I stared at the woman, eyes wide as she addressed me. She stepped down from her pedestal, now standing at the same level as me. I tried to speak, but the words lost themselves in my throat. My pulse raced, and sweat formed along the line of my brow. I felt my grip on Tristan slipping and stumbled to the ground to keep my balance.
An unbearable pressure emanated from the woman as she circled me like a beast cornering its prey.
"I am quite impressed you made it this far in such little time," she said. The smile on her face faded as her eyes moved to Tristan over my shoulder. "Though there were some losses."
I pondered her words, my mind lingering on my first sentence.
"What do you mean?" I asked, the words barely escaping my mouth.
"The creatures you encountered were my constructs—made to test you. You were intelligent to follow the tunnel system. The snowy terrain would have proved quite a perilous journey."
The fear slowly faded as blood pounded in my ears. The woman before me was the reason Tristan was dead, yet she regarded it as nothing—our lives like ropes she could twist and snap at will. I tried to hold back, convincing myself there was nothing I could do in my current position, but the adrenaline already had control of me.
I laid Tristan's cold body on the ground, his skin a faded blue with blood clots scattered across it. As I did, I wondered how his body had maintained form after such a cataclysmic collision. I dug my hands into the solid silver ice, my knuckles going numb on contact. I bared the pain, lifting a chunk of ice as my fingers turned blue. Squeezing it, I hurled it with all my might at the woman.
It lost form before making contact—and I lost it entirely. I launched myself toward her, hands clenched into tight fists as I swung at her.
"Why!" I screamed, tears forming in my eyes once more. "Why did you do this to us? We just wanted to make a little money! We were just trying to survive—so why did you kill Tristan!?"
She looked at me, pity almost palpable as she tilted her head to the side.
"You simply piqued my curiosity, and your friend happened to follow along. I doubt you would have made it this far without him though."
I thrust my fist at her, but she parried it with ease. Taking this to my advantage, I spun on the spot, driving the elbow of my opposite arm into her side.
I felt my elbow land squarely, then turned to face her unfazed expression. I tried to force her to the ground, but I couldn't even move her from where she stood. With ease, she freed herself from my grip and ascended the pedestal, sitting gracefully on her throne like the world around us belonged to her.
With a flick of her wrist, a stone column erupted from the ground behind me. Thin, silvery ropes sprang from it and bound me faster than I could react. I struggled to no avail—the ropes didn't move an inch.
"You have a lot to learn, boy—and little time to do so," she said, just managing to hide her grin. "I am Altera, great mage of ice and cold. Zane, it is time you learned the truth."
ALTERA
Looking down at the boy, I could only feel sorry for him. He was in such a bedraggled state that even demons would probably let him be. He struggled visibly against his bindings, but it was for naught.
The boy before me was a mystery. Even after the time I had spent observing him, I still found it difficult to believe.
"Your struggles are pointless," I said, irritation rising at the noises he made.
"Shut up!" he yelled back as blood trickled from the wounds his bindings inflicted.
After all the time I had spent in this realm, I believed this was how it would continue—but it seemed the person before me might change that.
"What do you know about magic?" I asked, seeking to understand his current knowledge.
He shrugged and looked down.
"I can't use it," he responded, barbed with frustration.
"That isn't what I asked."
He raised his head, met my gaze briefly, then looked away.
"Magic is something gained from birth that lets one manipulate a portion of our world," he answered. "Different people have different types of magic. Elemental being the most common among them," he added—to my surprise.
"What determines the magic one inherits?"
"The affinity of the parents…"
"Wrong," I said, cutting him off.
He eyed me briefly, then looked away again.
"Then what does?!" he raved, his movements causing the bindings to dig deeper into his skin.
"The world we live in is centered around balance," I said, pausing to let the words sink in.
"Abilities like gravity manipulation, entropy, and time control are all anomalies because of this fact. Our world balances abilities like elemental magic with powers like time control, due to their disparity."
He raised his head and peered into my eyes.
"What of forgebounding?" he asked raggedly.
I rubbed my chin, then shook my head.
"The only true anomaly. Born from willpower alone."
"So why is the power mostly inherited?" he asked, now with genuine curiosity.
"As I said—the world exists in balance. Forgebounders are so few in number that their offspring are almost guaranteed to inherit the ability."
The boy's breathing slowly evened out. His pulse steadied. He looked toward his friend… Tristan… then back at me. Tears welled in his eyes, just enough to make them shimmer.
"Can I ever become a forgebounder?" he asked, more to himself than to me.
I understood his plight. He hadn't contributed much to their test and blamed his powerlessness.
Forgebounding was a tricky thing. Binding one's soul to a weapon was a process that even a lifetime might not suffice to master. Willpower alone could forge the imperishable bond—one's soul bound eternally to their weapon.
I looked at Zane: the boy who had trained his whole life to acquire this ability. Born without magic, and of unknown origin.
Who was the boy before me, really? A question I suspect will never be answered.
"What do you intend to do with the power?" I asked.
He looked at his friend once again and replied firmly, "Protect him. My only friend, my family... and myself."
"Don't you think that's a selfish reason?" I inquired, curious of his train of thought.
"It's good enough a reason for me. He is... was..." his voice faltered before continuing, "was the only family I ever had. I never met my parents and just felt out of place anywhere," he finished with a sigh.
"The power you seek is rare. Abilities like that are bound to draw attention."
He stared at me, confusion plain on his face.
"I brought you to me because I found you interesting. You are... different. In time, others will find you fascinating as well—though for very different reasons. But you must be careful. Too many eyes are watching, waiting."
"I don't understand," he finally voiced.
How much was safe for him to know? I wondered, knowing my time was down to mere minutes. With a wave of my hand, I released him from his bindings. He collapsed to the floor with a dull thud.
"The truth I sought and nearly found.
Infinite realities to one will bound.
Knowledge is power, the inverse false,
And for everything gained, another lost.
In our quest for truth and by tally power,
Tread carefully—for they wait, watch, listen,
Every move like paint on a canvas.
Though pursued and at death's door,
Seek the truth with widow's mite."
"What's that?" The words came out in a gurgle.
"It's a folklore phrase that refers to the gods."
He looked around, as though ensuring we were alone, before continuing.
"Gods?!" he repeated, clearly shocked.
"Yes. They are..." I paused, weighing whether the next part was necessary. "Higher-tier beings. We can't perceive them due to our disparity. Like art isn't aware of its painter, we aren't aware of the gods."
He opened his mouth, but only air escaped—his words lost like smoke in the cold.
"Why are you telling me this?!" he asked, anger lacing his voice.
"You despair over your friend's death. Focus on what lies ahead boy."
"You're crazy!" he snapped, barely managing to stand. "You! pulled us here. You! tested us. Your! tests killed Tristan. And now you tell me all this... this... crap..."
He paused, his breathing ragged.
He moved over to his friend, lifting him onto his shoulder, and headed toward the exit. But he managed only five steps before collapsing.
"You would do well to listen, boy," I said, looking down at him and his friend. "The gods—they are coming. They're the reason I reside here... and the reason my life is nearing its end."
Waiting for his reaction, I flicked my finger, prompting the ice below them to rise forming a path until it was level with my throne.
He looked at me with wrath in his eyes—like a beast cornering its prey.
"Death... not enough for the likes of you," he growled, slowly lifting himself from the floor.
Wrapping his arms around his friend, he approached me—but just before reaching me, he slumped. As he fell, I rose. His body landed within the throne itself, his friend tumbling to the floor beside him.
"The look suits you," I said with a smirk.
He leaned down, making a feeble attempt to get closer to his friend.
"You struggle so much for one who is no more. You remind me of..." I paused, realization dawning on me.
"To think the reason for all of this now sits in my own throne before me," I muttered, voicing my thoughts aloud.
"I wonder what she would say if she saw you now."
"Tell no one of the things you've seen today. Knowledge is power—and they will do anything to get it."
"Who?" he asked, his voice trembling. A shiver ran through him, his skin pale from the cold of the ice throne.
I opened my mouth to answer, but felt life leave me. My time had come.
I stepped closer and placed my hand on his head. He shook violently, the pain indescribable.
"Stop! Please!" he screamed, his skin draining of color, his warmth fleeing.
Slowly, my body began to lose form. I was nearly transparent and could feel the air pass through me as I drew breath, no lungs left to contain it.
My form, now incorporeal, broke apart bit by bit into specks of glistening silver. I lifted my hand from his head and turned to his friend, sending some of the silver flecks into him as well.
"Be careful, Zane," I said. Then, to the one lying still, I added,
"And you too, Tristan."
ZANE
Pain drowned my senses. I could barely register what was happening. "Be careful, Zane," the ice witch said, her body glowing with light that reflected off the silvery ice walls.
"And you too, Tristan," she added before vanishing from view.
The light slowly faded, and with it, the pain. I rose from the throne—the cold no longer stung.
Looking to Tristan, I saw color returning to his face. The blood clots were gone.
I lifted him from the ground and exited the throne room.
As I walked, I thought about the enigmatic figure I had just encountered—Altera.
She had caused us immense suffering… and yet, she had also taught me. Then, she vanished. A part of me, small and reluctant, wished to see her again. She had intended to tell me so much. What more could she have said?
But she killed Tristan, another part of me reminded coldly.
Was he even dead now?
I didn't know what was happening—to him or to me. The once cold halls now felt warm, like a fire in winter.
I walked through them—not scared, but curious. Curious about what I could do to anything I encountered.
I wandered for about ten minutes, taking only left turns, believing they would eventually lead me out of the castle's winding system.
The castle's main exit door was even larger than the one to the throne room. As I passed through it, I couldn't help but wonder—who could've built something so colossal?
Beyond the gate, a blizzard awaited, snow piling high around me with each step. The further I walked, the deeper I sank into the drifts that littered the realm's terrain.
I glanced up just as lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating a monolithic creature in the distance. Its size was so immense that I couldn't even gauge how far away it truly was. A silver hand tore through the fog and swung toward me, missing by a hair. The force of the blow sent snow flying in all directions. But my body remained still—only my now shoulder-length, metallic white hair moved, swaying against the wind.
The hand emerged again. This time, I was ready.
I leapt high into the air, soaring several meters above the ground—higher than I ever thought possible. From that height, I saw them—more silhouettes moving in the storm, distant giants cloaked in mist.
Then Tristan slipped.
His body fell from my arms, tumbling toward the ground below.
Without hesitation, I dove after him, arms outstretched. I caught his leg midair, then pulled him close as we plummeted. Moments later, I crashed into the ground with a resounding impact.
I looked toward the distant figures—those bastards who dared try to take him again. Another fist surged through the fog toward me.
With a roar, I swung my left arm. The force split the snowy terrain and even the clouds above. Another swing. Then another. The storm broke apart under my fury until the skies were clear and our enemies nowhere in sight. I noticed a silver sword in my left hand, perfectly balanced, made just for me. "Where?" I said wondering how the rapier came to be.
Ahead, the realm's exit glowed with an otherworldly purple light. The now silver doors shimmered as they slowly opened.
As I stepped through, reality stretched unnaturally—space bending to its limit—before it snapped back into place.
We were back.
I stepped out of the realm door, and the ground beneath my foot froze upon contact. Behind me, the door evaporated into silver mist.
Then I noticed them.
People—surrounding us.
The air was frozen solid, ice creeping into the edge of the nameless forest. The men and women standing there eyed me with a mix of caution and disdain. I scanned them, wondering who among them could wield ice magic strong enough to freeze even the forest itself.
That's when I saw him: the portly man Tristan had borrowed money from. He was flanked by his usual goons.
A woman stepped forward from the crowd, her face tense with uncertainty.
"It's them," the portly man stammered. "Zane… Tristan… you are—"
But his words faded as my strength drained away. I felt the cold now—the unbearable, piercing cold.
I fell, twisting my body to shield Tristan from the impact.
And then—
Everything went black.