rogue_3

Then, the blade's armor on the ground begins to roll and leap, assembling a form that should not exist, black spear aimed at his back.

There was no time.

Eikthyrnir knew it was over for him. But the battle was not over yet.

Colder than snow, harder than ice. Bone-chilling rime explodes from within the Snowpriest, covering even wilted black wood in a shell of white.

After a few long seconds, there is neither Snowpriest, nor demon, nor life, nor death.

Santalla knew this day could come.

But she always thought Eikthyrnir was weak, too weak to look his own love in the eye, so weak that he must continue to reproach and punish himself with his wife's death. He was not someone unmoved by personal ties. He only chose to turn away, because he could not forgive himself for wavering.

He learned to endure because of his weakness. He carried more and more on his shoulders, so that the souls of Man could rest in Sami's embrace rather than nourish the disaster. So that the young need not be born in darkness, nor abandoned in snow.

He could not become a pure fighting machine, so he let the bonds he fought for bind him. Let them become his fuel, his strength, his ward, his curse.

Curse.

How could he have fought the increasingly frequent and dangerous disasters, if he did not carry such a great curse?

But even the powerful Eikthyrnir fell. If there were any survivors left to tell of the battle, he would have said it was no different from any other. The warriors of the north had long fought foes such as these, but this time, there were too many, and too little margin for error.

Santalla was not confident about such a heavy responsibility. The curse she bore was nothing compared to his. No Sami could claim to carry with them such love as to be equal to a curse.

But Santalla is lucky. She bore witness to the unwavering will of Eikthyrnir and the others who fought to the death. She bore witness to the devotion to peering into the future, the determination of the eternal hunt, the thirst to see the unknown. She inherits all that was built and accumulated in the past, and she will carve out what needs to be faced and broken through.

The outcast returns to her roots, resuming the ritual she had turned her back on many years ago under the watchful eye of Samivilinn. A new Snowpriest takes the vacant seat, a responsibility too heavy for anyone to bear.

The powers that she must balance and make use of are more dangerous than any curse, but the daughter of the Santalla Tree has never known submission.

The warrior heads beneath the tree and prays for protection.

He puts down a bowl of hot tea, before following suit with his offering. He then stretches his palm towards the tree and waits calmly. If misfortune is imminent, the tree will shed its prophecy to its people. But for the Sami warriors who are willing to accept any fate, it is not worth caring whether or not they leave empty-handed.

However, it is not a tree that is reflected in his eyes. It is a massive cluster of crystalline ice with countless branches extending from it. It instinctively takes on the shape of a sandalwood tree.

At one point, the ice clusters did indeed possess a form of Arts that could protect the people, maintaining the stability of this place by providing a vanguard of wind and snow for the soldiers. But now, it is akin to a dead tree sapped of all its vitality, slowly waiting to melt away.

Many years ago, a snowpriest used her own lifeblood to complete these Arts. Flesh and blood became thorns, life was woven into ice, and thus she took root here, hoping that 'granting life through death' would be the key to survival.

But in the warrior's mind, there is only one tree here worth praying to.

The warrior stands motionless for some time, maintaining his posture with upturned palms extended until his weapons rust and his leather armor rots from the moisture. Then, after confirming that the tree had granted him nothing, he places his hands on the offerings he brought and begins to eat the rotten flesh and blood that has become one with the soil – a necessary preparation for the battle to come, and a part of this solemn ceremony.

However, he does not know who his enemy is, or what he is fighting.

Within the core of the ice cluster, a shard of crystal-clear Originium witnesses all. This is the foreign substance left behind after the rest of the original snowpriest had completely disintegrated, her crystallized 'eyes.'

It sees that the warriors defending Sami's homeland are not actually the children of Sami. In the beginning, the seeds of chaos were sown in the minds of the Sami warriors who did in fact stride into battle against the demons. Later, however, all living beings touched by the calamity had their minds rewritten.

It sees that time itself had elongated due to a change in the measurer, that day and night had been blurred by a pitch-dark crevasse that could not be sealed.

Originium spans this land, so it can see the entire earth covered by the same shadow.

People are doomed to forget the snowpriest's pursuit as well as her tragic wish, because they can no longer understand the concept of 'existence.' Existence is bestowed a brand new form, fated to wander in nigh-eternal silence.

The all-seeing Originium eye thinks nothing, and communicates nothing.

Just as the land itself is now, it is neither possible nor meaningful to clear away this jumbled cognition.

Only life itself can continue to seek out possibilities, reminisce about the past, pursue the future, and fight against an eternity of deathly silence and desolation.

Originium recorded the snowpriest's questions to herself in her final moments: 'Have I prayed for all the power I can muster? Have I exhausted every option? Will my people have a place to go?'

Upon the empty black earth, the ice cluster sheds a single lonely tear.

Valarqvin meditates in the cave, oblivious to the passage of time.

The sound of the wind and snow cannot reach her here. Other than her own heartbeat, breathing, and the blood pulsing through her veins, the only sound she hears is that of the mist condensing on the rock wall, slowly forming into dew.

The foresight of the Cyclopes gazes only upon the future. The vision left behind by the Cyclops who became the King of Sarkaz a thousand years ago continues to be passed on through generations: The shadow will spread towards Terra from the end of the icefield. That which is real will collapse and shatter. There are no corpses upon the land, for the land itself is covered in void.

At first, their kin who died on the journey to the north saw neither icefield nor demon for their entire lives. They passed on a prophecy they could not understand to their sons and daughters, like a blind man opening a coffin to sketch the face of the deceased as they lived. Now, the clan lives in the mountains, watching the icefields to the north as the nature of the vision is revealed along with that of the icefield's.

It has not changed the duty of the Cyclopes. She... they are still waiting, waiting for the far future, the finish line of fate. Until then, her job is to delay its coming.

Valarqvin's thoughts do not stop there.

She sees herself extend an invitation to a group of southerners who approach the research station. As they speak, she foresees dead bodies strewn across the ground, their faces blurred, their laughter and mirth brought to an abrupt end. Leaving her holding a flower that should not exist, with an endless sea of flowers behind her. Even so, she chooses to shake the hand of the survey team's leader.

She sees herself assist a few young shamans with whom she is acquainted, on their way towards the frontlines where the warriors are. As they share a treehouse, she sees a procession of warriors corrupted by demonic influence, a reckless campaign, and hunger in a snowstorm. Even so, she chooses to fulfill their fevered hopes.

A plethora of thoughts pass, and she sees herself walk out of the cave with resolve.

Finally, she realizes that she is, for once, reminiscing about the past. The foresight of the Cyclopes gazes only upon the future, but the myriad possibilities in the many visions eventually converge upon a single memory.

She sees the black snow rise slowly into the sky, while she walks towards a child crouched by her family's bodies, weak and in despair.

Fate is warning her. She foresees an unfamiliar icefield. The child has grown to adulthood, but as an unrecognizable, blurred silhouette, one that is being extinguished by her Arts. She foresees herself running away, but a black arrow pierces her chest and pins her to a tree. She foresees the child becoming her judge and executor. She foresees a wilting flower, a broken bow, and a piece of tattered clothing outside the door.

She knows that all this pain is destined to occur.

But she closes her eyes. All that's left are the painful, clenched, trembling sobs.

She embraces the sobbing child.

In her warm embrace, the child finally opens the floodgates, and a tear flows onto Valarqvin's collar.

She opens her eyes, and a drop of dew had fallen onto her skin, still bearing the scent of the rock wall.

Amma has left.

Typhon did not use the word 'die.' The souls of the dead still roam the land of Sami. It is only those who have left who never return.

She went over hills and tundra and through Myrkwood, always with fear in her heart. What will become of Sami without Amma's protection? Will the forests wilt? Will the hornbeasts still find sanctuary? Will the snow that has not been stepped on by Amma never melt?

Typhon found herself relieved when she saw that none of the sights had changed. The forests were still lush. Bubbling hot springs melted the nearby snow. The young hornbeast cuddles by her side, knowing that she harbored no ill intent towards it, and chewed on new leaves sprouting from the brush. Tired from the long journey, she almost falls asleep with the foal.

When the foal closes its gentle eyes, however, she awakes with a start, remembering the white hornbeast that hardly ever opened its eyes, which no longer protected the souls of Sami.

With unskilled warding Arts and arrows, she repels another shadow that had not yet grown into a threat, ensuring the safety of the foal. But the hornbeast did not know that Amma has left; it kept its old habits, sleeping in the shadow of the canopy without caution.

Soon, Typhon realizes that no one knew that Amma has left, for Sami has not changed.

Amma sacrificed Itself to protect the souls of Sami, and faded away forever, but those who It protected only think that they have not encountered It.

Typhon rescues a tribe caught between hedges and warns them to be more careful, for Amma can no longer protect them.

They answer, 'Yes, Amma has many to care for. We cannot always expect to receive Its kindness. We must take care of our own children.'

Typhon calls out to a hunter in the woods, 'You won't find the little snowballs that Amma left behind anymore!'

But the hunter does not believe her, because those who sought Amma's affection were always the last to find it. Thinking about why the snowballs are not there is the reason why one does not find Amma's affection. The hunter smiles at the child, and tosses a little snowball towards her, landing at her feet.

There is no one to say farewell to Amma with her, no one to prepare a funeral. How can she prove the melting snow that fell on her so long ago?

Typhon's sorrow becomes anger, but there is nothing she can take it out on. She cannot blame people for living a quiet life, nor the forest for its greenness. Therefore, she continues to wander, doing her best to protect all of it.

Until she encountered a Snowpriest.

She tells the Snowpriest, out of habit, that Amma no longer protected them. The Snowpriest nods.

This was the first time that someone listened to her. Finally finding an outlet, she pours out many stories about Amma, until there is nothing left to say. Then she mutters, 'But all of this is no more.'

'No,' answers the Snowpriest, who until now has listened with infinite patience. 'Do you know why Amma remained in Sami?'

'Remained?'

'Amma and Its kind have never belonged to any land.'

'It stayed because of Its attachment to the land and souls of Sami.'

'But Amma is gone,' Typhon says, even more anxious. 'Has It merely left Sami? Does It not care for the land of Sami anymore?'

'If you know where to look, child, Its love has never left.'

Typhon wants to ask more questions, but the Snowpriest has stood up.

Their silhouette heads into Myrkwood, then seems to overlap with the shadow of an aged tree.

Snow falls from the branches, and a black fowlbeast takes off from the shadows between tree and snow.

Typhon runs towards the spot.

The footprints end abruptly on empty ground, and the snow shines with the bright reflection of the light from the twin moons.

Valarqvin stands calmly in thorns.

Around the altar sit Snowpriests and Cyclopes. All turn towards her when she speaks.

'I have brought what I saw from the end of the icefields.'

'Pray foresee... pass judgment.'

At first, she saw a great ring on the icefields, covered in silver frost, but it was no natural formation.

She was not the only one who saw the vision. The Cyclopes shared knowledge, but it was silent, meaningless, inscrutable.

Then, Valarqvin saw the demon emerge from the ring, just as foretold a thousand years ago. The Cyclopes learned that the object located at the end of the icefields was a gateway.

But the icefields themselves were inhospitable to any living soul, except the disaster that had come into the world. A thousand years of observation could not provide an answer: What is it? It had no more emotion, no more thought, no more means of expression or communication than a natural phenomenon. In past records, they seemed to appear out of thin air, so why did they now use the ring as a gateway?

The demonic threat to Sami was growing. Sami warriors and the Cyclopes each took action on their own. For an instant, Valarqvin gazed upon a vision the likes of which she had never seen.

She did not tell anyone about the vision. For once, she had a clear vision of herself.

More importantly, she saw that the ring before her was different. It reflected the starry sky like a mirror.

In that instant, she decided that if she was destined to be there, that she would choose the cause herself. She would go before the ring to observe, and integrate all that she saw into the collective memory of the Sarkaz. She would supply knowledge for questions that could not be answered in the past, and she must know why the door would open when she arrives there.

If she could arrive there, so could humanity.

If there was a way to open the door, then humanity could pass through it.

Destiny appeared as an ill fate, but it was not a dead end for humanity.

She did not care whether it would be a dead end for herself.

But she survived.

Back at Sami, she bids farewell to Typhon and the research team beneath the mountains, and tells her experience to the warriors of the north. Then, she tells it again to the assembled Snowpriests and Cyclopes.

She is neither forgiven nor punished. After a long silence, one member of the assembly stands up, their voice echoing in the cavern.

'If we must pass through the door, then at least one of the great enemies that wait yonder has been defeated.'

'We do not know if life and death apply to our enemy, but we know that a victory buys a period of peace for the land.'