Chapter I
How to Bring a Blush to the Snow
He shivered. Even though he had lit a small fire, closed and locked the door, and closed the windows of his small hut, it did little to keep out the cold. The harsh winds of the north were unstoppable.
He hated the cold.
He shook his head. How it infuriated him that his father had chosen to come to such a place; of everywhere they had gone in the past decade, this was the worst. It was too cold outside for him to practise swordplay or magick, leaving him with nothing to do but read. He enjoyed to read usually, but today he felt restless.
With a frown, he returned his attention to the small, hand-written journal in his hands, which he had been given by one of the people in the unnamed village he was staying in. It was the account of an anonymous writer who had set out to remote parts to discover great secrets.
It read:
Although these cold nights in the mountains have brought me little comfort or satisfaction, my resolution remains untarnished. The sanctum I seek must rest somewhere in these hills. My research has brought me to this location for a single reason; the lost and forgotten arts of the Magi. These great men of ages past were recorded by written account performing feats of magick unseen in this age.
Such a tragedy, it seemed to me, that such greatness would be lost. Therefore I set out to rediscover at least some fragment of their lost knowledge. But the discovery I so eagerly seek has yet to manifest itself in any shape or form. All I have found out here is ice and monsters.
But as I have said already, my resolution remains untarnished. If what I seek exists at all, then I shall find it or die.
Tomorrow, I will search further.
It would seem there was no escape from the freezing hell he was in. Even his book saw fit to remind him of it. He closed the book, rose and drew his robes tighter around himself. He paced relentlessly, hoping the movement would warm him up.
Though it was always cold in the village, this day in particular was merciless. He prayed the storm would die down at least a bit before his father returned. Once he was back, they were to go out hunting. And he knew that no weather, no matter how fierce, would keep his father from a hunt. Not because the man enjoyed it - he seldom did - but because they were the only two hunters the village had left, so without them, there would be no food.
How the people of this village had survived before their arrival, he did not know. The Arimos region was a deathly and desolate place, barely habitable by humans. Only certain parts of it could be safely settled, and even those were far deadlier than the more southern lands of Bacoria. The monsters of the north were more vicious, food and supplies harder to come by, and of course there was always?
The cold.
He made his way over to the lone door of the small hut, and peered out at the raging blizzard through the cracked frame. The howling winds gave no sign of relief. If his father was on his way, he would not be able to see him approaching through that haze.
His father was a tough man, tempered by many years of living in the farthest corners of Bacoria. Humourless and determined, he had trained his son vigorously for the past fourteen years, almost all of which they had spent travelling, stopping only to rest in the occasional remote village for a month or two at a time. They had passed through Torachi and Samgo and Mainyu, and even the dead kingdom of Freidu. The more populated lands, like Sono and Saeticia, his father seemed to avoid, though they did pass through the edges of even those from time to time.
The training had made him as tough as his father. He knew how to wield a blade well after nearly a decade and a half of practise. Though he was nothing compared to his father, he figured himself skilled enough in swordplay to handle just about any monster he came across. He had never fought another man, though. Sometime he wondered what it would be like to kill someone.
His father never gave him a reason for the constant travel. He knew little about his father's life, or where they had come from. He had vague memories of a home he had once lived in, and a beautiful mother with golden hair. Whenever he brought this up, his father always grew quiet, and his eyes would fill with the weight of memory. And regret.
For seven months now he had been staying in this village, longer than any of the other places they had gone to, and he was starting to feel restless. While he was no stranger to staying in areas all but untouched by mankind, he felt almost claustrophobic whenever he stepped outside the hut he shared with his father. Part of this perhaps was because of the tall cliffs surrounding the village, but the minuscule population was the true reason. That tight feeling, coupled with his disdain for the cold, had led to him becoming something of a shut-in for the past two weeks or so.
Calling it a village in the first place was a compliment, really; it was more like a glorified collection of huts. The population probably didn't even exceed fifty. He wasn't quite sure, as the only people he saw regularly were the village elder and a girl named Arlea. The girl seemed to go out of her way to 'bump' into him often - the reasons for which were all too clear with the obvious lack of young men in the town. He would have been flattered if the whole affair hadn't been such a bother to him. He liked girls, sure, but he had learnt long ago not to get attached.
Indeed, it wasn't only girls that he had made a habit of avoiding. He had learnt long ago not to bother making friends in the small towns and villages they passed through. He had made a decision to walk alone; one of the most important books his father had ever given him had instilled in him a sense of duty and honour which he had swore never to sway from.
He turned his attentions back to his books, exhausted and frustrated by his thoughts. The diary of the traveller which he had been reading moments ago was nearing its end; only a sliver of page length remained in the binding. Wishing to save the rest for another time, he returned it to the wooden chest he kept his books in. He withdrew instead a thick tome of Bacorian lore, which he had already made considerable progress in studying. He returned to his comfortable mattress beside the fire, and opened to where he had left off - a chapter on myths told in the early days of Bacoria.
He read of Ekkei, the god-emperor of mankind. He read of the Eldritch, the fell beasts Ekkei commanded, that enforced the demon's will. And he read of Uro, the liberator, who had appeared with Rixeor the magick sword, and had slain both the demon and the beasts that followed it.
Familiar stories. He'd read them many times before. It was not so much the legend of Uro that interested him so much as the writings of Uro himself that he had left behind after his conquest: the Way.
Some time passed, but it passed by slow.
From the single window of his home, sunlight peaked in where it could through the shoddy curtain. And yet the shadows were long, betraying the day's infancy. The sky of Arimos was an often troubled one, the thick clouds so perfectly blocking the sun so as to drag on night and throttle the light of day. In the frozen north, light was precious. He idly wondered if noon drew near.
His thoughts were interrupted as the song-like voice of a young woman called his name from the other side of his door.
"Luca, are you home? It's noon, and I wondered if you might be interested in sharing a meal with me?"
He cursed his luck. He had hoped his father would appear and take him away before Arlea got the same idea. Still, he couldn't turn aside the company.
"Come in."
Luca rose and dusted himself off as the girl stepped inside. Her garb was similar to his own; several layers of insulating monster skins to shield the wearer from the biting cold; the same cold he felt as she opened the door. Her yellow hair was longer than his, reaching just past her shoulders, and her eyes were wide and blue.
She was pretty, he figured? but he just had no interest in her in the way she seemed to be interested in him. Or rather, he would not allow himself to; again, he had his code...
Arlea smiled and showed him a small bowl.
"I brought soup," she said, holding up the bowl in her h
ands. "Are you cold? There is a chill in this tent. Perhaps there is a hole somewhere that the wind is coming through."
Without answering her, Luca moved from his bedroll to beside the small fire surrounded by rocks in the centre of the room. Arlea sat on the opposite side of the fire, and handed him a warm bowl of soup. It was still warm in spite of the deathly cold outside.
Arlea looked around the hut.
"Your father is absent," she observed. "Is he gone often?"
"Fairly," Luca muttered. Inwardly, he scoffed at the thought of the girl being surprised at his father being away. She had probably been counting on it. "He keeps himself busy with hunts. But right now he is speaking with the elder."
"So I have noticed," Arlea said. "As have we all. Indeed, a greater hunter has never shown his face among these parts."
"You take my father for the greatest hunter your village has even seen?" Luca said, raising an eyebrow. "If a man like him is such a blessing to you, how have you all survived so long?" There was a hint of venom in his words he hadn't meant to show.
Arlea tilted her head, possibly confused by his anger. "Do you not like your father, Luca?"
His eyes found the fire. "He is my father," he responded cryptically. "He is the only family I have."
Perhaps realising that he did not wish to continue this discussion, Arlea grew quiet. She remained so for a while, and the only sound in the small hut was the crackling of the flames and the faint howl of the wind outside. Luca glanced at the window, considering the growing snowfall visible on the fringe of the curtain.
Arlea slowly met his gaze, more hesitation in her eyes.
"The other villagers speak of you and Master Lodin," she said. "They wonder why such a skilled hunter would come to such a remote place as this."
"I often wonder the same thing."
"Have you been to many places?"
"More than I can count," he said "Many as remote and desolate as this. My father says that we lived first in Saeticia, but I have no memories of that land."
"I have never left Arimos," Arlea sighed. "I can see you hate this land, and I feel the same. I have wanted to leave and see places like Sono and Saeticia."
"Then why stay here?" he asked.
A sad smile graced her pink lips.
"I am no hunter, Luca," she said. "I have no knowledge of the beasts or the elements. The extent of my talent with magick is keeping soup warm. I would never survive a journey to the southern port, let alone through the rest of Bacoria."
Luca stole a glance at the girl, whose eyes were on the small fire before her, her mind deep in thought.
"I have been thinking about this for quite some time now, in fact," she continued without looking up. "You caught my interest the moment you arrived, all those months ago. You are no stranger to travel, and you are a skilled hunter. You do not wish to remain here?"
"You want to leave with me," he finished for her.
Her eyes lit up. There was eagerness in those eyes, a kind of hope and anticipation he had not seen in a long time. His own eyes, and more so those of his father, were so often filled with weariness, having been worn down by so many long years of travel. There was something quite refreshing about the way Arlea looked at him, something he had not been expecting when he had invited her in mere minutes before.
"Your father? would he be angry?" she asked. She could not mask the eagerness in her voice.
"Perhaps. I have never attempted to leave him before."
"Does this mean??"
"I will consider it," he said. "Something like this? It is not the kind of decision you make without a day or so of consideration. But... I would be lying if I said you haven't intrigued me."
Arlea smiled. "A day to think about it? I should have come sooner, then. I was thinking... if you do wish to leave with me, mind you; that the annual festival tonight would be the perfect time to do so. The adults will be occupied with their celebration and their drinking. It will take them a while to miss us. If you do wish to leave, of course. Please, take your time to think about it."
Of course, the festival - it had entirely slipped his mind.
"I will think on it," he concluded.
She gave him a smile, and in spite of himself, he could not help but return it.
Arlea rose to leave, and Luca leaned forward to return the now-empty bowl. As their hands met briefly, he could feel her trembling.
"Well, then? I'd best leave you now. Uh? well, whichever way your mind goes, I suppose I will see you tonight. Until then?"
She hurried herself out.
Luca didn't even notice the cold breeze as she stepped outside.
Nearly an hour later, Luca marched through knee-deep snow with his father, leaving the village and headed towards the pass up into the mountains. A thick net, dragged over Lodin's shoulder, left a trail in the snow behind them. Once they had slain a beast, they would bring it out and wrap it in the net, and use that to drag it back to the town.
"How goes your training?"
Luca glanced up at his father as they walked. Lodin stood a head above him, with the same white hair and blue eyes he had. His face had firm lines around his mouth and under his eyes, and a grey stubble around his lips and chin. His eyes were tired and weary, with many untold stories from his five decades of life.
"In what regard?"
"In the magick circle I gave you," Lodin said.
"Ah, that," Luca muttered, feeling irritated at the thought. "It might be easier to focus mana through the circle if I knew exactly what it was supposed to do. It is infuriating, like trying to write with no knowledge of the topic."
Lodin, in turn, then glanced at his son.
"You feel I should give you more guidance?" the older man asked. "You have little difficulty creating new spells for your mana without my advice at other times."
"This is different," he replied. "In those cases, I was simply discovering things on my own. Here, you expect a specific result by giving me only the base materials, and yet telling me nothing else of what it is you expect."
Lodin stroked his chin. "Perhaps the technique is just too advanced for you. But giving you more guidance? I cannot do this. This spell is different from most others. It is hard to explain, but if I tell you any more about the weave before you actually perform it, mental blocks could rise up and prevent you from ever mastering it at all. It is like swimming? the only way to figure it out is to just jump in. Dwelling on it only makes the task difficult."
Luca thought about that, but his father's words only made him more confused.
"Then perhaps your first guess was right. Perhaps it simply is too advanced for me."
"I would not hold it against you if it were," Lodin reassured him. "I myself could never master that spell, to tell the truth. And I had many years more than you to practise, as well. So it is no fault of yours if you are not skilled enough."
Lodin smiled.
"But I don't think that's it."
After a few more minutes of travel they reached the peak of the large hill, the view of which would have been quite majestic, were it not for the heavy snowfall blinding their view. In the two months they had spent in the unnamed village, Luca had ascended the small mountain several times, and he knew that from where they were, one could see the entire village a kilometre or so away in better conditions.
"You have something in particular in mind?" He turned to his father as he asked the question.
"I just may," Lodin replied, a confident smile on his bearded face. He pointed to somewhere on the other side of the pass. "There is a cave in that valley there we have not yet explored. It's quite large, so it may hold something big enough for the feast."
With that note, Lodin began his descent into the valley below, and Luca silently followed him. As they walked, Luca thought of his conversation with Arlea, and weighed the options regarding whether he should leave with her. He would have to think hard on it, as leaving could be a fatal mista
ke.
He had never left his father's side before, but perhaps that was a mistake of its own. In the past he had depended on his father's protection against monsters during their travels. But he had now grown into a skilled enough hunter that taking care of common beasts was not a worrisome matter.
What worried him more was that Arlea was no more trained in fighting monsters than he was at playing the lute. And the necessity of travelling at night, when monsters were active, would put them both in danger, as he would have to watch out for her as well as himself. He was used to travelling with his father, whom he did not need to concern himself with during battles. It would be all too easy for him to slip up and for Arlea to be hurt while his attention was occupied.
Extra care would have to be taken to avoid wild areas at first, at least until he taught her the basics of self-protection. Avoiding travel at the deepest hours of the night and finding secure areas to rest would also help. It would be easy enough in the south to do this, but in the Arimos...
More troubling was the matter of getting off the Arimos island. The only ships to dock were those that came to Frostbite, the small port on the southwestern side, and their appearances were infrequent at that.
Perhaps he could converse with the village elder on the matter. If anyone in the unnamed village were to know when the next ship was to arrive, he would.
It wasn't the best of plans, but if the conditions were right, it wouldn't be impossible. Satisfied for the moment, Luca returned his thoughts to the present.
At last they had reached the mouth of the cave, which led into an icy tunnel that burrowed deep into the mountainside. Visibility was quickly obscured by the suffocating darkness.
Lodin dropped the ropes of the large net he had been dragging. He went over and looked into the cavern.
"As you can see, it is quite dark in there," Lodin pointed out.
Luca resisted the urge to retort. Of course he could see that. It was just his father's way of prompting him.
"Give me a minute," he muttered.
Luca gathered his mana, feeling the rush of energy one always felt when using magick. He then used this energy to weave within his hands an orb of glowing energy, which he released upon an invisible string to hover behind him at a distance, much like a balloon. The orb of light cast a bright glow around Luca and his father.
Lodin nodded in approval. He then entered the small cave, and Luca silently followed behind him. Tethered to him, the magick orb followed as well.
Idly, Luca wondered what would happen if he severed the connection with the magick orb. Would the orb linger, continuing to provide light until the mana faded? Normally, he dispelled the magick on his own; he had never just cut it off from himself. Could it survive on its own? Or was it truly dependent on his mana to exist at all?
As they walked, Lodin stopped to examine a spot on the wall. Luca realised he had noticed something. With his fingers, Lodin traced a cross carved into the ice, and bent down to examine the floor. Kicking aside the snow, Lodin uncovered the blackened remains of a campfire.
"Someone has been here," Lodin muttered, his expression darkening.
"One of ours?"
"Perhaps," Lodin said, but he did not seem to think so. "Either way, discretion is the better part of valour. Proceed with caution. We still have no knowledge of the monsters that may be here."
Luca knew there would be no problem. His father had been cataloguing the beasts of Bacoria his entire life. If he was insisting caution, there was a different reason for it. Could there be bandits? Not likely, Luca decided. The campfire had been buried under snow, so it was probably old.
They proceeded deeper into the cave. The farther they went, the darker and narrower the cave became, and they began to see bones in the corners of the passages. Most were the bones of the same beasts they had hunted themselves since arriving. Once or twice, they were the bones of humans, coming from arms and legs torn off before death.
They reached the heart of the cave, where a sickening sound reached their ears. As they rounded the final corner, a large humanoid beast came into view. It stood a good two metres taller than Lodin, and nearly twice as wide. Large arms could be traced beneath its thick white fur, ending in long claws specked with red blood.
They entered the yeti's view, with Luca's orb of illumination following behind him. The beast looked up and saw two humans, and it dropped the severed arm it had been in the process of consuming. The yeti gave out a bellowing roar of rage, and it drew up and started towards its enemies.
"These guys can be a bit tricky, so I'll take care of this," Lodin said, stepping forward and drawing his sword from his belt. Luca gave no objection; his father knew what he was doing.
The yeti leaped towards Lodin, swinging its claws in a slash that would decapitate Lodin if he failed to dodge it. The ageing man moved with surprising agility, sidestepping the swing. He swung his sword, wielding the blade like it weighed nothing. It swung through the yeti's neck like a knife through butter, beheading the beast in an instant.
The head flew off into a dark corner of the cave, and the body collapsed, bleeding out on the floor. The yeti had no soul, therefore it did not disappear after death. Its body remained, cold and dead.
Lodin wiped his blade off on the beast's fur, and he looked with disdain at the remnants of its unfinished meal. The arm it had been gnawing on had come from a human. The arm had not been turned into mana, which meant it had been removed some time before its owner's death.
"Well, now we know what happened to the people who were camped out at the entrance," Luca offered with a wry chuckle.
"Indeed," Lodin replied. His face had grown pale. "Son... over in the corner."
Luca looked to where his father was pointing, and saw what truly was bothering him. A small nest lay in the corner of the room, where three infant yeti slept, undisturbed by the slaughter of their mother.
"I see," Luca muttered, knowing at once what needed done. "Go ahead and take it out to the net. I'll meet you at the entrance."
After quickly summoning an illuminating orb of his own, Lodin heaved the dead yeti over his shoulders by its legs and left, while Luca went over to the nest.
He hated to do it, but it was better than leaving them. Without their mother, the creatures would inevitably die, so there was no sense in sparing them. He drew his hunting blade and quickly drove it into each of the three children. It was a quick, clean kill, and they never woke from their sleep.
His deed done, he turned and left the room.
It wasn't the first time such a thing had happened on a hunt. Lodin always made his son kill the children, for he could never bring himself to do it.
Lodin never told him why.
Luca could see the bright glow of the bonfire in the distance as he stood, leaning against the back of his hut. The celebrations of the village's annual festival were underway, and his father was likely busy getting drunk. The snowstorm had finally died out while the two of them had dragged the headless yeti body back to the town, where they had been greeted with applause by a few dozen people.
After returning to the village with Lodin, Luca had slipped away and gone to the elder's hut. The elder had told him that a ship was due to arrive in Frostbite in about a month; just enough time for him to travel there with a single companion.
The night was due in an hour or two, and the villagers were too distracted with their celebrations to notice anything. His small number of belongings were packed away in a bag at his side.
His books remained in the shelf in the hut, with the exception of the traveller's journal, which he had stuffed away in the bag. There was really only one other book he would have felt the need to take with him, but he knew that one by heart. And he wouldn't have wanted Arlea to see that one; it might hurt her to realise just what kind of person Luca was.
They would depart under cover of darkness. Not a soul would witness them, and their absence would not be noticed until the next morning.
Truly, the circumstances of their elopement could not have been more perfect. Still, Luca had his doubts.
Something felt wrong.
He frowned as he noticed Arlea approaching. She was dressed in travel clothes, as he was, and she carried a bag at her side, just as he did.
"We're going?" she asked hopefully.
Luca sighed. He needed to give her an answer. It was not a matter that could wait, and they would not get another chance like this to carry it out. He had no idea how his father would react should he find out, but he knew the elder would never permit Arlea to leave. She was only a few months short of marriageable age, and the village was shy of young women as it was. Perhaps that was why she wanted to leave so badly; she knew that Luca was her only chance of escaping a marriage with someone two decades her senior.
Arlea watched him, expectantly awaiting his answer. He opened his mouth to tell her...
And then he noticed something strange.
The bonfire of the annual festival was very bright. Too bright. His hut was some distance from the village square. He shouldn't have been able to see the orange glow so well from where he was.
"Luca, what is it?" Arlea asked.
He stepped past her, not answering her question. Something was definitely wrong. The fire seemed to be growing brighter by the moment.
Then he heard a dying scream and his blood ran cold.
"What was that?!" Arlea exclaimed.
"Stay here!" Luca shouted. He drew his short sword and took off at a run, leaving Arlea behind. Her confused questions carried in the wind behind him.
It didn't take him long to reach the village square and see what was wrong.
The village was under attack by men in black armour.
The huts were on fire, the celebratory bonfire having been used as a weapon by the attacking people. Dying villagers were vanishing all around, leaving only blood and clothes behind as oblivion took them.
It was a massacre. The feast was abandoned, several villagers were dying on the table, arrows sticking out of their backs. Other villagers ran in fear, men in armour pursuing them with swords raised. A woman screamed as she was cut down, crimson blood spilling out and staining the snow. A man cried out as a fireball incinerated him.
It was a one-sided conflict. The villagers were helpless innocents; few of them even carried daggers, much less knew how to fight. The men in black armour moved without hesitation or emotion, carrying out the slaughter like machines.
Luca quickly searched the few survivors for someone he knew. He saw no one. The village elder had been killed already; only his blood-stained robes remained. Lodin was nowhere in sight.
Luca cried out as pain suddenly filled his leg.
He looked down, and saw an arrow was stuck fast in his left thigh, only a few millimetres away from his knee. It hurt, but it was not very deep. He could still walk.
He looked around and quickly found the archer. The armoured man stood at a distance, and was already in the process of firing a second. He released the string and the arrow flew towards Luca.
He rolled out of the way, and the arrow missed him. With the first arrow still in his leg, he took off at a run, quickly closing the distance between himself and the archer. Between the breastplate and helm, he spotted a gap where pale flesh could be seen; that was the spot where he drove his short sword.
The man did not cry out as he died. He simply collapsed backwards, Luca's blade sliding out as he fell. He vanished into nothingness before he hit the ground, and the black-painted steel armour broke apart into many pieces in the snow.
Luca then realised that he had just killed a man. Somehow, he had expected something more. It was odd how numb he felt; it almost frightened him. He'd thought it should have been harder, but this faceless soldier he had struck down hadn't felt like a true human being. Killing him had been easy... too easy.
But there was no time to dwell on such things. Luca turned, seeing the small and pathetic village he resented in flames. He looked for his father, but he was nowhere in sight. Luca feared the worst, but he refused to accept that it was true until he saw it happen with his own eyes.
A woman cried out as she was killed, and Luca spotted the soldier who had done it. The man pulled his sword up, still covered in her blood, and Luca was suddenly filled with blind rage.
"Bastard!"
The soldier turned to him, his armoured face looking towards Luca with no indication or surprise, regret, or humanity. As Luca ran towards him, he approached with a slow, unfettered march.
Luca swung his short sword, and their blades met.
"Why are you doing this?!" he demanded. "Who are you people?!"
The soldier was silent.
After two blocked strokes, a small fireball hit the soldier in the back, throwing him off guard. Not wasting the opportunity, Luca sprang forward and decapitated him.
Arlea ran up to Luca, still emanating mana from the fireball she had thrown.
"Are you okay?!" she asked him.
"I told you to stay back at the hut!"
She ignored that. "What's happening here? Who are these people?"
"I don't know."
Arlea noticed the arrow in his leg and gasped. "You've been hit! Goodness, you're bleeding!"
"Forget about that!" Luca shouted. "You have to get out of here! It's not safe, there's soldiers everywhere. Start running... I'll cover you so you can get away!"
She shook her head and Luca cursed her obstinacy.
"Damn it, get out of here! Everyone is dead already and this place is burning! All you can do is save yourself at this point!"
"No, not without-"
She never finished that sentence. An arrow came flying, perhaps meant for Luca, and struck Arlea in the throat. She stumbled back in shock, choked out a sound that may have been his name, and collapsed, fading to nothing before she hit the ground.
Everything seemed to stop. Luca felt cold. Colder than he had ever felt before. He couldn't believe his eyes; it didn't feel like it had really happened.
"Arlea..."
Blind rage filled Luca.
He turned with a feral growl and spotted the archer who had killed Arlea. He charged, a second arrow somehow missing him as he closed in, and swung his sword, slicing open the man's throat with a single stroke. The archer hit the ground and twitched helplessly for a moment before death took him.
That was three of them he had killed so far, he found himself thinking.
Luca slipping away from view, hiding behind one of the few houses not yet on fire. Few villagers remained now. It was clear these people had come to kill, not to pillage or rape, but to simply kill every person present. It was an extermination.
"...why?!"
"Luca!"
He turned. Lodin had appeared behind him, his face pale and eyes wide. Luca exhaled in relief, thankful that his father still lived.
"Arlea was with you, wasn't she?" Lodin asked. "What happened?"
"Dead," he said in a cold voice.
Lodin's face grew paler. "Come," he insisted. "We have to flee. There's nothing we can do here now."
"Flee?"
Luca didn't understand. His father had never been a coward, nor had he ever been one to let innocent people die. Why would he want to run away now?
He noticed that his father's belongings were packed as his own were. But Lodin's things had still been stored away in the hut when he had last been there. Which meant...
Luca glared at my father. "You have been packing while these people were being slaughtered?"
Lodin blinked, his eyes filled with deep regret. It was the same look he had whenever Luca asked about his mother, or what it was that they were running from.
"Son... sometimes you have to give things up," Lodin said quietly.
"You gave up awfully quickly," Luca spat. "You were a better hunter than any of these people! A better fighter! How many of these people could have been spared if you would have defended them?!"
"Luca, don
't be a fool!" Lodin urged. "We can't fight these men! These are Acarian soldiers!"
"Perhaps you can't. But I won't let these people die in vain. I won't let Arlea's death be meaningless. You can run. I'm going to take out every one of these bastards!"
"You don't understand, son... their leader-"
Lodin stopped, his eyes growing wide like he had just seen a ghost.
From the white haze, a black figure emerged. A tall man with a handsome face of indeterminate age, He wore the same red-trimmed black armour as the soldiers, but lacked the helmet. The man's right eye was covered by a patch, and his left glowed a deep red. His hair was black and shoulder-length, with a single strand by his left ear braided.
Lodin gasped. "Zinoro..."
The man called Zinoro stared at Lodin expressionlessly.
"Hello, Lodin," he said in a cold, low voice. "It has been some time since we last met."
"Your face...! After all these years..."
"Yes," Zinoro said, his single red eye gleaming. "Some things have changed, but some things have not. You certainly carry the weight of your years."
Lodin said nothing. There was a great sorrow in his eyes; a kind of resignation Luca had never seen in his father. Lodin had often been sombre, but never weary. Now, he suddenly looked many years older.
Luca stepped up to his father's side.
"You're their leader," he said. It wasn't a question, but a statement that expected an answer. "You're the one responsible for all this!"
Zinoro gave him a brief glance with his single eye, then returned his gaze to Lodin.
"Your son has grown since we last crossed paths. It must be nice, for a father to see his son's childhood, hmm?"
Lodin's mouth tightened.
"In that case, I find it fitting that he should be forced to watch his father die," Zinoro said. "Draw your sword, Lodin. You have run from me long enough."
Lodin hesitated.
"I've found you," Zinoro said. "You know there's no escaping this time."
Finally, Lodin tossed his bag aside and slowly slid his sword from its sheath. He gave the blade a long glance, as if saying goodbye to the weapon.
"Siora..." he muttered so quietly it was almost lost to the wind.
Lodin then tossed the sword aside into the snow.
Zinoro's face twisted in rage. "What is the meaning of this?! Pick up your sword, you coward!"
Lodin shook his head.
"I will not kill you Zinoro," he said sombrely. "I will not even raise a hand to defend myself. If you wish to end me, you will have to do so in cold blood. I will not allow you the comfort of a quick kill in the heat of battle."
Zinoro spat at the ground.
"You would insult me after all these years?" Zinoro turned to Luca, and addressed him for the first time. "Look, boy, at the man your father is. To spend fifteen years fleeing from his enemy, only to insult him when they do at last meet? A spineless fool."
Luca turned from his father to glare at the armoured man. He didn't understand much of what they spoke of, but he would not abide by this man insulting his father. His short sword was drawn in a second, and he charged at Zinoro.
The armoured Acarian turned his head ever so slightly, and he frowned. He was clearly not threatened by his charge, but merely annoyed. He made no visible movement, not drawing his own weapon or attempting to dodge, but Luca could feel the man gathering his mana about him.
Too late, he realised just how much mana Zinoro had gathered, and how quickly, and regretted not setting up a defencive shield. Zinoro's single red eye stared right into his own.
Luca saw no visible sign of the spell, but he felt an intense pain shoot through every nerve in his body. He collapsed, cut off from his very senses. He was unable to think, or move, or do anything but twitch pathetically. He couldn't tell if he was screaming; he likely was. He could see nothing; his eyes were open, but all he saw was darkness. A black void. The pain was unbearable, horrid, invasive, and vile. He could feel Zinoro's mana. It was black and thick and dirty; like polluted water.
Shadow-form mana.
When his senses finally returned to him, the situation around him had changed. Lodin was now on his knees, staring ahead with dull, lifeless eyes. He was bleeding from a gash across his forehead, and several slashes and wounds across his body.
Zinoro stood before Lodin. His blade was now drawn, a large and heavy claymore that he somehow held with only one hand. There was an aura of mana shrouding the edge of the blade, something between a black fire or mist. Luca had never felt so much mana in his life. Even from where he was, several metres away from Zinoro, Luca could feel the overwhelming intensity of the black flame around the sword.
He then knew just what sort of sword that was.
It was a weapon that would never dull or chip or rust. A weapon as light as a feather, yet heavier than a hammer when swung. A weapon that would burn the flesh of anyone that should try to wield it who was not its master. A unique weapon, one with eight siblings.
It was one of the nine fragments of Rixeor, the legendary weapon that slain Ekkei in the early days of the world, according to legend. Whether it was true that Ekkei existed or not, there was no doubt that the sword had; as the man before Luca held a part of it in his hand.
The black fire around the blade was manaflame; a magick manifestation of the sword's power. When the wielder channelled mana through the sword, the manaflame appeared and gave the sword an unnaturally sharp edge. If Zinoro swung that blade, it would cut through ten metres of solid stone like a hand parting wind. No ordinary weapon could match a Rixeor Fragment.
Whoever this Zinoro man was, he was a master swordsman if he wielded a Rixeor Fragment. Only the most skilled of warriors could attain them, for one needed to kill the previous master to use one. Luca had spent many hours reading about them, and dreaming of the day that he might carry one of his own.
But he had not the time to think of such things. For Zinoro was standing before Lodin now, his sword pointed at his father's chest.
"No!"
He climbed to his feet, his body still half-numb with the pain of Zinoro's magick. The arrow in his leg had snapped in half at some point, possibly broken while he had been thrashing around in agony.
Zinoro glanced back over his shoulder, noticing Luca's struggle. Turning away from Lodin for a moment, he approached Luca. He drew close to Luca, and got on one knee to look him in the eyes.
"You have determination, son of Lodin. It is possible that you could beat me. I am ready for that. But for now, I am here for your father. Your time will come, have no fear. But until then, you are weak, and nothing more than an annoyance to me. We are bound by the chains of fate, and I am bound by them to be the conqueror who will destroy a kingdom. Stop me if you can. I am not invincible; you have the ability to kill me. But not today. Today you will watch your father die."
Luca said nothing as Zinoro spoke, simply glaring back at him. Then, as Zinoro moved to rise, he sprang back up, ignoring the pain in his leg, and swung his sword.
Genuinely caught off guard, Zinoro's eye widened and he jumped back. The blade struck only empty air. His face twisted into an ugly scowl of anger and indignation.
"You should learn your manners," he spat. "When your elder speaks, you would do well to listen."
Zinoro swung his claymore without moving from where he stood. The blade, shrouded in black fire, cut right through the steel of the short sword Luca held, leaving behind only a hilt. Then, Zinoro swung again, and the very tip of the blade cut across Luca's left cheek.
Luca gasped, and then lines of red blood ran down his cheek, and dripped down into the snow. The wound burned, in a strange way that no other cut ever had.
Zinoro smiled. "That's better. Never forget your mistakes, for there are some scars that a healer cannot mend."
Zinoro snapped his fingers as he turned away from Luca. A very large Acarian, who was armoured from head to toe and had a large battle axe strapped to his back, stepped
up behind Luca, grabbing his shoulders and lifting him to his feet.
"Hold him," Zinoro ordered. "He will not like the next part."
Luca struggled against the man holding him. The grip only tightened. The only weapon left was Lodin's sword, but it was far beyond his reach, resting in the snow beside his father. Luca started to gather his mana, which was his only option. Zinoro would be able to sense it, but he did not seem to care.
Luca's hands were not free, so directing a spell would be difficult. But he wouldn't simply stand there and watch Zinoro...
He couldn't feel his mana.
Luca began to panic. He had never felt such a thing before. His mana was always there, a bodily sense not unlike sight or taste. To suddenly lose it...
The cut on his cheek was burning. He noticed that the more mana he tried to pull, the more it hurt.
There was nothing he could do. The frustration of his powerlessness setting in, Luca struggled in vain against the powerful hands holding him in place.
Luca began to panic. He knew what was about to happen.
Zinoro walked back over to where Lodin knelt, unmoved since his beating. Lodin's white hair and beard swayed as a heavy wind blew through the cold tundra. A sombre wind. The village was all but gone now; the wooden huts had been reduced to ash, and what remained was being buried by snowfall. The villagers were all dead now, and the Acarian soldiers had disappeared as quickly as they had arrived.
Only four souls were present to witness Lodin's death.
Zinoro said something as he stared impassively at his former enemy. Luca did not hear a word of it. The wind was so loud now, and the snowfall was blinding. He could barely see the shape of his father against the whiteout.
Luca screamed when he saw Zinoro's blade glow again with his dark mana, and he twisted and flailed in a useless struggle at escape as he saw red blood spill from his father's chest.
The snowfall ended suddenly then, as though cut off with Lodin's life. For a brief second, Luca could see his father lying in a pool of red before the body was taken by the spiritual plane, leaving only the fur clothes and blood already spilt behind.
For a moment, he simply stared in silence, unable to believe that his father, his only family, and sole companion for fourteen years, was dead. Zinoro also seemed to be in a sombre state. He seemed disappointed, as though he had expecting more out of the confrontation.
Zinoro conjured a cloth out of his pocket, wiped his sword down, and slid the blade back into its sheath. Then he turned and addressed the Acarian holding Luca.
"Knock him out," he said. "We return to the circle. Our business here is done."
Luca's mind did not register the words, but he did recognise Zinoro's voice, which brought him back to the present.
Zinoro turned his back and started to walk away. His ebony form was gone within a blink, somehow vanishing into the white landscape.
Something clicked in Luca's mind. Grief filled him, and he struggled with renewed fury. The Acarian holding him released him, and he stumbled forward into the snow. As he hit the ground, pain filled his chest, like he had been stabbed. He did not see the red blood dripping onto the snow, nor the tip of his former short sword sticking out form between his ribs. None of this registered in his fever dream.
Luca climbed back to his feet, and spat out a mouthful of blood. Everything was burning up, despite the freezing cold around him. Everything was on fire. He couldn't even feel the icy wind in his face.
He hated the cold.
His mana was rising, as though on its own. He was weaving a spell. It was strange, because he wasn't even thinking about it. It was like his mind was doing things of its own will.
He half-walked, half-stumbled few steps backwards, and stepped on something buried in the snow. His father's blade. Almost absentmindedly, he reached down and picked it up. It felt warm in his hands; too warm for a steel blade covered in snow.
The armoured Acarian, in response, drew his heavy axe. Zinoro had simply ordered him to knock Luca out, but this mindless brute was going to end up killing him with how much of a struggle he was going to put up.
It was getting harder to breath. He was gasping and wheezing.
Everything was burning up.
His mana was overflowing now. He had never drawn so much in his life. The old nursery rhymes and cautionary tales about overloading yourself with mana echoed in his head. He could feel it. He could feel his own life energy fading with each breath.
The Acarian swung his axe...
And as he released the magick he felt himself being ripped away from the snowy ground below his feet. He felt every molecule in his body being shredded to oblivion, and he felt them all rocketing away at the speed of light.
I knew this day was coming.
Lodin watched as Zinoro pointed his sword at his chest. The blade was burning black.
How many times have I seen this in my dreams?
He was bleeding. He didn't even feel pain anymore. Lodin fell backwards, landing in the snow. He could see his son struggling against the grip of a massive Acarian, screaming and crying.
He had never seen Luca cry before. He always tried so hard to hide his pain. Was the boy even aware in his sorrow?
Lodin closed his eyes. He didn't want to say goodbye with a lingering gaze. He had always hated goodbyes. When the time for his seclusion had come, he hadn't said goodbye to any of his friends. He hadn't said goodbye to his wife, or his youngest child.
Farewells pained him more than anything.
Still, I was selfish in denying him that. I've made so many selfish choices over the years...
He had hoped he could hold things off. But the remnants of the Acarian scout's campfire in the cave had told him that his day of reckoning was nigh. He had intended to warn the others away. The girl Arlea's death was his fault. All the slaughtered villagers were his fault. He should have warned them away the moment he got back from the hunt.
Once again, he had failed. Just as he may well have failed his son.
He didn't want to think of such things in his final moments. Instead, the dying man comforted himself with other images from his dreams. His son, and the girl with hair as dark as the night. The other five in the group. His son's second family. The family he had failed to give him.
He knew that great hardships awaited the boy, but he also knew that, no matter how dark things got, it would all work out in the end.
"Luc-"
Zinoro's blade entered his heart, and he was unable to finish saying his son's name. Then, he was dead. The final piece of his puzzle had been put in place.
And with that thought in mind, Lodin smiled as he faded into the embrace of death.