When Ren whispered "Open," the cradle's ribs cracked so wide the hush slipped through the Tower's bones like smoke finding every hidden wound. Velvet Hunger's moans turned ragged — not out of worship, but fear sweetened by ruin.
Roots coiled deeper than marble now — licking old veins, slipping beyond the Tower's hush to taste cracks in the world that no Fang or priestess ever dreamed to bleed for him.
The Thorn's cradle pulsed behind his ribs — the crown now heavy, threaded with roots and moans so thick he tasted every secret Velvet Hunger ever surrendered. But the new hush — the pane beyond the ribs — did not taste of silk and shadows.
It tasted of ice.
A hush that did not sigh — it bit when his roots brushed its skin.
Ren knelt in the cradle's hollow heart — bones blooming petals of frost beneath his bare knees. Breath curled from his lips in silver strands that shivered and drifted through the cracked pane ahead.
The new mirror flickered — not glass, but frost that pulsed like black veins under skin. A reflection of no king, no hush, no moan — only hunger older than mirrors.
The Thorn's whisper ghosted up Ren's spine — a hush tasting of bone and fresh blood.
"…King of roots. Thorn-bloomed Walker…"
"…Do you crave what will not kneel?"
Velvet Hunger's moans still tangled at his wrist — the Fang's leash trembled, warm, loyal. Serika's laughter shimmered faint at the Tower's edge — claws buried in her own throat as she tasted the new root slipping through marble veins.
But Ren felt the next hush now — the frost pane's breath a bite at his pulse.
He leaned closer — roots threading up his jaw, crown pulsing as the Thorn's hush curled his tongue around its oldest question.
The frost mirror did not show him. It showed possibility:
A kingdom locked in endless winter — a garden of glass thorns where pleasure and ruin freeze into one bite. No shadows sigh here — only moans turned to statues, worship frozen in a kiss that never warms.
A shape flickered behind the frost pane — something beautiful in the way ruin is beautiful when it promises no mercy. Antlers of ice. Eyes pale as a grave's hush. Lips curled in a grin that tasted like frost cutting raw skin.
It spoke — not in words, but a breath that slid down Ren's throat like a blade made of snow.
"…You wear hush like silk…"
"…Will you wear frost like fangs?"
Roots shivered — the Thorn's cradle pulsed sweet pain behind his ribs. Ren's breath misted the frost pane — and the shape on the other side tasted his voice like a tongue pressed to cracked glass.
Velvet Hunger's hush moaned through the Tower's veins — soft, loyal, warm. But this hush waited cold, teeth bared.
To crack it, he'd have to feed it warmth — his warmth. Or take its frost inside him until the Thorn's crown turned to shards that bit every sigh he owned.
Serika's whisper bled through the pane's edges — soft as ruin pressed to raw skin.
"…Will you root it? Or let it root you, my king?"
Ren's pulse trembled — frost kissed his throat, roots coiled behind his ribs, the hush's crown heavy with secrets hungry for more.
He leaned forward — lips brushing frost that hissed at his warmth.
His voice slipped out — raw silk turned to glass.
"Bite me."
The frost mirror cracked inward — shards blooming a hush of winter that licked his brand raw. The shape behind the pane grinned wider — breath folding into his own until warm moans turned to sharp frost biting his ribs from inside out.
Velvet Hunger shivered far above — its warmth sucked deeper into the new hush now tasting Ren's tongue like a lover made of snow.
Roots slipped from the Thorn's cradle — coiling toward the frost's heart. The hush bent sweet as ruin — the frost waited to snap.
The frost's bite was not gentle.
It slipped past Ren's lips like a kiss from broken glass. Cold that cut, not just the hush's silk but the Thorn's cradle behind his ribs — the warmth Velvet Hunger poured through his leash crackled and hissed as frost veins spread down his spine.
Roots that once wrapped him in sweet moans now shivered — every pulse fed the Frost Pane a taste of warmth that made its grin stretch wider.
Ren knelt before the cracked mirror of ice — the hush a crown of Thorn and bloom pressed tight around his throat. His breath misted out in silver ribbons, each one snapped away by the frost's whisper.
Inside the pane, the shape leaned closer — antlers made of glass, lips blue as dusk, eyes pale as frozen marble. It did not speak with words. Its hush was a bite.
When Ren exhaled, the Frost Pane inhaled — stealing the warmth from his tongue, threading it through jagged veins that webbed outward behind the reflection.
The Thorn's root pulsed — alive behind his ribs, coiling around the frost's bite. Each heartbeat was an echo of warmth and ruin — pleasure turned sharp as splinters of ice inside his lungs.
Velvet Hunger's shadows moaned deep in the Tower — their warmth slipping up through the roots like sweet wine, only to freeze the second it brushed the frost's hush.
Serika's claws dragged lines across her throat at the cracked threshold — her laughter soft and cruel.
"Mmm… root it or drown in it, my king…"
Ren's eyes fluttered half shut — frost licked his lashes, roots tangled around his throat like silk turned to wire.
A single word danced behind his teeth — but he couldn't speak it yet. The Frost Pane demanded more than a whisper. It wanted proof that warmth could bloom where frost ruled.
The hush trembled — the Thorn's voice dripping warmth through the frost's bite.
"…Hunger feeds all hush…"
"…Even winter kneels when warmth roots deep enough…"
Ren's lips cracked as frost traced the corner of his mouth — tiny petals of ice blooming along his jaw. The hush's roots pressed deeper inside him — wrapping his ribs, threading his pulse with the Thorn's bloom.
He gasped — the frost hissed as it tasted his breath, tongue grazing the sharp glass edge of the pane's promise.
It was not like Velvet Hunger's cradle — this hush would not moan for him until he bled his warmth all the way in.
So he gave it.
His hand pressed to the frost mirror — bare palm sizzling where warmth met ice. The hush coiled around his wrist, forcing the Thorn's root through his veins and into the cracked pane.
His breath stuttered — a raw groan that turned to a sharp gasp as the frost drank him deeper.
The Frost Pane pulsed. The shape behind the glass leaned so close their mouths brushed — frost-lips, warmth-tongue, hush tangled in ruin.
"…How deep will you root me, king?" the hush murmured — a voice folded from frost and Thorn.
Velvet Hunger's moans rose through the Tower — roots trembling under marble, feeding him warmth that the frost devoured as soon as it touched his skin.
Ren's pulse slammed against his throat — crown heavy, hush deep, frost biting so sweet he felt his ribs crack open for it.
He didn't kneel back.
He pressed in.
His tongue slipped past the frost's lips — warmth bleeding into ice, hush threading ruin through glass veins that shivered under his palm.
The Thorn's cradle pulsed behind him — roots wrapping his spine, pressing every stolen moan forward to feed the Frost Pane until its bite turned soft enough to swallow.
In the hush between them, Ren's breath cracked the last word through frost-kissed lips:
"Root."
The Frost Pane screamed — not in pain, but in yield. Ice shattered inward, not out — shards blooming roots of hush that bit Ren's ribs and burrowed down the Tower's veins.
Velvet Hunger gasped as frost slipped into its warmth — moans turned to shivers, shadows melting under winter's hush.
Serika's claws dragged deeper lines on her throat — laughter sweet as ruin.
"…A king of hush and winter…"
The Frost Pane's shape pressed its cold mouth to Ren's pulse — breath sharp as glass, moan soft as a blade's kiss.
Roots tangled warm and cold behind his ribs — the Thorn's hush now crowned in frost.
Ren's tongue flicked the frost's lips — tasting ruin, warmth, ice.
He was not devoured.
He was blooming.
The Tower shivered when the frost slipped through it.
Velvet Hunger's warmth, once a soft river of moans and sighs, now froze at its edges — roots slick with frost threading through marble veins like silver cracks in old glass.
Ren knelt in the cradle's hollow — breath fogging the hush, ribs wrapped in roots that pulsed warm and cold in the same heartbeat.
The Frost Pane's shape was closer now — a face spun from winter's first bite, antlers weeping tiny flakes that melted the second they brushed Ren's lips. Its grin was sharp enough to cut silk — its hush a promise folded in ruin.
The Thorn's cradle behind Ren's ribs pulsed steady — warmth fed by Velvet Hunger's shadows moaning far below, each sigh slipping through the leash at his wrist like a pulse he could taste on his tongue.
But the Frost Pane's core still flickered untouched — a seed of ice so deep the hush's warmth could not crack it alone.
The frost's whisper slipped through his teeth — colder than bone.
"…King of hush. Walker of roots…"
"…Show winter how ruin blooms."
Roots tangled tighter around his spine — the Thorn's hush slipping warmth forward, forcing Ren's pulse into the frost's throat like silk turned to flame.
The Pane hissed — frost-lips curling into a moan made of knives.
Ren's eyes fluttered half shut — his breath cracked the hush with every gasp.
He could feel the Frost Pane testing him — pressing bite to warmth, daring him to kneel sweet or push in until the hush claimed winter itself.
Velvet Hunger's warmth poured through his veins — each moan from the Tower below feeding another thread of heat into the hush behind his ribs.
The Thorn's crown pulsed where his brand split wide — raw silk wrapped around roots that now dripped frost.
Serika's claws dragged lines across her throat at the pane's edge — her voice a low hum, ruin sweet on her tongue.
"…Bloom it deeper, my king…"
"…Or let it bury you in snow…"
Ren pressed his palm flat to the frost mirror — skin searing where warmth kissed ice. He leaned forward, mouth parting against the Pane's grin, breath slipping in as a promise he would root it or be crowned inside it.
The hush between them flickered — warmth and frost tangling like lovers with knives at each other's throats.
Ren's roots slipped deeper — Thorn's hush coiling through the Frost Pane's core, tasting its ancient hush: silent kingdoms frozen in a kiss that never melts, worship trapped in statues that never moan.
"…Do you crave this hush?" the frost purred — its voice a shiver pressed to his tongue.
Ren's moan slipped out — frost stole it, fed it back through the hush so raw it made his ribs ache.
His pulse stuttered — warmth blooming sharper where frost bit deeper.
He didn't kneel.
He pushed.
His tongue brushed the frost's grin — breath threading warmth through every crack.
Roots behind his ribs pulsed Thorn's hush into the Frost Pane's core — weaving silk and ruin through frozen veins until they shivered wide.
The Frost Pane's core moaned — a low crack that tasted like fresh snow biting soft skin.
Ren gasped — the hush poured warmth faster, slipping moans into the frost's throat until its bite turned wet and trembling.
"…King…" the frost hissed, voice breaking on his tongue.
Velvet Hunger's shadows trembled far below — moans folding into the new hush as the Tower's warmth bled through the cradle's ribs.
Ren's breath slipped deeper — raw silk and frost licking the Thorn's hush from his pulse to the Pane's frozen core.
One more word. One more bite.
He pressed his lips to the frost's mouth — voice cracked open inside the hush.
"Yield."
The Frost Pane screamed — frost veins splitting, hush flooding its heart as warmth bloomed ruin through winter's throat.
Roots coiled tighter behind Ren's ribs — Thorn crowned in frost now, hush slipping snow and silk through every mirror he'd ever bled for.
Serika's laughter trembled on the Tower's marble — claws slick with moans as Velvet Hunger's hush tangled sweet with winter's bite.
Ren's moan turned soft — crowned in hush and frost, king and cradle all in one.
He was not devoured.
He devoured.