan gasped, though he wasn't sure. His foot throbbed like it contained an angry Spoink. Nick's emergency spray—Minty Fresh Hyper Potion—hissed over the swelling, and Sierra wrapped the joint with Cubchoo's green scarf. Compassion came full circle.
"You can't march on that," Faye said. "Leadership doesn't work if the leader face-plants every three steps."
The words stung because they rang true. Logan had insisted on the scout, misread the ledge, and now slowed everyone down. He looked at their anxious faces and felt smaller than a Diglett.
Some leader I am. I almost got Faye and me killed…for a stupid shortcut!
"I'm sorry," he whispered behind barely restrained tears of pain, "Bad judgment. No more stunts."
Sierra squeezed his shoulder. "Mistakes happen. What matters is what we do next." Sierra was right. Now was no time for blame, even to himself. Compassion wasn't just for others. Logan nodded, feeling humbled somewhat by the kid's level-headed reply.
Nick pointed to the glowing glyph wall. "And next means choosing: sacred grove shortcut or kilometer-eating detour." He glanced back at a still fallen Logan, "And Logan, you still get a vote."
Logan swallowed. Compassion for the Snorunt sanctuary, diligence to the mission, and now responsibility for the team's safety—especially with his bum ankle—all pulled in different directions.
Faye broke the silence. "If we trespass, we risk angering Pokémon that call the grove home. But the detour might exhaust our supplies and you, Logan, might not manage that extra distance."
"And that mysterious heartbeat down below isn't exactly sending bouquet deliveries," Nick added. "Quicker exit could keep us ahead of…whatever it is."
Choices indeed. Logan's gaze fell on Sierra, who cradled a small ice crystal she'd found near the wall. Before he could ask what she was doing, she whispered, "Sometimes compassion means asking permission, not refusing to ask at all."
He blinked, partly to rein in his tears, partly in surprise. "Explain?"
"We could attempt the shortcut but move gently, leave offerings, respect every sign. Show we're guests, not invaders."
Faye nodded slowly. "Like ringing a doorbell instead of busting the lock."
Nick grinned. "Cool. I've always wanted to meet customs officers who wear pointy icicles for hats."
Logan chuckled at the two goofballs despite the pain. He needed the brevity. He felt the decision settling over him like a cloak. His ankle throbbed; their supplies thinned; the mountain literally pulsed beneath them. No matter the choice, they could not remain here.
"All right," he said, voice steadier than he felt. "We'll approach the grove. First misstep, we retreat and take the detour instead. Deal?" Hands met in the center—Sierra's mitten, Faye's glove, Nick's slightly greasy gadget paw, and Logan's bandaged fingers. Compassion and diligence, side by side.
They cleared a small section of wall where the glyph arrows converged. Behind a loose slab lay a narrow passage—a natural tunnel lined with jade-tinted ice. The moment the shard crossed the threshold, soft blue lanterns ignited along the walls, as if welcoming them.
"Snorunt night-lights," Sierra guessed.
Logan leaned on a crutch Nick cobbled together from a tent pole. Every other step hurt, but the serene glow smoothed his fear. A few meters in, they found a stone basin holding Oran Berries and tiny icicle sculptures—offerings left by previous travelers or perhaps by the Snorunt themselves. Faye added a packet of dried Pecha chips. Sierra placed a strand of her favorite yarn. Nick set down a bolt he'd polished until it shone. Logan removed a shard of particularly clear and shiny quartz from his pocket and laid it gently in the bowl.
"Thank you for safe passage," he murmured. The lanterns brightened, and a crisp breeze whooshed deeper down the tunnel. Whether coincidence or approval, the effect lifted their spirits. But as they advanced, Logan noticed carved tablets along the walls showing not happy Snorunt but towering, stoic Golurk blocking intruders, red Xs beneath them. A chill unrelated to ice seeped into his collar. What could those glyphs mean, and here in a Snorunt sanctuary of all places?
Nick scanned one tablet with his Pokédex. "Translation glitchy, but I'm getting 'No harm, no plunder, no noise.' Basically, library rules but way scarier."
Sierra hushed him. "Then let's be quiet." They moved in near silence until the corridor ended at a curtain of frost shaped like interlocking leaves. On the other side, faint moonlight hinted at open skies.
"Grove's through there," Faye whispered. "Real question: does stepping inside count as trespass even after offerings?" Before Logan could answer, the invisible heartbeat thundered again—closer, quicker. A spray of powdered snow drifted from the ceiling.
Faye steadied him. "Time's up, leader. Door A or Door B?"
Logan licked dry lips. His ankle felt like a swollen balloon, but his resolve returned. He inhaled the cold, berry-scented air and faced his friends. "Door A: into the grove with utmost respect, hoping our gifts were enough. Door B: turn back, accept the supplies, the risk, and maybe face that underground thumper." Their eyes reflected the lanternlight and their trust in him. Despite last night's misstep and his accident, they still believed.
No dissent. Then the sanctuary it is.
A tinkling rush of wind answered Logan's tentative push to the wall of frozen green. The frost-leaf curtain parted, and the grove shimmered into view—tall pines dusted with silver, moonlight draping every branch like ribbon. Scores of Snorunt waddled between snow-capped stones, bowing their cone-hats in greeting before skittering off, giggling like chimes.
"Woah," Nick breathed. "It's the world's chillest winter carnival."
Logan smiled, weight on his tent-pole crutch. One careful step at a time, he reminded himself. But the ice underfoot was glassy, and his bad ankle wobbled. Sierra walked beside him, ready to catch an arm if he tilted. They paid their respects first, placing more offerings—Lum Berry seeds and some tiny paper cranes Faye had folded at some unseen time—at the foot of an old cedar whose bark was carved with Aurorian glyphs for "home." Lantern-lights flared warmly, as though the grove itself nodded approval.
Then fate, or clumsiness, intervened.
Logan's crutch hit a hidden slope polished by centuries of Snorunt sledding. Sierra swiped to grab his belt but missed. Her eyes bugged with horror as Logan's injured ankle gave and he slid headfirst down the slick shaft. There was no time for a shout; he simply vanished over the crest with a startled, "Not again—!"
"Logan!" the others' fading voices chorused.
The icy chute plunged steeply, twisting like a Dragonair. Logan fought to slow himself, palms burning from friction. He couldn't slow his descent one bit, but panic spurred him to try anyway. The slick tunnel only sped him faster until—*whump!*—he tumbled into a cavern blanketed in blue shadows and powdery snow. Silence. His ears rang. Nothing hurt worse than the ankle already wrapped, but cold needles pricked his neck as he took in the room. Dozens of statues filled it: humans, Pokémon, even trees, each locked in pristine, glass-clear ice. Their frozen faces shone eerily in the faint aurora that seeped from cracks above.
Logan swallowed. "Okay, totally fine, just crashed a popsicle museum."
A shape drifted through the air. White kimono of frost, purple sash, hollow eyes glowing gentle amber—Froslass. The silent maiden of ice hovered just at the edge of Logan's vision, as if asking why he dared to trespass here. Legend said Froslass froze travelers who showed ill intent. Logan's heart hammered, but he remembered Cubchoo, Glacier, Abomasnow, the grove's Snorunt. Compassion first.
He bowed, wobbling. "Greetings…ma'am? We're guests. I'm sorry I disturbed your hall. My friends are up there—could you help me get back?" Froslass tilted her head. An unnaturally cold breeze circled Logan and the statues seemed to lean closer. Was this a test or a warning? He reached into his coat, removed the Abomasnow talisman they'd offered earlier, and held it out with both hands. "Proof we ask permission. We only seek knowledge, not treasure."
The talisman hovered from his palms, caught in swirling snow. Froslass examined it, then glanced at the statues. One form—an Aurorian woman carrying a child—softened, melting back into fine powder that drifted upward like fireflies. Froslass's eyes warmed. She lowered the talisman onto Logan's shoulder, where it pulsed, spreading numbing coolness that eased his pain.
"Th-thank you," he whispered, awed.
Footfalls echoed behind: Sierra appeared at the upper ledge of the chamber; rope belayed around a thick pine root. "Logan! Hold on!" She wasn't alone. A dark-skinned teenage girl in a green Ranger trainee jacket slid beside her, expertly rappelling with a sturdy rope, a massive Beartic anchoring the other end up in the grove.
"Ivy Clearwater, Unova Ranger-in-Training," the newcomer called. "Your Snorunt buddies flagged me down—said someone took the express lane."
Logan let out a shaky laugh. "That'd be me. Welcome to the ice-box."
Ivy landed gracefully, Beartic lumbering down after her as if the vertical wall were a mere slope. The big bear recognized Logan and offered a rumbling purr—the same Beartic mother from the waterfall! Ivy scratched its neck. "You've met Glacier already, I see. She insisted on coming. You must've impressed her! She doesn't trust strangers much."
Nick and Faye soon rappelled to join them, gawking at the statues. "Whoa," Faye whispered, "it's like somebody hit pause on an entire village." Nick just shivered, his wit failing him for once.
Ivy studied the scene, voice low. "These aren't victims. They're memories—Froslass can solidify thought into ice. Looks like she's kept the history of the grove safe for centuries."
Logan turned to Froslass. "Is…is that true?"
The spectral Pokémon nodded slowly. A gust whisked across the chamber; more sculptures dissolved, reshaping into a translucent mural against the far wall—ancient Aurorians sharing berries with Snorunt, building crystal lanterns, dancing under winter moons. Laughter seemed to echo inside the pictures.
Sierra clasped her hands and cooed happily. "They lived together in peace."
Froslass pointed a frosty finger toward a narrow exit tunnel illuminated by pale orbs. Glyphs above read, Hearts pure, passage sure.
Ivy translated aloud. "She's giving us safe passage. Probably quicker than any Ranger map I have."
But Ivy's eyes hardened when she noticed Logan's wrapped ankle. "Rule one of mountain travel: don't push *any* injuries. You need rest."
Nick chuckled. "Tell that to the glowing test hallway that wants us to hurry."
A low rumble—the heartbeat—rolled under their boots again, quicker now. Dust drifted from the ceiling like powdered sugar.
Beartic snorted uneasily. Ivy hummed, scratching her chin as if piecing together a puzzle. "I caught that tremor on my seismic scanner earlier. Something's shifting deeper in the range." Ivy frowned and looked among the four explorers in wonder, and was that suspicion? "You know why I was in the area? I was tracking down a series of odd occurrences in the area. Unnatural tremors, Absol sightings, abnormal storms, and now you four in the midst of an Aurorian mystery? Sounds like it's connected somehow. Whatever you've gotten into involves the natural balance of this mountain, and I'm going with you. We don't have the luxury of camping long, so we should find safety ASAP."
"Glad to have you aboard!" Faye chirped happily, "Five heads are better than four!"
Logan straightened, testing weight on his leg. Thanks to Froslass's ice salve, pain dulled to a tolerable throb. "I'll manage. Diligence—keep moving, but carefully." Froslass floated nearer, pressing a shard of flawlessly clear ice into Logan's hand. Inside it swirled a faint aurora, echoing the mural's glow.
"A memory crystal," Ivy explained, awed. "Record of goodwill. She's entrusting it to you."
"Thank you," Logan said, bowing again. "We'll honor it." The statues' icy light faded, returning the chamber to subdued blue. One final drift of snow spelled an unmistakable arrow toward the mural-door. Ivy signaled Glacier, who lumbered forward, flattening a slope for easier descent. Nick tightened Logan's rope harness to give extra support, double-knotting the rope anchors near the carabiners for good measure.
Faye quipped, "Look at us—new teammate, ghostly tour guide, collector's edition souvenir. All we need now is a vending machine that spits out hot cocoa." Sierra giggled, tension easing.
Before stepping through the exit, Ivy addressed them: "Ranger protocol says we escort all sanctum discoveries like this straight to a preservation team. Your professor, Juniper, is reputable, but we must ensure no harm comes to the grove or Froslass. Agreed?"
Logan met Ivy's steady gaze. "Agreed. Compassion first." He glanced at his friends, who nodded.
The tunnel opened into a crystal-lined corridor heading north—the very direction of the rumored Aurorian gates. Soft lights floated ahead like will-o'-wisps, inviting yet mysterious. Behind, Froslass watched, eyes bright. She lifted a hand; for a moment, snowflakes formed a delicate aurora above the chamber, spelling an unspoken blessing. Then she vanished into mist as if she never existed. An unmistakable sense of being observed and judged was all that lingered.
Ivy whispered, "She'll be watching. Best not disappoint a guardian spirit."