Nico took another step forward.
His entire body shivered, and his mind froze mid-thought.
'Cold…'
This new realm that Nico had found himself trapped within was just one big storm, and it seemed that despite being constantly resurrected, the body that he was possessing hadn't adapted to the challenge at all — barring that one strange moment when he and the others were standing still just a few minutes ago, and he hardly felt a thing.
'How could… anyone… want to… keep moving?'
Nico took a shuddering breath and squinted through the blizzard; a steady hand landed on his shoulder, and when he glanced up, he saw Aldric's azure eyes through the frosty veil. His grip was comforting. Unnaturally so, even. A soothing sensation washed over Nico's skin, so pronounced that it couldn't be mere emotional reaction.
"Are you… Awakened?" he asked.
Aldric remained silent, his determined eyes focused forward, yet he nodded anyway.
"That I am."
Nico winced.
"How long ago did you achieve that?"
There was a slight strain on the older man's face.
"Since you wish to know, it has been about a century since our trial began."
'A century…'
Nico couldn't even begin to fathom it. How could anyone remain sane, surrounded by an endless plain of suffering, snow, and violence? How could anyone — how could the World Tree — condemn these people to such a horrific fate?
"You know far too little, Kalan," Aldric sternly reprimanded. "Your anger is misguided. The answer is simple: We have sinned, and for that we suffer." His voice was clear despite the raging winds, and his hair bannered out behind him. "For the chosen, there even exists a way out of this trial. Truly, the World Tree is a merciful—"
"No," Nico cut him off, then brought up his hand to shield his face from the snow. "So what if I or you sinned in the past? I can't remember a thing, and I only know my name now because you told me. Isn't that punishment enough?"
The cold became a little harsher, and the winds a little fiercer. Crystals of ice pelted Nico's chest. Beside him, Aldric frowned deeply and pressed forward.
"Perhaps so, and perhaps not. However, there is no use holding vengeance in your heart; it will only corrode your will. Right or wrong, none know what fosters the decisions of gods. It is not within our place nor ability to judge."
Nico bit his lower lip and said nothing.
Their footsteps stretched farther behind them.
Eventually, hours had passed in the cold. Nico's body was degrading, a gradual numbness seeping though his skin and into his bones. Nobody among the human procession made a sound. Their tracks were swallowed in an endless layer of snow, and they just kept walking — endlessly, relentlessly.
The storm never grew harsher or softer. It stayed its hand, remaining the same ferocity all throughout their struggle. Just like the humans that fought against it, the storm only knew one thing: Persistence.
Yet, Nico was beginning to falter. His limbs strained from fighting against the gales, and every inch of his body screamed the same pain. He was cold. He was exhausted. He was mentally drained, and it seemed as if they'd made zero progress at all.
He wasn't the first to fall.
It was a young man — they all were, except Aldric — with blonde hair and soft green eyes. Nico learned his name was Naal. When he collapsed, he curled up onto the ground and wept, refusing to get up again, muttering indistinctly to himself in full-blown mania. The rest of the pilgrims stopped. Aldric grunted, then hoisted Naal up and slung one of his arm over his shoulder. After a second, another daring person took the boy's other arm.
They continued.
Then, the next fell. Two more people stopped to carry them.
Then, the next, and two more.
Nico eventually found himself carrying one.
There was no way to tell time without day or night, but when the last person dropped, it felt as though an eternity had passed. And this time, when they curled up on the ground, their pulse dropped, and they died.
Just like that.
Nico's face contorted into an ugly grimace. Suddenly, he realized that death wasn't so far away. It wouldn't happen only when a pack of wild beasts assaulted their group. It would happen when he exhausted all his strength, fighting against a storm that eternally followed him. Then he would forget. He would forget his anger, his grief… his reason for fighting at all.
"We shall wait here — regain our strength — then continue onward once the boy has been reborn."
That was Aldric.
When Nico set his eyes upon him, he felt a strange kind of grief. It was a mixture of anger and pity.
Aldric pretended not to notice.
They sat in the snow around the dead boy. Nico spent most of his time watching the corpse, watching more and more wisps of blue light surround it. This one's name was Rowan. He'd heard one of the others whisper it. His hair was brown, and his eyes were closed. His body was painfully thin, just like everybody else's.
"When will we eat?" Nico blurted out, if for no other reason than to divert his own attention.
This time, Aldric did not answer. It was another young man with somewhat longer, patchy hair. He must've been alive for at least a couple of months.
"We don't. Our bodies are eternal, fed by the power of our soul. We need no food."
Nico frowned.
"But aren't you hungry?"
The man reciprocated his gesture.
"It is sacrilege to eat the corpses of wild beasts," he said, skeptically, as if it was odd that Nico had considered any other option.
Nico felt something fracture in his chest. He looked down at his hands, fingertips white and warm, and then clenched them tightly.
"What's your name?" he asked.
The older man looked at him strangely.
"My name is Gideon."
A plan began to form in Nico's head. It was a terrible plan. It went against his morals, and it took all the effort that he had not to rebuke himself in guilt. However, despite what little he knew about the Nightmare, he knew this — there was no escape to be found by continuing to walk in the storm.
Because why else would the Nightmare Spell show him time unwinding? The banished had fought endless foes, walked for much longer than Nico would be able to survive for, and had still found zero escape. The only clue he was given was that he had been put in the body of Kalan, the brother of Aldric.
And since there appeared to be no notable event in the future — no specific entity he had to fight that would free him — he would have to figure out his own solution.
Sighing, Nico stood up.
"Aldric, I have more questions for you."
His monotone voice attracted the attention of the others. Their eyes, heavy and drooping, watched him move closer to the old Awakened.
Aldric gazed up at him, then nodded. Nico took a seat beside him.
'He's a well of knowledge. I need to use him now…'
His stomach curled at the word "use", but it was just the reality of the situation.
"How did I die?"
Aldric frowned, then looked down at the snow in shame.
"A grim question, Kalan." He pursed his lips. "When a couple of our members fell to the cold — as they have now — Corrupted caught our scent and attacked. They were especially vicious this time, or perhaps my strength had simply waned, because more than half our number perished. I failed to keep you safe."
Everyone looked down. Nico's brows furrowed.
"How many Corrupted? Can you tell me about them?"
Aldric glanced at him, his sparkling blue eyes strangely dim.
"I can. We call them urts, and they number fifty. They are thin, lanky, bipedal beasts. They are not Awakened, and their figures are vaguely humanoid. Puss, scratches, and wounds of all kinds litter their sickly skin. Most grotesquely, their face bear no nose, and their eyes — bulbous, blackened, with horizontal, crimson pupils — are far too many."
Nico tried to picture the description. It wasn't very pretty.
"Are you familiar with them? What does their name mean?"
Aldric, for the first time, chuckled.
"Their name simply sounds like the sort of noise they make when breathing." He paused. "As for how familiar I am with them? Very familiar, Kalan. Whenever we fall, they are the first to come."
"First? Are there more?"
"Naturally. They may be the first, but they are certainly not the last."
"What comes after, then?"
"After are the rortors. They are more animalistic, with scales inside of hide, and six thick legs. I would be wary of their bite — it is infectious." He paused. "The last is only one beast. More specifically, a Demon of the Awakened variety. Its figure resembles… ah, there is no example you will know. If I were to best describe it, it is thick as I am tall. It has many limbs, and all of them are barbed. A crown of black horns rests upon its head."
Nico absorbed the information quickly. Strangely, years of memorizing lessons in the waking world had prepared his mind for scenarios like this.
There was one particular thing that stood out to him, though.
"Last? Does nothing come after that?"
Aldric put his hand on Nico's shoulder.
"Nothing at all. We lied in wait, but there was no other monster that came. The only path is to go forward.
Nico felt very inclined to believe Aldric. He had told him nothing but the truth, and if he was able to trust anyone, it would be his family, wouldn't it—
Aldric's pupils widened as his hand was violently wrenched away.
"Don't lie to me, Aldric," Nico quietly spat, making sure none of the others could hear him. "Don't influence me with your powers, and don't dare assume you know what's best for me."
"I-I… Kalan, I—"
"I have one more question."
The blizzard, harsh and cruel, slowed.
"…That you do," Aldric sighed.
"How?" Nico asked. "How did this all happen?"
Aldric seemed to regain some of his composure, his posture straightening and muscles relaxing. However, regret and shame still lingered in his mind for having tried to manipulate him, so Nico suspected that there would be no lies in his words now.
"First," Aldric said, and his voice was solemn, "I must tell you of our history. It is a long one. Much too long for me to do justice, even after all these centuries. However, I will tell you what I can."
The wind settled slowly, as if waiting to hear his tale.
"Before it all, we rested under the shade of the World Tree. There is no truer fact than that, for we enjoyed its nourishing fruits, and we built cities upon its wide branches. During that time, the Forest was a small thing. But do not be mistaken — the World Tree's majesty was just as sacred, it merely hadn't yet spread its holy grove quite so far. Alongside it, we expanded our kingdoms… cultivated our knowledge… dispersed its seeds… nourished its soil.
It was a wonderous time, that expansion."
By now, Nico could hardly feel the cold anymore. Perhaps he'd simply numbed. Or, perhaps the storm truly had let up. He was too busy listening to care.
"I may speak of these times as if I had lived them, but this is merely a fact passed down to me by my predecessors. Untold generations had given birth and died before either you or I were born. I bear the knowledge to this day — to my end of days — so that when the times comes for you to be told again, and again, and again after that, you will know."
Aldric clasped his hands together, his expression troubled.
"I stray from your question, Kalan. You wish to know why we suffer? It is shameful to speak of, but so be it.
During our time, a harrowing plague infected the World Tree. It was a catastrophe unlike any other, and no one was prepared for the disaster that it brought forth. When our entire city was buried under the fall of the World Tree's first titanic branch, we knew that.
Its sap — golden, amber, divine — turned black as the night sky; dozens of my comrades were corrupted by its vile touch.
Its roots, stronger through virtue of existence than powerful Spirits, withered away like rotten wood.
Its leaves, a carpet of so many colors that none could ever wish to have seen every shade, became black as ash and just as fragile.
I will not regale you our entire journey, but know that we left. We, Disciples, rounded up what little survivors we could and fled. And we did not come back. We lived in fear, wary of the horrors our Apostles and Spirits conquered for us.
But the World Tree never forgot our betrayal. How could it? Memory itself is under its command.
Its servants may not have been dispatched to slay us, but the very plains beyond its realm grew cold. A storm of incomparable might was left behind. Our souls were stripped away, both in power and belonging, and yet we never died. For this is our trial, and one we will have to overcome.
There is no other reason.
There is no other sentence.
That… is all."