Yodenshire was a frozen wasteland north of Vilbar and the ancestral home of the frost giants. A torrent of arcane energy sprouted upwards, then branched out, etching glyphs into the ancient permafrost. In a flash, four figures appeared, three of them surrounding a fourth.

The howling wind greeted the strangers by sinking its icy fangs into their exposed flesh. William held out his shield, struggling against the abrupt change. He pulled his hood over his blue hair, then wrapped his scarf around his face so that only his golden eyes could peer out.

The three figures, who surrounded William, stood tall as if the force that billowed their black cloaks was no more than a light ocean breeze. Council members lived up to their reputation. At least, William assumed they were council members. Searching his memory, however, he couldn’t recall if he had ever seen black cloaks while in the monastery. He shook his head. ‘My master said to have faith in them. That’s all I need to know.’

“Forward,” a voice yelled over the wind, and William picked up a hint of an Elven accent. The three War Monks moved in unison, their bare feet trudging through the snow as if immune to the cold.

William put his shield over his back. It was hurting him more than helping. He leaned into the wind, letting the random currents toss him about as he pushed himself to keep up with the council members.

He had felt cold before but never like this. Even when he called upon his copper life essence, the wind seemed to blow right through it. He reached under his scarf and clutched his necklace. ‘Goddess, give me strength.’ With his silent prayer repeating over and over again in his head like a mantra, he trudged over hills and mounds of snow for miles.

When he opened his mouth, the wind would snatch his words away, leaving behind a bitter cold that caused his teeth to ache. Other than the wind, which steadily grew more maddening, the only other sounds he could listen to were the metallic clanks of a council member to his right. Each time the man moved, it would sound again. ‘War Monks don’t wear armor,’ William thought, his initial doubt growing as he blindly followed the three strangers. His gaze wandered to the leader.

‘War Monks don’t use weapons either,’ William thought, staring at the longbow that was slung over the leader’s shoulder. He had a hand around his sword hilt, and his grip tightened as he spotted a Warhammer on another councilmember’s back, the one to his left. ‘I just need to have faith.’ He let go of his sword hilt and clutched his necklace again. ‘Goddess, give me strength. Goddess, give me strength.’

The council members stopped in unison and before William could ask why, the War Monk to his right charged right at him. William went for his sword too late, and was splayed out on the ground. He leapt back to his feet, and a white, flaming aura erupted from his chest. Before he could charge in, however, the world darkened.

Glancing up, an enormous chunk of ice, bigger than a house, came crashing onto the councilmember who had shoved him out of harm’s way. The ground quaked as the impact sent deep cracks along the ice. William’s hair stood on end as he stared at the boulder, which would have easily crushed him.

He shook his head, drew his weapons, and then found an enormous outline far within the haze of snow. ‘It’s big but I’ve seen bigger,’ he thought.

And then the outline pulled back, and William’s eyes went wide as he realized he had only caught a glimpse of the attacker’s hand. The rest of the figure revealed itself, a black outline that seemed to eat away at the sky, growing larger as it closed in on them. He swallowed his saliva and stepped back, his aura receding.

“Dogma,” the leader urged. “Rise!”

William stepped back as the boulder was lifted up and thrown away with a collection of metallic screeching.

The councilmember pulled back his hood to reveal a metal mask that had been melded with his face. Golden life essence flared up from his body as he took a stance in front of William.

“Ignus, behind us,” the leader called out to the second council member, who pulled out his Warhammer and stepped behind William.

‘What’s behind us?’ William thought as a second boulder of ice emerged from the mist. He could only watch like a useless burden as the man named Ignus reeled his weapon back and shattered the projectile with a surge of golden life essence. Dogma pulled William behind him moments before the shattered ice came crashing down.

The man named Ignus peeled back his hood and William was surprised to find that the man was an orc in his later years. “Citrus,” Ignus yelled out to the leader in a thick, orcish accent. “We are in a hurry.”

The man named Citrus called upon his golden life essence, drew a normal-looking arrow, and launched towards the first frost giant. ‘What’s that going to do to a giant?’ William thought before a monstrous roar echoed throughout the land, beating back the violent wind. He fell to his knees, clutching his ringing ears. When he looked at the giant’s outline, however, a gaping hole had opened in its chest. The giant’s corpse came crashing to the ground with a booming echo.

The second giant reeled back, intending to launch another boulder at them. Citrus turned and fired another arrow. The giant’s head vanished, and the corpse fell like the first.

“All clear?” Ignus asked.

Citrus pulled back his hood to reveal that he was a blonde-haired Elf, his emotionless face so pale that it blended in with the snow. He closed his hazel eyes and sent golden life essence around his pointed ears for a few moments. “Clear.” The group relaxed. Weapons were sheathed. “Dogma, confirm that the boy is unharmed.”

William looked up as a hand made of flesh and metal extended out of Dogma’s sleeve. Dogma pulled him up and gave a thumbs up. William mirrored the gesture, earning a nod.

“Citrus, you were slow,” Ignus stated. “The giants have prepared since last time. They cannot know our route.”

Citrus sighed: “Ignus, you should have spared some last time so they would come to fear us more. Fifteen years since we came here last and they have gotten braver.”

‘That’s it?’ William thought, staring at the vacant horizon in disbelief. ‘By the goddess, what kind of arrows were those? Why have I never heard of these people before? None of my masters said much about them, only warning me to be silent around them.’ A warm liquid dripped from his nose, blood.

“Look what your carelessness has earned you,” Citrus said, pointing out the blood to Dogma. “The shock has punched through his body. He is not yet fully trained. Here, I have something for you.”

For a moment William thought that they were going to cast a healing spell, but instead he was handed gauze, which he pressed on his nose. Curious, he called upon his mana and scanned them. What he found was neither the presence of arcane talent nor the absence of it. They once had cores to store mana but they were all broken. He pulled his mana back.

He took one last look at the lumbering figures lying still on the horizon before trudging onwards. After trudging for another mile, he could barely feel his limbs. He learned to put any metal in his spatial ring as they invited the cold in. He fell more times than he could count. It became harder and harder to push himself away from the soft snow.

At last, signaled by a faint buzzing sound, they came to a stop. Citrus pulled a paper salmon out of his cloak, which flopped around excitedly around his palm. Moving it around like a divining rod, he quickly found a section of ice that was irregularly flat. He knelt down, letting the salmon flop onto the ice. The artifact lit up a bright blue, straightened, and dug through the solid ice. “William, was that your name?”

William nodded.

“Tell me, have you ever wondered why your life became this way? Why do we put such faith in you? Be honest.”

He nodded.

“Rejoice.. You are about to meet the reason.”