The snow surrounding me was undeniably beautiful. It lay over everything like a pristine white blanket, smooth and perfect, as if the very clouds had descended to cover the earth. The sunlight danced across its surface, reflecting its brilliance back at me. I wasn’t sure why it did that, but it seemed that things of pure white often did.
Imagine being that perfect—untouched, unscathed. Existing only for a brief moment, flawless and pure, before inevitably melting away. The thought struck me as strangely poetic, even a little absurd. You know you’ve hit rock bottom when you start envying snow. There’s something almost humorous about it.
These thoughts kept pulling my attention away as I crouched in the snow, studying the book. The cold was numbing my skin, but I barely noticed it, lost in distractions. Each time I tried to focus on the instructions for opening the gateway, I found myself procrastinating, my mind drifting to the sky with its ever-shifting clouds. I watched birds flying by, their wings cutting through the air, and noticed small rodents scurrying past. At one point, a deer even paused to stare at me, before darting away in fright.
“Come on,” I muttered to myself, taking a sharp breath and holding it. “Stay focused.”
I turned my attention back to the book, forcing myself to read the pages more carefully this time. Then I read them again. And again. I pored over the instructions for opening the gateway so many times that the words began to imprint themselves in my mind. Each sentence, each phrase, became ingrained in my memory, as if repetition alone could protect me from what’s ahead.
The instructions to open the gateway seemed impossible, requiring ingredients that were the stuff of legends: blood from each of the four true kings. These supposed rulers governed the quadrants of the continent, but they existed only in fairytales—myths that had faded into obscurity, their lineage wiped out in a hundred-year war I had once thought fictional.
Yet, as I read and re-read the text, nearly tearing the fragile pages in my haste, I found a glimmer of hope. Hidden within the convoluted passages was a mention of one gateway that still remained open. The portal, it claimed, was located on an island miles off the shore—Othonar Island, named after a once-revered god in the Llythyrran Pantheon.
The original gateway.
“This is bullshit,” I cursed aloud, slamming the book shut. How could any of this be real? Blood from mythical kings, a war I thought was fictional, a gateway on some cursed island—it all seemed absurd. Frustration boiled over, and I took a sharp breath, trying to control myself, but the rage came anyway. I hurled the book at a nearby tree. The heavy thud as it hit, stripping bark and landing flat in the snow, did nothing to ease my anger.
“Dammit...” I muttered, swinging my fist at the tree in blind fury. But it didn’t hit the trunk. Instead, my knuckles crashed into cold metal.
“Ah, fuck—” I winced, clutching my hand as I looked up to see Ikevine standing before me, his metal fist tight around mine. “What are you doing here?”
“Snuck out—followed you,” he said flatly, shoving me back with a rough push. “Is it true? Did you kill Vesperus?” His usual helmet and armor were gone, leaving his face exposed, showing a hard expression, though his eyes betrayed a broken edge.
“You don’t understand.” I stepped forward, refusing to back down, my face inches from his. I noticed his sword was missing, replaced by an enchanted dagger in his left hand—probably how he’d followed me.
“Did. You. Kill. Him?” he pressed again, voice colder now. “And it was Dolion?”
My throat tightened as I swallowed hard. I nodded instead of answering outright. He wouldn’t kill me here. Probably.
“You fucker.” Ikevine raised the dagger for a moment, and my heart skipped. But instead of striking, he tucked it into his bag. “I can’t believe it.”
“What?” I said instinctively, though I wasn’t really asking, “You want me dead.”
“Never said that...” He glanced away, letting out a sharp breath, the air turning to a white plume as it left his mouth. “You ruined my reputation with the Sovurn... but if this curse can bring Belzarok back...” His voice twisted with frustration, and a bitter laugh followed. “It’ll be worse than Vesperus ever was.” He gestured to the book lying in the snow. “What did you find out?”
“Noth—uh...” I stammered, trying to collect myself. “Opening a gateway’s impossible... but there’s one left, on some island.”
“Island?” He raised an eyebrow, his skepticism clear. “Only one near us is Othonar, and that's suicide—supposedly.”
“You mean the trip?”
“That too.” He made a face, half-annoyed, half-amused. “But the island itself... it’s infested. And before you ask, ‘with what,’ I don’t know. Anyone who’s gone there... well, they never came back. Hard to believe, eh?”
“I’ll believe anything at this point,” I admitted, feeling a strange comfort in the ridiculousness of it all.
“Good.” He grabbed my arm and shoved me toward the book. “Pick it up.”
“Fuck off,” I muttered, catching myself as I bent down. “This isn’t going to work if you keep being insufferable.”
“In—" He let out a mocking laugh. “Whatever. Let’s focus on the task, yeah?” He held up the small, enchanted dagger. “The blade has enough energy for one trip to the island,” he said, showing me the metal before letting it drop back into his bag. “It’s a one-way entry, no way back.”
“Of course there is.” I forced a grin, knowing it would annoy him. “You go back to the Sovurn, recharge that blade of yours, and come get me.”
Ikevine shook his head, looking away. “It’d take too long. Closest shore to Othonar is on the edge of Yorothen.”
“That’s on the other side of—”
“Yeah,” he cut in. “It is. The trip would take months, and that’s if we can get across borders. So...”
“We have to use it now? Can’t you just take us straight to the island?”
“Maybe... but traveling over the ocean takes more energy. This dagger won’t cut it.” He knelt, scooping up some snow and packing it tight before pressing it against a scratch on his arm. “Damn bounty hunters...” he muttered. “Elias puts up one hell of a fight.”
“They’re not after you... right?”
“This dagger won’t get us halfway across fucking Orerha,” he replied, ignoring the question. “But there’s someone I know who could give us a crystal. It should be enough for a trip to the island, then you’ll hop on a boat... and probably not die.”
“Right...” I muttered, half-heartedly. “How far?”
He glanced to the left, snow sticking to his hair and skin as the wind rippled through his clothes. His scarred eyes drifted for a moment before he finally spoke. “Five—no... six thousand paces. So not far.”
We stood wordlessly for a while, the tension between us palpable in the biting air. Ikevine’s disdain for me was undeniable. Despite his attempts to mask it, his anger over Dolion and Vesperus simmered beneath the surface. Without a word, he motioned for me to follow, and we began the trek through the snow.
Each step felt more laborious than the last, the thick snow clutching at my boots, making every movement a struggle. The cold gnawed at my skin, dulling it with numbness. I couldn’t help but yearn for the faint warmth of Auriver, close to Yokonland—a marshy region hugging the southern border. Even its humid heat seemed preferable to this punishing frost.
The trees surrounding us were skeletal, their limbs stripped bare, jutting upwards like sharpened spears. Their bark wasn’t the usual earthy brown but an unnatural, charcoal black. This winter wasn’t just frigid—it was bone-dry. Each breath seared my nostrils and throat with an icy burn.
I imagined this must be what the Theosilic Regions felt like. Why had I ever wanted to live there? No idea. It was foolish, a naive remnant of how sheltered I once was. No, those regions were far worse than this—I knew it without ever even setting foot there.
Panting from even a few steps, I had to brace myself against a nearby tree for support. Ikevine, of course, didn’t bother waiting and kept marching ahead. Bastard, I thought. Claims he wants to help me stop Belzarok, but pulls this? Hah, typical of that prick.
He wasn’t wrong about it being a short walk—we arrived in less than an hour—but the destination was far from promising. A small, dilapidated shack stood before us, something straight out of a fairy tale. It sat awkwardly in the middle of the dense forest, its base built from uneven piles of stone. Above, thin logs formed the walls, similar to the trees around it but lacking their bulk. The door barely hung on, with just the top hinge keeping it in place. A tiny, makeshift window was carved into the side, covered only by flimsy shutters instead of glass.
"Someone actually lives here?" I muttered, gesturing at the rundown structure. My hands were bright red, veins more pronounced than ever, spidering across my skin like webs.
Ikevine took a step forward, the snow crunching under his boots. "She’s not here... dammit." He cursed under his breath, once again ignoring me. “You wait here.”
“What—?”
He cut me off before I could finish. “Wait. Here, Okay?”
Reluctantly, I gave a small nod. Without another word, he turned and trudged toward the shack, his hair now dusted with snow, looking almost like ash. Once he was out of earshot, I muttered, “Asshole.”
Ikevine entered the shack, and for several minutes, nothing happened. The wind whispered through the trees, stirring the branches lightly, brushing past my ears, which had long since lost all feeling. Despite the wind, the forest remained quiet, almost peaceful. I hated it. The stillness left me alone with my thoughts, forcing me to listen. On the future, the past. On how I might never make it back. I shouldn’t think like that. But the silence invited it, pulling me deeper into the uncertainty I tried so hard to ignore.
"It's for a good cause..." A soft voice murmured beside me.
I didn't flinch this time. I knew exactly who—no, what—it was. I kept my gaze forward, steady. "You're not real, Mom," I said, my throat tightening as I swallowed.
She moved closer, her presence creeping into the corner of my vision. "You were thinking about running for it," she continued, her tone gentle, familiar. "But you know you can't."
Her words frustrated, but I stayed silent, refusing to look.
Her hand rested on my shoulder, but there was no warmth. No sensation of her touch, no shift in my clothes—just emptiness. “This man you’re with... he’s not a bad person,” she whispered.
“He’s not a good one either,” I muttered, finally turning to face her. The almost stranger-like face of my mother looked back at me, yet hollow, distant. “Go away.”
"He's troubled, like you—but it doesn't..." Her voice trailed off as I stepped forward, refusing to listen any longer.
In an instant, she disappeared, fading into nothing.
Fuck... I didn’t want to end up like Thadomire. It wasn’t fair. My whole life had been thrown into chaos, forced to serve the Fausts as their dirty little errand boy. Now I was trudging through the snow toward a place I had not even sure existed, trying to break a curse that shouldn’t have anything to do with me. Meanwhile, I was stuck with a moody, overgrown man-child.
It was all bullshit.
"Who were you talking to?" Ikevine emerged from the shack, a second glowing crystal clutched in his hand. His eyes narrowed, focused on me.
"Just, uh..." I coughed, scrambling for words. "No one."
He nodded, not buying it but letting it slide. "Sure—but let me know if the curse starts messing with you. They have a funny way of getting into your head." His gaze flickered to the tree line, watching for something unseen, then snapped back to me. "With the energy in the blade and the extra crystal... it'll get us to the shore."
"Only to the shore?" I echoed, frustration building.
"It's the best—"
"We don’t have a fucking ship, Ikevine! And I don’t have the slightest clue how to sail one!" I snapped.
He didn’t respond right away, letting the silence stretch out, thick enough to feel. Finally, he shook his head. "Figure it out, then," Ikevine muttered, clearly tired of the back and forth. "I’m only helping because..." He paused; huffing. "I’m afraid of what’ll happen if I don’t. You’d die a week in the woods—look at you, and then what? Belzarok’s still down there."
He wasn’t wrong. I had grown frailer, weaker than I used to be. My mind felt like it was crumbling with every passing second.
"You can pay for a sailor," he added, his tone sharp. "It’s not a lost fucking cause, so stop acting like it, yeah?"
Biting my tongue, I chose silence. “That’s what I thought...” Ikevine scoffed, grabbing my shoulder and pushing me forward.
I smacked his hand away and trudged along in a cloud of self-pity, embarrassed by my earlier outburst.
After we had put a good half mile between ourselves and the cabin, Ikevine dropped the blade into the snow and began sharpening it with the new crystal, channeling its energy into the weapon. I stayed quiet, mostly out of spite.
Once he finished, Ikevine seized my arm again. “This should take us directly to the shore. Are you ready?”
“It’s just a beach,” I said dismissively.
“Yeah... in Yorothen. Who knows if there are patrols, or worse.”
“Yeah... yeah...” I nodded, cutting him off. “I’m ready.”
Ikevine raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical, but what choice did he have? He lifted the blade and slashed forward. Instantly, we began to fall.
I didn’t want to go to that beach, nor the island. I was terrified. Yet, what’s a life worth living if it’s not worth the risk, right?
We kept falling and feeling much longer than compared to before. I wasn't even sure if Ikevine was beside me anymore. There was only cold blackness, and I couldn’t feel the usual pull of gravity or any sensation of motion. My limbs were stretched out, and the empty darkness was consuming, like drifting in a void.
For a moment, it honestly felt like death, as if this was what the end would be. I had imagined hell as fiery pits or endless suffering, but this? It was worse in a way, far more isolating. If this was the afterlife, it was far simpler—and terrifying—than I'd ever imagined.
Time had become unreadable in that void, but then came a blinding flash of light, and I was violently expelled from the darkness. My body slammed into the ground, and the impact jarred me. The surface below shifted loosely beneath me—sand, cool and damp, clung to my skin. The rhythmic crashing of waves filled my ears, the sharp scent of sea salt snapping me back to reality. Overhead, seagulls cawed, their wings flapping as they passed above.
I blinked several times, disoriented, finally opening my eyes to a gray, overcast sky. The beach was strewn with broken nets, remnants of what looked like a forgotten fishing camp. The sea stretched endlessly before me, the mist rising from its surface in lazy curls. And then, in the distance, beyond the fog, I spotted the island. A small dot, barely visible, but unmistakable. It had a faint reddish tent. One that felt quite unnatural.
If this was indeed Othonar, then Ikevine wasn’t wrong—it looked like a place no one was meant to return from.
Struggling to my feet, I spun around in search of Ikevine. But he was nowhere to be seen, as if swallowed by the darkness we had just escaped. My surroundings were foreign, unfamiliar in a way that made my stomach churn. The trees here weren't the familiar tall, slender ones native to Heladon. No, these were colossal, their trunks impossibly thick and stretching upward for what seemed like miles. Their vast canopy of leaves formed intricate, almost geometric patterns, casting an odd, dappled light over the forest floor.
Beneath my feet, the grass was darker, nearly black in hue, and yet free of snow. It felt wrong—too soft, almost spongy. Everything about this place felt alien, as though I had been transported to another world entirely. This must have been Yorothen.
"Ikevine..." I called out softly, then raised my voice, “Ikevine!” The sound echoed for a few seconds, but I heard no reply.
Something scurried past my feet, and glancing down, I saw a crab. It’s shell red and almost metallic looking, reflecting the faint sunlight that managed to pierce the heavy clouds. It was tiny, with beady black eyes. Soon it burrowed away as footsteps approached. My eyes snapping over, I got a hold of who it was.
Two men on their hulking steeds drew closer, their mounts snorting and stamping the sand beneath their hooves. These beasts were unlike anything I'd seen before—muscular, imposing, with coats so smooth they gleamed under the faint sunlight. Their bellies rippled with taut muscles. The riders, however, were what caught my eye the most. Their armor was bulky, heavy, and worn not like the finely crafted gear of Heladon but something far more utilitarian. The dull, ugly gray metal clanked with each movement, and over their helmets, chainmail hung down.
The spears in their hands gleamed wickedly, their sharp tips reflecting the scarce light that broke through the clouds. Their posture was rigid, tense, as though they expected trouble.
One of the riders halted his steed just a few paces from me, the animal snorting. The rider's voice, muffled by his helmet and chainmail, finally broke the silence. "Who are you?" His accent was thick, unfamiliar, but the words were clear enough. "And what brings you to the shores of Yorothen?"
I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice. "I... I'm just passing through. Looking for someone.” My hand instinctively reached across to feel the rune etched into my other arm, the one Thadomire had traced with such precision. He told me it had the power to summon the sword...if I ever needed it.
The crab I had seen earlier was long gone, and for a brief moment, I envied its ability to burrow away so easily. "I'm not looking for trouble," I added quickly, trying to keep the situation from spiraling. "Just trying to get to Othonar Island."
Both riders exchanged a glance, their mounts shifting restlessly beneath them. The first man chuckled darkly, "Othonar, huh? You're either a fool or desperate... maybe both." He paused, lowering his spear slightly. "You won't make it alone."
The second rider snorted. "Or alive."
“Would that even matter?” I asked, tilting my head slightly as if pondering the question aloud. “If I sailed away on a boat right now, why should that concern you?”
The first rider shifted in his saddle. It was obvious he held the authority between them. His eyes narrowed slightly, scrutinizing me with a new intensity. “It’s not our decision to make,” he said, his voice low and measured. Then, after a pause, he added, “But say... you look familiar.”
My heart rate quickened, but I kept my expression neutral. The last thing I needed was to show fear. "Familiar?" I asked, raising an eyebrow, "I doubt it. I don’t make a habit of getting acquainted with armored patrols."
He leaned forward in his saddle, "No, I know that face," he muttered, almost to himself. "Seen it before... somewhere."
The second rider tilted his head, his gaze sharpening as if he, too, began to recognize me. He leaned back slightly, reaching for a small leather pouch hanging off the side of his horse. With careful hands, he pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment, unrolling it and showing it to the first rider.
“Of course...” the first rider said with a slow nod as he scanned the paper. His tone carried a hint of satisfaction as he added, “You’re the boy from Heladon—the one Chlodovech’s been searching for. How the hell did you make it this far?”
“That doesn’t matter,” I cut in, my voice steady but sharp. “What matters is you’re not taking me back.”
The rider let out a harsh, grating laugh. “Like we could even if we wanted to,” he sneered, amused at the thought. “Besides, it’s none of our business. You’re in safe ground here, pal. An enemy of Chlodovech is alright by me.”
The second rider eagerly chimed in, nodding along, “Oh—yeah. Right. Same here.”
I felt my guard slip slightly, my hand lowering from its subtle hover near the rune etched on my arm. “You’re just... letting me go?” I asked, disbelief creeping into my voice.
The first rider chuckled again, more calmly this time, and slid his spear into a metal ring holster strapped to his horse. “As long as you leave this area. No one’s allowed near the shores, not with trade ships coming through. Wouldn’t want anyone interfering with that.”
“Have you seen my friend...?” I hesitated, grimacing at the word as it left my lips, “His name’s Ikevine.”
At the mention of Ikevine’s name, the first rider’s eyes widened beneath his draped chainmail. “Ikevine? He’s here?” His hand reflexively moved to the handle of his spear, his posture suddenly tense.
“Is that a problem?” The fear that had momentarily receded surged back, and I instinctively moved my hand closer to the rune on my arm.
The rider didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he tapped his horse’s snout, signaling the animal to lower its head, and dismounted with deliberate slowness. The second rider followed suit, his demeanor shifting back to one of disdain. “Yeah... I’d say so,” he said, his voice dripping with contempt. “You’re an accomplice of his?”
Accomplice? They were talking about Ikevine as if he’d committed some grave crime—murder or worse—which, knowing him, wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility.
They seemed to come to a silent agreement not to draw their spears, their expressions now serious. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with. Where is his location?” The first rider demanded, his eyes cold and calculating.
Before I could answer, a sudden scream erupted from the second rider. His eyes went wide with shock as a figure leaped from the shadows, wrapping an arm around his neck. A dagger glinted in the dim light as it was driven upward, slipping beneath his helmet but above the armor plate, exposing a vulnerable strip of flesh. Blood sprayed out as the second rider’s face contorted in pain and terror, tears streaming down his cheeks. It was Ikevine, his face smeared with the blood of his victim.
The first rider stumbled back, his initial shock quickly replaced by combat readiness. With a swift motion, he unsheathed a dagger, realizing his spear would be too cumbersome in close quarters.
Ikevine struck first, aiming a vicious slash at the rider’s neck. The rider ducked just in time, countering with a powerful kick to Ikevine’s stomach. The blow barely moved the soldier, his heavy armor absorbing the impact. I could see Ikevine was struggling; the fight wasn’t going in his favor.
Desperation took hold as I pressed my hand against the rune on my arm. A sharp, searing pain shot through my skin, but I could feel the familiar weight of a sword materializing in my grasp. My gaze darted between the combatants, trying to find the right moment.
The two fighters continued their deadly dance, circling each other. When the first rider came close to me again, I seized the opportunity. Without hesitation, I dashed forward, gripping the sword tightly. I pushed the rider’s head to the side, exposing his neck, and with a swift, decisive motion, plunged my blade deep into the vulnerable area.
The rider let out a choking gasp, his body collapsing to the ground as life drained from him.
ns 15.158.61.6da2
