Thirstfall - Memory of a Returnee-Chapter 47: Diamond Dust

Freya Gunnulf doesn’t do coincidences.

I stop just a few feet outside Rae’s heavy oak door, my breath pluming into white mist.

The corridor, which should be perfectly climate-controlled, feels like the inside of a meat locker.

Frost is literally crawling up the veins of the marble walls, radiating outward from where her heavy, fur-lined combat boots touch the floor.

She leans casually against the stone, arms crossed, her piercing blue eyes locking onto mine with the predatory focus of an arctic wolf.

She isn’t here to assassinate me. Assassins don’t announce themselves with a drop in atmospheric pressure. She’s here to dissect me.

"A Rank-F Shell walking out of an Abyssal-A’s office before the sun even breaches the canopy," Freya says. Her voice is smooth, elegant, and dripping with an absolute, freezing cynicism. "Usually, the only things that come out of that room at this hour are signed death warrants or sold souls. Which one are you carrying, Sands?"

I don’t flinch. I don’t break eye contact, and I certainly don’t bow like the rest of the sycophants in this Academy. I just look at her the way I look at a locked door or a broken bridge—a bureaucratic obstacle in my path.

"Neither," I reply, my voice perfectly flat and devoid of any warmth. "Instructor Rae was just feeling hospitable. He offered me some terrible tea and a few unsolicited tips on garden maintenance."

Freya’s eyes narrow dramatically.

The tension in the hallway thickens, brittle as thin ice. We both know it’s a blatant, insulting lie. But I can see the flicker of intrigue behind her cold stare.

She’s used to two types of people: the terrified plebs who stare at the floor, and the arrogant lords who try to puff out their chests.

My absolute apathy is throwing off her rhythm.

She uncrosses her arms, pushing herself off the wall. The frost on the marble crunches under her boots.

"Garden maintenance," she repeats, tasting the lie. "Interesting. Because from where I stand, you look like a boy who’s about to do some very heavy lifting."

She takes a slow step toward me, lowering her voice so the acoustics of the empty hall won’t carry it.

"Going to catch the 11 o’clock train?"

My heart skips a single, treacherous beat, but I force my face to remain a mask of stone.

She knows.

Freya is the disciple of Dean. She practically owns the intelligence network of the upper elite. She already deduced Rae’s play regarding the Procedural Train Station.

"We could go together," she offers, her lips curving into a sharp, challenging smile. "That is... if you can handle keeping up with me."

My mind shifts into violent overdrive, running the tactical math.

I am now an involuntary double agent trapped between two leviathans. If I secure the WaterStrand and hand it over to Rae, I make a permanent enemy out of Freya—and by extension, the Rector Dean. If I hand it to Freya, Rae will slaughter me before the sun sets. They are using me to fight a proxy war over Academy resources.

Idiots, I think, a cold, pragmatic clarity settling into my bones. You both think I’m a pawn on your board.

There is only one viable path to survive a crossfire: you steal the bullets.

I’m going to take the WaterStrand, but I’m not giving it to either of them. I’ll use it to fuel my needs and go home, saving my family from the misery. Let these two arrogant elites choke on the fallout.

I don’t answer her invitation. I simply adjust the collar of my torn leather jacket and step forward, intending to resume my march down the corridor and leave her standing there.

Freya shifts, blocking my path just enough to force a confrontation.

"You’re not going to walk away from this, Sands," she says, her tone losing the playful edge, turning sharp and demanding. "I saw the Battle Royale logs. A dead tie for first place. I want to know how a fragile, OXI-starved rat manipulated a chaotic battlefield well enough to stand on my podium. What’s the secret?"

She is trying to corner my pride now.

It’s a useless tactic. Pride is a currency I stopped carrying a long time ago.

"Keep the crown, Freya," I say, my voice dripping with pure, raw apathy. "I don’t care about your hegemony. I don’t give a damn about your Top Graded pride, and I definitely don’t care about the fragile egos of the nobility."

I take another step, closing the distance between us, looking dead into her icy eyes.

"I just want what’s mine."

I move to brush past her shoulder.

The exact millisecond I enter her personal space, my vision flashes violently.

[System Alert: Chaos Theory Triggered]

[Anomaly Detected: Hostile Variable in Proximity]

The system doesn’t just see her as a strong student. It sees her as a fundamental threat to my existence. An anomaly in the equation.

The temperature in the corridor plummets so fast it feels like a physical blow. The moisture in the air between us crystallizes instantly, creating a cloud of suspended, glittering diamond dust.

I stop.

Freya has gone completely still. The elegant, cynical mask is gone. She is staring at me, her chest rising and falling with shallow, rapid breaths. Her hand is hovering an inch above the hilt of her rapier.

"I have an instinct," Freya whispers, her voice tight, almost strained. "A passive skill. It screams... it physically hurts when something catastrophic is standing too close."

She looks at my battered boots, the torn leather of my jacket, and finally at my tired, dark-circled eyes.

"And right now," she breathes, "it is absolutely deafening."

She recognizes the abyss looking back at her.

I hold her gaze for a long second. Then, I give a dismissive, half-hearted shrug.

"You’re overreacting. It’s just a draft," I say casually.

[Hadal Notoriety +10]

Did she really give me fame after that? Damn it...

I step around her and continue my walk down the frosted corridor.

"I’m going to watch you, Dryden Sands," Freya promises to my back, her voice echoing off the stone, hard and resolute. "Every single step. Not because I hate you. But because I think you are a walking disaster, and you’re going to burn this entire Academy to the ground."

I don’t look back. I just keep walking toward the exit, heading to the train station.

A bitter, grim smile finally touching my lips.

I know, Freya, I think.

Listening to the crunch of frost under my boots.

I know...