The room, hidden in the stone heart of Mith's oldest bastion, exhaled a solemn weight, its history etched into every worn surface. Unlike the polished luxury of the city's commercial towers, this chamber bore the scars of time: rough granite walls, streaked with quartz veins like frost, stood unadorned except for a faded, frayed tapestry depicting a storm over jagged peaks. A heavy oak table, its surface marred by decades of meetings, dominated the space, strewn with maps and iron candelabras dripping wax like frozen tears. A narrow, cracked, frost-rimmed window let in thin slivers of the gray light of the season of change. The man behind the table, broad-shouldered but stooped by endless burdens, wore a simple wool cloak, its edges worn but carefully mended, his stern face softened by weary kindness. Beside him stood a burly figure, his assistant, whose affable smile twisted with an unsettling edge, like a knife hidden in velvet.
"So, you're saying you read the legends about the Daughters of the Cold and their wooden servants in the northern mountains…" The older man's voice cut through the room's chill. Here, where Orus Boreas usually handled clan affairs, a young man sat against the wall opposite the table, perched precariously on a heavy wooden chair, as if barely seated. Bandages covered large swathes of his skin. His gaze fixed on the floor, whether in shame or discomfort, it was hard to tell—perhaps due to the clan leader's reprimand or the treasurer Vassil's smile, which sent shivers down his spine.
"And you decided it was a good idea to venture into the mountains, knowing how dangerous it's been out there lately."
"It was Cassel's idea, Uncle Orus! He said he'd call off the wedding if I told anyone about his plan!" Jean exclaimed, his voice unusually agitated for the son of Tian Boreas.
"Did he really say that?" Vassil interjected, his voice thin, sending a slight shiver down Jean's spine. "That little pup's really grown some guts."
A sharp knock echoed at the door. The man behind the table looked up.
"Come in," he said. A man entered, his cloak soaked with snow.
"Master Orus, Cassel Boreas has returned," he announced.
The fat man's smile deepened, a curious glint in his eyes. Orus frowned.
"Is he injured?" he asked. The newcomer bowed his head.
"Only minor wounds."
***
"Ssss! It hurts!" The room, a forgotten corner in the bowels of a building in Mith, reeked of dampness. The air was thick with dust, swirling in the sparse rays of gray light filtering through a high, cracked, web-covered slit. Crooked shelves, crammed with splintered barrels and broken bottles, loomed against damp stone walls stained with mold. The floor, littered with loose planks and splinters, creaked under the weight of scattered crates, some spilling moldy rags and shards of glass. A rancid smell, a mix of spilled liquor and rotting wood, permeated the space, barely eased by the cold seeping from the snowy street outside. In a corner, on a delicate chair with carved legs, incongruous amidst the chaos, sat Cassel.
The boy lay slumped against the backrest, his body twisted in pain. His pants, rolled up to the knees, exposed a suppurating wound on his leg, black blood congealed under sodden bandages. Across from him, perched on a wooden crate, was a middle-aged man with matted brown hair and wrinkles like fissures. His skin was so pale it seemed drained of blood, his sunken eye bags evoking the specters said to wander beneath the volcanoes of the Shira Temple in the east. His feverish, glassy eyes gleamed with an unnatural hunger. Holding a cigarette that exhaled acrid smoke, he manipulated threads of blood that writhed like living worms with his other hand, weaving Cassel's wound with sickly precision. Each movement, like a puppeteer's, would have chilled the soul of anyone watching.
"Done," he said, his voice harsh, rasping, as if the words tore at his throat. He stubbed the cigarette against a plank, the hiss of the dying ember echoing in the silence. His eyes fixed on Cassel, the rune beneath the boy's clothes reflecting in his gaze like a stolen secret. "So, kid: if I understood correctly, you ignored Dann's advice, ran off to the mountains, and came back with a random rune on your chest that you know nothing about. And you won't tell me how it got there."
Cassel lifted his head from the chair's backrest, facing the man's gaze, his face still contorted with pain. "Uncle Dann told me I could come to you in an emergency, Etus," he said, his voice trembling but firm, each word a struggle against the fading burn in his leg.
He shifted in the chair, straightening with difficulty, the creak of the planks under his feet echoing his own fragility. "I'm running out of time," he continued, clenching his fists. "The wedding is in fifteen days, and I swore to myself I wouldn't marry Amelia without first standing toe-to-toe with the other young masters of the city's clans."
"You're being awfully dull, kid. That's unusual. You seem to be taking this thing with that sewer rat's daughter from the Cunin clan seriously," Etus said with a mocking, yellow-toothed grin. "Don't tell me you've fallen in love. You know it's impossible, right?"
"WHY?" Cassel shouted, his voice breaking like the jagged glass on the floor. His body tensed, the rune on his chest burning with a heat that stole his breath. He leaned forward, eyes blazing with desperation, the bandages on his leg crinkling as he clenched his fists until his knuckles whitened. The pain of the wound and the rune mingled with a frustration that seared his insides, as if Etus's words had struck a nerve he didn't know he had.
Etus tilted his head, his smile slowly fading as a serious expression took its place. "You know why, kid," he said, his voice low, almost a hiss, heavy with chilling certainty. "The envoy from Huari said it two years ago. That girl's talent is immense. She has the potential to even…" He paused, his glassy eyes wavering, as if afraid to speak the words. "Become a Guardian."
Cassel slumped back against the chair, the creak of the wood sounding like a lament. His face paled, the rune pulsing with a heat that seemed to respond to the word "Guardian." "But Uncle Dann always told me…" he began, his voice broken, almost a whisper, as his eyes searched the floor, as if the rotting planks could offer answers.
"I know what Dann told you," Etus cut in, his tone sharp, a sneer of contempt on his face. "That old man was always a naive dreamer."
"But…" Cassel raised his voice, straightening again, fury reigniting his gaze as the rune burned like molten iron.
"But in all my life, I've never seen him wrong about such things!" Etus interrupted again, his voice a growl that echoed in the room. He stood, shadows dancing on his pale face. "Kid, come with me."
Etus turned, his tattered cloak brushing the rotting planks, and moved toward a door hidden behind a pile of barrels. Cassel hesitated, his gaze fixed on the man's back. But he stood, the pain in his leg reduced to a faint burn, as if Etus's blood-threads had silenced the wound. He wasn't surprised; it felt like this wasn't the first time something like this had happened. He followed Etus through a dark tavern, where rickety tables lay under layers of dust, lit only by windows reflecting a snowy corner of Mith, the gray light painting lurking shadows. Etus led him behind the bar to a small inner courtyard, where withered, twisted hanging plants swayed as if whispering in a forgotten tongue.
Cassel looked around curiously, his eyes tracing the hanging plants swaying in the dim courtyard, their withered leaves whispering in the gloom. He was a frequent visitor to Etus's tavern, the only place that welcomed him to hide after his usual childhood mischief, a refuge from the judgmental stares and scoldings of those who disapproved of his relationship with Amelia, but he hadn't known about this courtyard.
"I didn't know you were so into plants," he said to Etus.
"I'm just keeping them for someone else," Etus replied with a dry, almost growling laugh, his yellow teeth glinting under the gray light filtering through the windows. He stood before Cassel, shrugging off his tattered cloak that had been bothering him, letting it fall onto the rotting planks with a careless gesture. With a cigarette still smoldering between his lips, his pale, haggard face twisted into an unsettling smile, his glassy eyes fixed on Cassel's chest. "Kid, let's see what those drawings on your chest can do," he said, smoke curling with each word.
Cassel looked at Etus with a mix of shock and ecstasy, a spark of enthusiasm igniting his face. "I knew it was a good idea to come see you, Uncle Etus! Ha, ha, ha!" he shouted, his laughter echoing in the inner courtyard, where the hanging plants swayed, their withered leaves whispering as if in response. Etus, with the cigarette still smoldering between his lips, raised an eyebrow, his yellow-toothed smile twisting with a hint of mockery. "Hurry up, kid, before I change my mind," he hissed, his rasping voice cutting through the stale air as he crossed his arms, smoke dancing around his pale face. Cassel, with fiery determination, closed his eyes, focusing. He felt the "worm" in his blood again, that familiar vibration crawling through the rune's lines, an echo of the power he'd felt by the Min stream. The sensation returned, alive and pulsing: the hanging plants murmured with a dry rustle, the insects beneath the earth buzzed like a distant choir, and before him, Etus's immovable figure exuded a cold calm, like a stone carved by centuries of wind. It wasn't the blind rage he'd felt against the Rotten Beaver, but a deep stillness, a silent challenge urging him on. With a flash of resolve, Cassel opened his eyes, charged at Etus, and threw a direct punch at his chest, the impact resounding in the courtyard like a contained thunder, the rune blazing with a light that seemed to defy the shadows.
Etus blocked the punch with his elbow effortlessly, as if swatting a fly. Cassel, his face contorted, tried a quick kick, but Etus dodged with a fluid step, his body moving with an unsettling grace. Before Cassel could react, Etus delivered a soft but firm blow to his head, a jolt of pain shooting through his skull. "What's wrong, kid?" Etus said, his mocking tone cutting like glass, the cigarette still smoldering between his yellow teeth. "I don't see you faster, stronger, or anything impressive." Cassel, frustrated, let out a grunt, the rune pulsing with a heat that fueled his anger. He clenched his teeth and threw another punch, but Etus blocked it with the same ease, his twisted smile widening as if Cassel's effort were a private joke.
Cassel, his face twisted with frustration, stepped back, the rune's burn in his chest pulsing like a cruel reminder of his inexperience. Etus let out a low, rasping laugh, the cigarette smoldering between his yellow teeth. Driven by rage, Cassel launched a low kick at Etus's knee, but the man dodged with a fluid spin, his tattered cloak brushing the hanging plants that swayed like silent witnesses. Etus countered with a quick blow to Cassel's shoulder, an impact that made him stagger. "Ha, ha! Is that all? The shadows here move with more grace," he mocked, his tone dripping with disdain, as the cigarette's smoke danced like a veil between them. Cassel, panting, gritted his teeth and charged again, his right fist slicing through the air with a speed that surprised even him.
Etus raised his arm to block, but Cassel twisted at the last moment, his punch grazing the man's flank. Etus grunted, his smile faltering for a second, but he regained his balance with unsettling speed. "Not bad, kid, that was a bit better," he admitted, though his voice remained mocking. "But let's see if you can keep up." He advanced like a shadow, his forearm slicing through the air in a counterattack that seemed impossible to dodge, a whip-like strike aimed at Cassel's chest. The young man, by pure instinct, twisted to the side, the blow grazing his shoulder by a hair, leaving a burn that mingled with the rune's heat. Etus blinked, his expression twisting in genuine surprise. "Damn, kid! How did you see that coming?" he grunted, but before he could recover, Cassel countered with an uppercut, his arm driven by a heat surging from the rune.
Etus blocked the punch with his elbow, the impact echoing in the courtyard, but a faint, unfamiliar chill struck his body, numbing him for an instant, as if an icy wind had slipped into his veins. His arm trembled slightly, and in his mind, a fleeting doubt arose: What was that? As if the kid froze me from the inside. Cassel, panting, stepped back. Etus shook his arm, masking the numbness, his twisted smile returning, though now with a sharper edge. "Not bad, kid, but you're still a pup barking at a wolf," he mocked, his rasping voice hiding the unease still coursing through him. Cassel, his heart racing, felt a similar chill but had no time to dwell on it; Etus advanced again, throwing a low blow that forced him to dodge, the courtyard seeming to shrink with each exchange.
The back-and-forth continued, punches and dodges in a clumsy but fierce dance. Cassel threw a direct fist, which Etus deflected with his forearm, laughing. "Ha! Is that what the old man gave you? Looks like a carnival trick," he scoffed, but he felt it again, a chill spreading from the spot where Cassel's fist made contact. He countered with an elbow that grazed Cassel's side. The young man grunted but responded with a kick that Etus blocked, though the impact forced him back a step. The chill struck Etus's body again, numbing his arm for a second longer this time, a sensation that left him perplexed. This isn't normal… What is this rune? he thought, his smile faltering. Cassel, feeling an echo of that chill in his own chest, seized the moment to throw an uppercut, which Etus dodged by a hair, the air humming with the force. The rune pulsed, and the courtyard, with its whispering plants, seemed to watch the duel like a silent audience.
"Alright, enough. I'm too old for this," Etus interrupted, his rasping voice cutting through the stale air as he stubbed his cigarette against a rotting plank, the hiss echoing in the courtyard. "Now, your skills have left me puzzled, kid. Exactly what does that rune of yours do? Show me."
Cassel, still panting, began to explain as he pulled off his shirt, revealing the rune burning on his chest, its intricate lines glowing with a faint light that seemed to answer the plants' murmur. "I don't fully understand it," he admitted, his voice halting, sweat mingling with the burn of the wound on his leg. "When I use it, I feel… things. Like the world is speaking to me. The plants, the insects in the earth. Everything vibrates, like it's alive." His eyes drifted to the courtyard's shadows, recalling the Min stream where the rune first awakened. "Against the Rotten Beaver, it was rage, a madness pushing me. But here, with you, it's different. It's a calm, like I can… sense your next move."
Etus tilted his head, his twisted smile returning, though his glassy eyes gleamed with a new, almost hungry interest. "Sense, huh?" he said, his tone mocking but tinged with curiosity. "Go on, kid. What else do you feel?" He crossed his arms, the cigarette's residual smoke still floating around him, as if the courtyard itself held its breath.
Cassel closed his eyes, letting the rune pulse, its heat spreading through his veins like a fiery worm. "Sometimes, there are chills," he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, as if afraid the plants might hear. "I don't know where they come from. It's like something cold touches me, not on the skin, but inside." He opened his eyes, meeting Etus's gaze, and added, "When I hit you, I felt that cold again. And I think you felt it too, didn't you?" The rune glowed brighter, and the hanging plants stirred, their leaves whispering a secret neither could decipher.
Etus lit a new cigarette, the smoke curling around his pale face as his glassy eyes drifted to the courtyard's shadows, lost in distant thought.
"Uncle Etus, what are you think—" Cassel began, his voice trembling with a mix of curiosity and fear.
"I don't know," Etus cut in, his tone sharp, slicing like an icy blade. "I'm not sure, kid. I've never heard anything like this." He paused, exhaling a cloud of smoke that blended with the stale air. "But there's something you should worry about more than anything: how will you cultivate that rune? You know nothing about the blood that awakened in your body or where you'll find the right crystals." His gaze hardened, piercing Cassel. "Dann, that reckless dreamer, I assume at least warned you about the dangers of consuming blood that doesn't suit you, right?"
Cassel forced a pitiful smile, an almost pleading expression. His shoulders slumped slightly, as if Etus's words weighed him down. "But I suppose Uncle Etus has a solution for me, doesn't he?" he said, his voice tinged with desperate hope, his eyes searching the man's pale face for any sign of relief. The rune pulsed, and the courtyard, with its hanging plants, seemed to hold its breath, as if the withered leaves awaited the answer.
Etus sighed, a resigned sound that tore through the courtyard's silence. He stubbed his cigarette against a moss-covered stone, the hiss echoing like his frustration. "Well, kid, all we know is that your rune is tied to the cold," he said, his voice low, almost reluctant. "If you consume crystals from low-level beasts tied to the cold, it shouldn't be a problem. You'll be slower than the rest, but it's better than nothing." He crossed his arms, his glassy eyes scrutinizing Cassel, as if trying to gauge whether the young man grasped the gravity of his words.
Cassel wrinkled his face, exaggerating an expression of pity and sorrow, his eyes narrowed in an almost theatrical plea aimed at Etus. The man frowned, flicked his cigarette, and a hot ash flew toward Cassel, grazing his cheek like a stinging rebuke. "Don't try to sway me with your tricks, kid," Etus growled, his rasping voice cutting through the courtyard's stale air, the hanging plants whispering as if approving his disdain. He paused, exhaling a cloud of smoke that curled into the shadows, and added, "In the storage room, in the crate next to the Huari brandy bottles, there should be something useful for you." His gaze hardened, gesturing toward the tavern. "Go back to the Boreas residence, kid. They're probably already looking for you."
Cassel broke into a wide, ear-to-ear grin, a spark of triumph lighting up his face, as if he'd gotten exactly what he wanted. "Hmm, thanks, Uncle Etus! I'm off!" he exclaimed, his voice brimming with enthusiasm, taking a step toward the courtyard's door.
"But first, kid, come here!" Etus interrupted, his tone suddenly grave, stopping Cassel in his tracks. He revealed a blood needle growing from his fingertips, a red, pulsing thread glowing under the gray light, writhing like a living worm. A chilling smile crossed his face, his yellow teeth glinting like those of a creature from Mith's crevices. "Let's give you an excuse, at least, in case they ask about that drawing on your chest," he hissed, advancing slowly, the needle lengthening as if alive. Cassel stepped back, his heart racing, the rune burning with a cold that chilled his core. "Uncle Etus?! Ahhh!" he screamed, his voice breaking into an echo that faded among the whispering plants, as the courtyard's shadows closed like a curtain over the scene.