Mobius, startled by the sudden chill, didn't retaliate immediately. The only person capable of freezing her reaction like that was someone she knew all too well—Kjera, from Kjerag.
"Of course," Mobius muttered to herself. "Only that guy could teleport like this within Kjerag."
Sure enough, Kjera had already vanished from her original spot and was now seated across from her at the wooden table, grinning smugly. Mobius exhaled in silent frustration.
Ever since Kjera learned that Mobius hated the cold, she loved pulling stunts like this.
And yet, despite the dramatic entrance, no one in the tavern noticed a thing. That was the effect of Kjera's mental suggestion ability—everyone around them was blissfully unaware of the disturbance.
"It was just a prank. Don't be mad," Kjera said with a bright, unbothered smile, hands pressed together in mock apology. "You're Duke Kashchey, after all. Surely a man of your stature can let this slide."
"Shh!" Mobius hissed sharply. "You mustn't mention that name here. For now, the connection between me and Duke Kashchey must stay hidden. Call me Dr. Mobius."
Her warning carried some bite, though not much force. After all, within the snowy domain of Kjerag, Mobius's influence was limited. Without physically bringing more of her body here, she wouldn't stand a chance against Kjera.
Still, Kjera was one of the few people Mobius genuinely trusted.
If there were anyone suited to be Mobius's friend, it was someone like her—clever, unpredictable, but never malicious.
'She knows her limits,' Mobius reassured herself.
"Relax," Kjera replied with a wink. "I've already made sure no one sees or hears us. Mental suggestion is still in effect. From now on, I'll call you Dr. Mobius. Satisfied?"
Mobius gave a reluctant nod, her irritation slowly fading. Kjera, for all her quirks, remained the only being in these icy lands who could say they were a friend to "the god who lives in the snow."
---
Let's rewind to the very first time Kashchey and Kjera met.
"I'm exhausted…"
Kjera was resting in her "holy abode"—a sanctuary built by the children who lived under her protection. The structure had no practical use for her, but their intent was what mattered.
Their devotion gave purpose to her existence—fighting back against natural disasters, safeguarding the innocent. It made the effort feel worthwhile.
Just as she was about to slip into slumber, Kjera sensed something.
An intruder had crossed the edge of her domain.
And for the first time since her creation, Kjera felt threatened.
Her senses stirred, alert. She extended her perception through the snow, using the icy landscape as her eyes.
What she saw unsettled her.
The figure's face was obscured—neither fully man nor woman, neither young nor old. And yet, its eyes burned with contradiction: malice and pain, but also love and hope. Fear and sorrow, yet tenderness too.
It made Kjera uneasy.
'What a contradiction… what a fractured soul,' she thought.
"Stop where you are," Kjera commanded in the language of Kjerag.
Her voice echoed through the snowy peaks, amplified by the mountain itself.
The figure paused and looked around, puzzled—but not afraid.
He slowly raised his withered yet youthful hands—and clapped, once.
Bang!
He vanished from Kjera sight.
Startled, Kjera instantly teleported from her holy abode to the intruder's location. The figure recoiled slightly, clearly on guard. Instinctively, he shifted into a defensive stance.
He spoke—uttering strange syllables in a language Kjera had never heard. Foreign, ancient, unintelligible.
For a while, they simply stared each other down. Neither made a move. Neither dared to blink.
Eventually, the stranger—perhaps sensing that Kjera was more bark than bite in her weakened state—lunged first.
Suppressing the natural disaster had drained Kjera's energy to a dangerous low, but even so, she didn't flee. She could've teleported away. But if she did, the children she protected might be in danger. And besides, she believed she still had enough strength to fight back.
Then—she was slammed into the snow.
Hard.
The stranger didn't strike a killing blow. Instead, he muttered incomprehensibly and gestured in strange ways, as if trying to communicate. But after a few more failed attempts, he gave up and did something else entirely—he placed a hand on Kjera's forehead.
In that moment, Kjera felt it—her mind being pried open.
A will not hef own was invading.
Her instincts screamed in alarm.
She tried to resist, shielding her consciousness as best she could, but it was only a matter of time. And this was no minor intrusion—it was a full-scale psychic breach. Panic welled inside her. She couldn't teleport. Her body was locked down. She was out of options.
Just as he prepared to abandon her mental defenses and use the last of her energy to send a warning to the children…
The stranger broke through.
'...Hello?'
A word—not hostile. Just… curious.
---
Even now, the memory of that moment made Kjera bristle with irritation.
She'd been pinned in the snow for three days and nights!
So really, that prank on Mobius? Just the smallest taste of payback.
---
Back then—
Kashchey looked down at the Feranmut beneath him, deep in thought.
He had never encountered a more foolish creature.
Suppressing natural disasters for the sake of short-lived mortals, leaving yourself drained and vulnerable?
What a laughable idealist.
That moment should've been his chance—an opportunity to claim the Feranmut's body and absorb its power.
But he didn't take it.
The reason was simple: controlling a Feranmut wasn't just about overpowering it. The body and will were like machine and pilot—the more advanced the machine, the more mastery required to control it.
Kashchey, back then, didn't have the willpower or precision for that.
Every Feranmut was unique.
And their methods of control were all different.
It was simply too difficult for the young Mobius at the time.
Besides, Mobius held no real grudge against Kjera. Their clash had been nothing more than a misunderstanding—a casualty of language and circumstance.
A friendly Feranmut was far more valuable than a corpse.
"Let me, Kashchey, resolve this through wit and charm!"
"...Hello?"
He sighed inwardly. Neither his past nor present self had ever dealt with a situation this bizarre.
---
"How about a walk?" Kjera offered, smiling. "Don't worry. With my mental suggestion active, no one will even notice us. It's been, what, over ten years since you last came here? You wouldn't believe how much Kjerag has changed…"
On the snow-covered streets, Mobius and Kjera strolled side by side.
They chatted idly, bought a few of Kjerag's local snacks, and wandered like old friends catching up.
"You don't have duties to attend to as Chief maid to the Saintess?" Mobius asked casually.
"The Saintess knows who I really am. She's covering for me."
Mobius clicked her tongue. "So your superior is your subordinate. You're no fun."
"Says the Duke who parades around in disguise."
They traded barbs and bites of food as they ambled toward the sacred mountain.
Sure, Kjera could have teleported them instantly to the summit—but both preferred the walk.
The friendship between immortals wasn't all that different from that of the short-lived.
In the end, they passed the centuries the same way—wasting time on meaningless banter.
Maybe, just maybe, it was only when she was with Kashchey—someone who felt like an equal—that Kjera could finally drop her role as the eternal guardian, the overbearing protector of children, and simply be herself.