Death, in this forsaken place, could come in many forms. From the ever-constant stormy clouds, raining lightning upon the terrain, to the icy chasms and crevasses, lying in patient wait for the unfortunate trespasser that entered this domain, this place had it all. Trapped amid several mountain peaks, this place was a living nightmare.

Ultaf had spent most of his adolescence here, trained in the arts that allowed him to wear the mantle of the Lord of the Shimizu, and yet, nothing could prepare him enough to walk into these barbarous walls again. As his four huskies pulled his sledge across the tundra, the canines suddenly slowed, looking skyward.

“What is it?” Ultaf asked, stepping off and glancing at the storm clouds above. They were rotating, and he knew exactly what that meant. Tornadoes were a fact of life in the Northern Dominion, but up here, they held an altogether different meaning. He could hear the snow wolves howl across the ridges, followed by a roar of thunder that sounded weirdly musical, like the after-tone of some vast gong.

He’s awake. That’s… good, I suppose.

The rest of his thoughts perished as his huskies whined again, looking around warily.

He couldn’t blame them. They had reached the outer periphery of the Peak. From this point on, even the very air was hostile to them unless they had permission to breathe in it.

“Do not worry,” he calmed the canines, crouching as he caressed the thick fur above their ears. “I’ll have to make the rest of the journey alone.”

Ultaf stood up and looked at the surrounding mountains. There were three hundred and sixty-one checkpoints within the Peak’s peripheries. Every single one of them had Restrainers on duty, along with beasts at their command. Ultaf had seen snow-wolves, abominables, and even some frost giants here, all of them enthralled to serve as protectors of the Peak, committed to utterly destroying anything that stepped within this dominion without permission. Even the Wind would fight you, aeromancer or not. And that was without considering the savagery around that called on his instincts to flee this place and to never return.

Don’t trust your eyes. Don’t trust your instincts. The path is safe. Ultaf repeated inwardly.

Pouring lifeforce into his feet, Ultaf shot through the black rocks amidst the ice, stamping his way through vegetation, crumbling rocks and… bones. This place was littered with them, courtesy of the man-eating monstrosities guarding this area. Every breath, every step, every rasp of bones rubbing against one another, multiplied into a thousand echoes that almost seemed to grow louder than fading away. The black ice walls shone in the Eternal Light, the ever-present whirlwind making it difficult to see ahead, but Ultaf kept moving.

He had to reach the Peak. He had information to share. This couldn’t wait.

He emerged from the outer gates into the courtyard. The insides of this sprawled-out fortress were bleak and beautiful in its simple symmetry. Every room, every chamber was built into the very mountain itself, with stairs leading inside cavernous corridors and open spaces. The courtyard was flat, smooth, dark ice, and at its center, a single spire rose from the ground, and pierced into the mountain peak above it.

This place was the highest point in the entire Northern Dominion, and somewhere deep within these crevasses was the infamous Shimizu Well. A portal that connected to a vicious borderland filled with aerial, eldritch monsters. And Ultaf was here to meet the most dangerous monster among them all.

Son of the Wind King.

The Shimizu Warlord.

And his own grandfather, Mujin Shimizu.

The sounds of wolves growling brought him to a pause. With steady, mist-filled breaths, Ultaf waited as five restrainers, with a snow-wolf and an abominable in tow, shimmered into existence. Even in the blizzard around, he could spot gray wristbands on two of them, projecting their ability as aeromancers.

“This land is not welcome to trespassers,” said one of them. “Walk away.”

Wasn’t that a surprise? He’d have expected them to attack first, ask questions later. Had they somehow recognized him? No, that wasn’t it.

He removed the cravat from his face. “I’m Ultaf, Prince of Shimizu.”

Technically, he was the Lord, but here he was still a Prince. The Peak only accepted the command of one man, and Ultaf was not him.

“Prince,” the man bowed instantly, and the other restrainers took a step back. “They did not inform us of your arrival.”

“I need to meet Grandfather. I come with news.”

“But—”

Ultaf eyed him. “He did not know of this. Time flies, and it’s urgent. Where is he?”

“At the mountaintop.” The restrainer said after a momentary hesitation, “I should warn you that the Beast is awake. To traverse to the top in such conditions is… not recommended.”

Ultaf snorted. That was an understatement if he had ever heard one. The Beast was a reference to his grandfather’s kami, a gargantuan winged-demon that he had only heard tales about. He remembered seeing clouds of power circling around his grandfather, creating a territory so intense that just stepping inside it was enough to obliterate anyone. A world of pain that Mujin Shimizu could manifest into this mortal world, thanks to the impossible power of this monstrosity.

And to think, there is something greater than that.

Closing his eyes, he spoke. “Sigrun, fly.”

A surge of mana erupted out of him, forging a mini-whirlwind around him. His feet left the ground, and he shot upwards. Within minutes, he had crossed the Peak’s frontage and stood on the black iced, mountain top.

And winced.

Even across the entire terrain, his grandfather’s sheer presence drew the eye with a terrible fascination. He sat cross-legged, levitating in mid-air, an orb of pure power surrounding him. The eye of the storm. The soft, bluish light emanating from the haze that was his power bathed the icy crust below. His presence was a kind of weight on Ultaf’s mind, a gravity that strained space around it and could not be ignored. It was utterly magnetic and yet fundamentally repulsive at the same time. His power burned, an existence far older and deeper and deadlier than anything he had known. Compared to that power, even Sigrun felt little more than a transient breeze.

And rising above his grandfather was a gigantic outline. A maw that could swallow an entire city in one go. Claws that could slash mountains apart. This wasn’t a kami. This was—

“Ultaf.” His grandfather’s voice tore through his thoughts. Even from a distance, He could hear it, baritone, deep, and thrumming with power. The air around this place was alive with power.

“Grandfather,” he took a tentative step forward, shielding himself from the wind. That singular action exhausted half his mana reserves. “I bring news. Cyffnar located some readings from the Desert. We sent a party, and they reported a powerful Class-3 anomaly in the Desert. Lord Straff was pleased. He wanted to get an edge before we were bound to report it to the Empire, so he hired professionals to loot it during the period of the Black Moon Rising.”

His grandfather closed his eyes. “I have no time for your despotic nonsense, boy.”

Had it been anyone else, Ultaf would have trapped them inside a circle of pure void for calling him that, watching as their bodies imploded like so much waste meat. But when his grandfather said it, all he could do was to do his best to remain firm and not flinch. To the world, he was the Lord of Shimizu, and here, he was little more than a child that had just learnt that there was a monster beneath his bed.

“This — This will be worth your time. This can change… everything.”

Grandfather opened a single eye. The force of will that condensed on him in that one movement would have instantly killed a lesser man, crushing his mind into something too dense and inert to function.

“Then speak your fill, and be gone.”

“After the Waning concluded, I visited the Desert.” Ultaf shuddered. “It was… terrifying. Just like the myths. Dreary, burning rays of Sun in the day, pitch-black demonic shadows beneath my feet — and that — that horrible darkness. That horrible—”

“ULTAF!”

Ultaf jumped at his grandfather’s scorn. Steadying himself a little, he immersed himself in Sigrun’s power. It didn’t even count before his grandfather’s infinitely powerful aura, but it was better than nothing.

“We — I — that is, the adventurers found a very rare form of featherglass inside the anomaly. A very pure form. Purer than the Emperor’s grade.”

That paused Grandfather for a moment. “Purer than….”

“The Emperor’s. Yes. I know. That an Anomaly can produce something considered impossible even with the Great Goddess’s—”

“Where is this anomaly?” Grandfather asked. “Featherglass that pure would have an impossible number of applications.”

The wind orb around him dissipated and the elderly man stood on the ground on steady legs. “Tell me you’re already harvesting all the featherglass out of it?”

Ultaf swallowed and shook his head. “That… is no longer possible, Grandfather.”

“TELL ME THE TRUTH!” The man exploded. “WHAT’S GOING ON?”

“I — when I got there, after the Waning, I found the Cyffnar camp annihilated. Someone massacred our troops. Killed them. Most of them. A girl. Blonde hair. Lithe.”

“Aeromancer,” Grandfather cupped his chin. “Few in the kingdom can trounce an entire battalion. And a girl, you say?”

For the first time, Ultaf smiled. “Yes. An Aeromancer.”

“WHAT did you just say?”

A psychic pressure of pure fury erupted out of the man. A dense, horrible power that had Ultaf grit his teeth in protest, as energy spiraled out of his grandfather’s body, trumpeting in defiance, and climbing into the heavens above. Everything around them had been blown away, every inch of ice shattered and blown into the wind, leaving nothing but a black, rocky terrain upon which grandfather and grandchild stood, facing each other.

Ultaf took a step ahead. It exhausted half his reserves. “You know what I’m saying. This girl — she decimated tents with a single blast. One Aeromancer took out the entirety of Cyffnar’s battalion, without so much as a single wound.”

“That—”

For the first time, Ultaf saw something like weakness in the man’s posture. “That — is impossible. Surely—”

“You’re deluding yourself, grandfather. It’s her. And she’s the one wielding Him. Father would be so proud!”

He uttered the word ‘father’ like it was the vilest curse imaginable.

Grandfather looked at him, a touch of sadness in his eyes. “You’re got it wrong, boy. This girl, her kami — that’s not him. It cannot be him. We lost Ezzeron. He vanished through the Well into his dominion. We’ve never seen him since.”

Anger flooded through his veins. It gave him strength to stand up before the man he had a healthy fear of. “Then tell me this, Grandfather,” He nearly snapped, “Why is it that the anomaly is now destroyed?”

“... what?”

“The anomaly,” Ultaf replied coldly. “It’s destroyed. Collapsed. There’s nothing inside. No featherglass. No monsters. Nothing. Except for — well, one issue.” He shifted his balance to his right foot. “The Core, though, was undamaged.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Grandfather rebuked. “The only way to destroy an anomaly is to destroy its core. The metaphysical potential returns to the Great Mother, and punishes the doer with Sin. That’s the rule of the world.”

“Well, somebody’s ignoring the Rules,” Ultaf replied, feeling slightly courageous. He took another step. “The Core was untouched, but the Anomaly collapsed. I’m — not sure what happened, but someone achieved exactly what you think is impossible.”

“And, she’s an Aeromancer.”

He took another step forward. “She entered the Desert during Black Moon Rising. She found the army, infiltrated inside and massacred it all. They say she flew like the wind, blitzed like the storm. And then there is… this.”

He took out a small contraption out of his pocket. The lid unveiled, revealing a canister within. And inside was a zig-zag shaped cluster of crystal. Only it was expanding all across the canister, like thin tendrils of rime.

And it was crimson. As rich and dark as bremetan blood.

“Is that…?”

“Frost,” said Ultaf. “It was growing on one corpse. It absorbed every bit of lifeforce from the body, becoming large enough to encapsulate it. Frost that feeds on lifeforce. Does that… ring any bells?”

Grandfather exhaled. “So, the Creature lives.”

“She is out there,” said Ultaf, grinning through his eyes. “And she has Ezzeron with her. She had him all this time.”

“And the Frost—”

“It’s grown stronger.” Ultaf replied. “A power so staggering that it nearly caused the Great Goddess’s demise. A power older than this Empire. A power that can kill an Anomaly without destroying its core.”

“Impossible,” Grandfather refuted, “Even the Creature’s mother, at the peak of her strength—”

“Could not achieve such a feat,” Ultaf replied, “but she couldn’t stay in the Eternal Light, either. And yet, this one does. Then again, she was always an overachiever. Best of both worlds. Surely you remember that? You trained her.”

Grandfather went still.

“I searched around. There was another piece of news. Another anomaly, destroyed. No one knew how. The only evidence they had was one girl, laden and dripping with Sin. Blonde hair, lithe figure. Aeromancer.”

His eyes glinted as he extended his hand due east. “She’s out there, experimenting. And she has Ezzeron, and the Frost. So, I came here to inform you I’m going to the Llaisy Kingdom. To find her. Meet my long-lost sister.”

“No.”

Ultaf paused. “...no?”

“No,” Grandfather exhaled, as power whirled around him so fast that it was practically tangible. “I cannot afford any mistakes here. This time, I’ll do it myself.”