Chapter 2: The Frost Cipher’s First Riddle
Chapter 2: Shards of Frost and Secrets
The moment Mia and Griffin crossed the threshold, it felt as if the world reversed itself: gone was the blister of desert sun, swallowed by a hush so deep and cold it could still a beating heart. Their footsteps echoed through vaulting corridors carved from stone and shadow, every wall slick with a translucent sheen of ancient ice. Torches, once set in expectation of heat and flame, were now glassy sculptures—frozen in the act of burning, their inner tongues of fire imprisoned mid-dance. Hieroglyphs prickled the walls: not etched, but raised and edged with rime, their meanings warping in the glassy distortions of frost.
"Not exactly what I’d call warm hospitality," Griffin muttered, talons scraping frost as he surveyed the labyrinth’s entrance. His wings stooped a little—not from weakness, Mia thought, but a careful vigilance. Even the ever-watchful gargoyle looked small here, dwarfed by centuries-old cold.
Mia’s breath fogged before her face, swirling in gentle eddies as she reached into her satchel, drawing out trembling hands encased in blue mittens. Doubt prickled up her arms. "I keep expecting my magic to just... give out here," she confessed quietly, staring as her fingertips left ghostly patterns across a nearby rune. "But it’s almost like the pyramid wants me to use it."
Griffin eyed her sidelong. "Places like this, they’re built to draw out exactly who they’re waiting for. The question is whether that’s in welcome or warning."
They crept deeper, winding through stone passageways knotted with snaking ice. At a fork, Mia paused beside a wall marked with a series of pale handprints, each one etched in a slightly different size and shape. Some glimmered with untouched frost. Others were melted around the edges, as if touched by someone who failed to pass the test. Words loomed above, etched in blocky script:
“Only the cold brave heart may open the way;
Let ice answer ice, or the path melts forever.”
Griffin snorted, studying the prints. "You know what happens to ‘the path melts’? Usually it means we're both stuck in a puddle. Or worse."
Mia swallowed hard and pressed her palm—nervous, unsure—against the print closest to her own size. Cold flared under her skin, the sensation both familiar and alien. A ripple darted across the rune, ice needles dancing in a spiral. For a moment, she feared her magic would sputter out, or worse, rage out of control—frost stabbing jagged across the wall. But she forced herself to remember Lysandra’s words: ‘Trust what emerges when fear and courage meet.’ She exhaled, letting her fear shiver through her fingers, and the frost responded—not violently, but in a slow, gentle blooming. The print shimmered, and the wall groaned open, revealing a cramped alcove beyond.
Inside, three stone basins perched on pedestals. Etched over each was a glyph: one for snow, one for wind, one for memory.
Griffin poked at one with a claw. "Let me guess: we need something inside, and it won’t be as simple as a bucket of boredom."
Mia examined the basins. She managed a small, wry smile: "When has anything ever been simple today?" Concentrating, she summoned her power, picturing a delicate snowflake—one she remembered from her windowpane as a child, each branch impossibly intricate. Her hands shook, ice blooming awkwardly from her fingertips in clumsy lumps. For the basin marked 'memory', she tried again, softer. She imagined the day Lysandra had chosen her as apprentice—the warmth and hope, the careful pride. The memory threaded into her magic, shaping the snow into a single, perfect flake, which she settled delicately into the basin. A faint glow spread, and the other basins snapped open, admitting a discreet swirl of chill wind and a gust of snow, swirling delicately into the proper symbols. The basins resonated together—an almost musical harmony of cold.
"Impressive," Griffin rumbled, nodding approvingly. "Perhaps I should start taking notes."
They advanced further still, the halls narrowing, the air sharpening. Suddenly, a blur flickered at the edge of torchlight—a silhouette, draped in a veil so sheer that it shimmered, neither solid nor shadow. Mia stilled, heart pattering; Griffin’s tail stiffened, his stance warily defensive.
The figure’s voice was many and one, rippling with tones alternately playful and grave. "Welcome, frostbearer. Welcome, watcher-on-the-wall," she intoned. "Some come for the cipher. Others run from themselves."
Mia’s skin prickled. "Who—?"
"Call me Seer," the figure replied, tilting her head, eyes masked but glinting silver through slits in the veil. "I stand where stories cross, and futures are split in frost or sand. I foresaw your footprints here, Mia, years before you feared your own magic."
Griffin growled softly. "Foresight is a convenient trick for guides—or traitors. Which are you?"
Seer only smiled. "What is a traitor, but a guide for the other side? My purpose is bound to the Frost Cipher. I aid those who seek, or betray them, as destiny demands. The Mummy stirs already, half-remembered and half-maddened. Will you outrun his curse, or become another echo in the halls?" Her laughter was not quite kind, not quite cruel. "The pyramid’s heart awaits, but your next step tests more than magic."
With another sway, Seer beckoned forward, leading them to an arched doorway rimed so thickly with frost it glittered like a thousand fractured stars. Beyond lay a circular chamber ringed with mirrors—some tall and clear, others choked in veils of ice. Reflections danced everywhere: Mia, Griffin, the hint of Seer—sometimes doubled, sometimes missing altogether. The floor was slick glass, impossible to judge its depth.
Above the chamber, etched in icy runes, an inscription shimmered:
“Trust not your eyes, but reflection’s opposite:
Only that which is hidden may reveal the frozen path.”
Griffin grumbled, wings drooping. "Let me guess. We’re meant to walk until we slip and break something useful."
Seer’s veiled smile flickered. "Some truths crack, others freeze. Which will you trust, frost mage?"
Mia hesitated, peering into the closest mirror. Her reflection stared back—frightened but determined, frost lacing her brow. She turned to another: her reflection had vanished, replaced by an empty hallway. In another, there were three Griffins—one with fledgling wings, one colossal and proud, one stooped by stone age. It was a riot of images, none to be trusted.
But then—at the far end, Mia noticed a thin wisp of steam curling from one mirror’s corner. In this world of ice, vapor was both anomaly and clue. She stepped cautiously toward it. The closer she got, the clearer a path became: in the steam's haze, she could make out a faint outline of a door, undetectable elsewhere.
Seer remained silent, her gaze intent beneath the veil. Griffin eyed Mia, nodding encouragement. "Sometimes, you see more with a little less certainty."
Summoning her power, Mia focused not on the dazzling frost, but the gentle warmth hidden in the mist. Just as doubt began its slow creep, she drew from within a flicker of controlled cold—barely enough to solidify the steam, freezing it along the mirror’s face. The frost spread, uncovering the silhouette of a secret door etched into the mirror’s glass. With trembling hands, Mia pressed her palm to the frozen fog; the surface shimmered, then liquefied and spilled away, revealing a tunnel beyond.
Griffin let out a low, admiring whistle. "Maybe I will start taking notes—assuming I survive to write them."
Seer, however, was already receding, her outline growing fainter. "Clever, but cleverness cannot shield a fractured heart. The Cipher’s next trial will not spare the weak or the reckless. Remember this, Mia: the pyramid feeds on fear, but hope is its undoing."
Her laughter faded, echoing like wind over ancient ice. Mia turned to Griffin, who shrugged, gruff as ever but a rare smile cracking the corner of his granite lips.
"You’re braver than you know," he said quietly.
Mia’s cheeks blushed with frostbitten pride, and together they stepped deeper into the haunted vaults, following a path built on faith, courage, and perhaps, the fragile beginnings of trust. In the distance, a low rumble sounded—the pyramid shifting as if to welcome, or warn, its next challengers.