The driving snow beating down upon Beaucedine Glacier made the darkness gripping the land even worse. As hard as it already was to make out the terrain, in the midst of one of the Glacier’s notorious blizzard made it impossible. Up was down and left was right. There were no defining points of reference save for the ground itself, and even that would betray those who trusted too far. In a land of ice and darkness, there was no safe haven to ride out the storm. Being trapped in one meant death was now inevitable.
Rykoshet, lying flat on his back with his eyes staring up into the storm, could not help but wonder why it was there was green grass beneath him.
He didn’t remember exactly what happened. One moment they had been trudging through the storm, led on by Lethe. Then, all he remembered was a shriek from behind him before a wave of incomprehensible heat struck him down. Now, he found himself prostrate in the center of what amounted to a crater of melted snow and permafrost. The sensation he had felt was still burning him through. He managed to let his head drop to the side, and saw Battousai only a few feet away. His younger brother was in similar shape. All around him, in fact, the small party lay in ruins. The howling winds whipped around them, the exposed blades of grass already freezing over again. Yet Rykoshet felt like he might never be cold again.
Struggling, he reached up an arm. With considerable effort and presence of mind, he raised his head up. He blinked snow from his eyes, trying to pierce the darkness. Something was moving beside him. The Dark Knight struggled for strength. It seemed like all the energy had been burnt out of him. He knew there was movement to his side, but even trying to focus his vision was a struggle. Finally, he heaved his body as best he could to one side. Breath left his body in a gasp. Lethe’s protection was gone, he immediately knew, as he saw ice crystals forming on his armor and in his hair. It was still so damned hot though. He felt like he had just jumped head first into Ifrit’s Cauldron.
He saw the thing that was moving, and a rising sense of alarm at his situation quickly formed. Betrayil, his mask hanging open as the Ninja scraped and clawed his way across the ground, was passing by him. Each movement he took made a ragged choking sound rattle out from his throat, but he showed no sign of stopping. Rykoshet knew immediately what would drive Betrayil forward in such a way. Clutching at the ground beneath him, he struggled to tilt himself to a better angle, to see where the Hume was crawling. His destination was the epicenter of the hole they had sunk in to.
At its middle lay Hiraiko. In her hands, the Astral Signa was burning with white-hot flame. The woman herself was choking, water leaking from her mouth. With all the water for hundreds of leagues completely frozen, Hiraiko was drowning.
The puzzle pieces came crashing together. Rykoshet’s mind immediately prioritized his concerns. The cause of his predicament could wait. He knew the repercussions would be much more pressing. Hiraiko had unleashed an incredible amount of power, enough to burn through ice hundreds of years old and over a dozen feet thick. She had done so in the heart of a land infested by the Kindred. Her actions had also dispelled the charms Lethe was using to keep them safe and hidden.
Betrayil inched closer to his goal, but Rykoshet wondered if there was a point. They were all going to die.
He didn’t hear any demons yet, and he knew they weren’t shy about making themselves known. Lethe, he realized. He had to find Lethe. Every movement felt impossible. His skin was cracking and his throat was like a desert in summer. Rykoshet took a moment to appreciate the humor in dying of heat stroke on a glacier, and then summoned his strength anew. He had to get the others out of this. Even Battousai, though he was somewhat less of a priority. The Elvaan rolled onto his stomach, putting his elbows beneath him. Lethe could still fix this.
Rykoshet heard a faint noise through the storm, something nearby. Already the snow was starting to accumulate around them. Slowly, the Dark Knight began to feel the cold creeping in. It was a sweet relief to know he could even have the sensation. His strength beginning to trickle back to him, he moved towards the sound. It wasn’t a demon. Not yet. The sound came again, and Rykoshet brushed away the white snow driving into his eyes to try and get a clear look at what was causing it.
Some feet away, slumped to his knees with eyes staring, Lethe kneeled mutely. In front of him, his tiny fists clenched in rage, was Vile. The Tarutaru was still standing where others had fallen, and he angrily shouted at the unresponsive Herald. Lethe’s blond hair bristled in the cold, tinges of white forming on his beard.
“Snap out of it!” Vile was demanding. His fist came up, striking Lethe across the chin. The Herald gave no reaction, save to mumble something Rykoshet could not hear. Struggling to increase his pace, he moved closer to the two, trying to make out what Lethe was telling Vile.
An anguished cry came from behind him, and he knew Betrayil had reached Hiraiko. He still had not seen any movement from Battousai at all. Desperation began to sink in. Somewhere in the distance he could hear the sound of howling. There was no way the Kindred were not aware of their presence now. It was only a matter of time before they were discovered. Whatever was wrong with Lethe, he had to come back to his senses, or they were doomed. Vile had already come to this conclusion.
“Graah!” the Black Mage snarled as he backhanded the blonde-bearded Hume. This time, Rykoshet could hear a snippet of what Lethe was saying. His eyes were wide and unblinking, and he kept staring at his hands, confusion gripping his expression.
“The water,” he mumbled, Rykoshet now practically next to him, “who did that to the water? I can’t . . . I’m lost.”
“What,” Rykoshet said, and then coughed violently. Talking through his barren throat felt like trying to speak through a knife. He let his jaw go slack, and welcomed the freezing wind and snow which assaulted him. Vile paid him no heed.
“They’re coming, you imbecile,” Vile told Lethe, gathering the Herald’s lustrous blue-and-white robes in his fists. “I don’t care if something happened to the water, something happened right here, to Hiraiko, and if you don’t fix it now we’re all going to die.” Lethe was unresponsive, muttering to himself still. “Is that what you want?” Vile demanded, violently shaking the Herald. “Without us, that’s the end for your precious North Wind!”
Lethe suddenly blinked, gasping at the sound of his master’s appellation. His head turned quickly from one direction to the next. Realization began dawning upon him as he shook Vile’s hands away. All at once, the snow which had been accumulating upon him vanished. The ice sunk into his very body, and the snowflakes which touched him now being absorbed rather than sticking to his robes. Shakily, the Herald of the Four Winds rose to his feet. In the distance, but closer than it had been before, another fiendish howl bellowed.
“The water,” Lethe said, looking out in the distance. “Someone has shifted a part of the entire ocean. It’s . . . . it’s thrown me off.” The admission came with a startled look upon his face. “I don’t know where I am.”
“You’re in the middle of a fucking ice field about to get us all killed if you don’t suck it up!” Vile shouted. “Now man up and put your spells back up before we’re swarmed over!”
“It’s too late,” Lethe responded as his demeanor turned grim. “They know exactly where we are now.”
“Then what – “
Vile’s sentence, which he was going to accentuate with electricity crackling through his fists, was cut off by another cry, one much closer.
“Hiraiko!” Betrayil’s stricken voice came through the howling blizzard. “Please, we’ve got to help Hiraiko!”
Rykoshet managed to get up to one knee. From where he had come from, Battousai was now stirring, shaking snow out of his shaggy hair and trying to get his bearings. Vile gave Lethe a burning glare, and the Herald immediately crossed the distance to where Hiraiko lay. Rykoshet strained to follow after, cursing the magic users for being so damn unaffected by things physically. By the time he reached the Summoner, his younger brother was practically back on his feet. Hiraiko, unfortunately, shared no such powers of recuperation.
She looked frail on the ground, cradled in Betrayil’s arms. The Astral Signa was still in her grasp. The flesh on her hands had blackened around it, and even now it pulsated with something monumentally potent. The woman holding it, on the other hand, was in the grip of a convulsion. Water was coming from her mouth, and she was not breathing. The look of despair in Betrayil’s eyes was heartbreaking. His gaze was a plea to the Herald as he tried to cradle the Summoner’s body closer.
“I . . . I need a moment,” Lethe pleaded, visibly disoriented. “Please, I just . . . can’t seem to collect my thoughts . . . “
“Leth – “Rykoshet started again, fighting back the pain in his throat. “Lethe, we’ve,” he stopped, coughing. Specks of red flew from his mouth to blemish the snow beneath. The Dark Knight realized that with Lethe’s wards broken, the spells which had been repairing his body after the fight with Rennie were gone as well. He suddenly understood why everyone else was so quick to recover. He fought to make his words come out.
“Lethe, we’ve got to escape,” he gasped, “they’re coming. We can’t stay here.”
“We have to save Hiraiko!” Betrayil bellowed at him.
“We’ll all die if we don’t leave now!” Rykoshet countered. “Lethe, do something!”
“The water,” he repeated, “they moved so much water . . . it’s all wrong. It feels all wrong.”
The howling came again, closer than before. Much closer. Battousai hobbled near to Rykoshet, using his great sword as a crutch to stay upright. There was nothing even close to confidence on his face. He looked at his older brother for reassurance and found none.
“This is serious,” he admitted. “Rykoshet, this could be really bad.”
“No,” the elder brother countered, “Lethe, you have to focus. You know this place. Your master lives here. You can get us out of here, Lethe, stop thinking about the damn ocean and think about right here!”
“It’s all connected!” he roared back, hands clenched in impotent rage. “It’s like trying to find east when you’ve no concept of what “east” means! I’m trying, I just . . . I need some time!”
Hiraiko gave another spasm, a choking sound bursting from her throat. Her eyes rolled back into her head. There was howling all around them now, getting louder, more fervent. Rykoshet and Battousai shared a glance. Nearby, but away from where the others had gathered, Vile angrily began focusing his power. Lethe pleaded silently with himself to regain his connection to the water. Betrayil gave a cry of frustration as the woman in his arms began to go limp. Straining, Battousai managed to lift his great sword, and tried to turn to face the incoming rush.
Lethe gave a primal, furious cry, dropping to the ground. The demons were only yards away now, beginning to take shape in the darkness. No, Rykoshet realized, they were the darkness. They were one great, swarming mass, crushing down upon them. The crater Hiraiko had burnt into the ground was ringed with them, and they showed no sign of slowing as they rushed down into the center.
Then another howl overpowered them.
The wind swirled around in so concentrated a burst a tornado of ice and snow formed around them. It rose, a wall of wind, spiraling up towards the pitch-black sky. Rykoshet couldn’t hear anything anymore, just the wailing of the gale as it pressed in upon him. Then, all at once, it collapsed in around him, and the rest became darkness.
When he opened his eyes again, he knew his situation had become markedly different.
He was indoors, he realized. There was no snow, no cold or heat, and no encroaching demons. The walls were some sort of thick stone, pulsating with a soft red light. He was in a hallway, two open rooms on either end of him, both devoid of illumination. He knew this place. When the Tenshodo had first allowed outsiders through its doors, Rykoshet had been there, though never in this part of the labyrinth. There was no mistaking the interior of the ancient ruins of Pso’Xja though. Not once you had seen them yourself.
The others were around him, all in various states of consciousness. Vile stood nearby, his eyes wary. An astonished Lethe knelt on the ground, absorbing the moisture around them. Battousai was on his feet, but looked dazed by what had just happened. Then, down the hall from where Vile stood, Rykoshet saw Betrayil. The Ninja was on one knee, and judging by his expression, nearly struck dumb. Directly beside him, Hiraiko was sitting up, still coughing up water, but alive. She was panting heavily, her breath obviously gone, but she was struggling to regain it. Whatever enchantment had flooded her lungs, the tornado that had formed sucked it straight from her. Rykoshet breathed a sigh of relief.
“Lethe,” he said, turning towards the Herald, “You did it. You saved us.”
The Hume looked at him with unreadable eyes. “Not I,” was all he said.
“Then . . . . how did we get out of there?” Rykoshet asked,
Before Lethe could answer, a burst of wind surged down the hall, sweeping over all of them. Rykoshet raised an arm to his face for protection as he was overtaken by it, grimacing at the force. The others braced themselves as well, Betrayil taking a protective stance in front of the still-recovering Hiraiko. They all stared down the hall towards the source, and from the darkness two gleaming white eyes appeared. A figure drew near, a man shrouded in robes of green and blue, runic markings the likes of which Rykoshet had never seen before stitched through every inch of fabric. When he spoke, no words came from his parted lips, but rather a sound carried on the wind which reached all their ears.
“I am Kita, the North Wind,” he declared, stretching a hand out from the darkness. “Lord of Pso’Xja, Keeper of the Eternal Ice.”
He moved forward from the shadow, the red light of the walls sweeping down over him. The winds died, and the man touched down lightly upon the stone floors. Lethe had risen, and gently pressed a fist to his chest and bowed. Slowly, he reached up to the hood of his voluminous garb. Pulling it back revealed a set of deep, ice-blue eyes, and a kind, brown-bearded face smiling at the small ensemble.
“But what am I thinking?” he asked, speaking from his own mouth now. “You’re guests. Please, just call me Fill.”
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