As Beorn made his way towards Galanör’s cabin, the snowfall was starting to turn into a full-blown storm. The wind had a haunting note to it as it battered the tall pines, bending them. The sun was currently making its way overhead, which surprised Beorn. He’d lost a whole day since he had decided to return to the Manor. His internal sense of time was extremely accurate, often being forced to live deep in the woods when he was out on patrols. There, the trees were tall with such dense canopies that they prevented the sunlight from reaching the ground. Although, being held captive by a Blood-Mage with a sadistic streak had kept his mind occupied on other things.

The snow peppered his weary face. Beorn felt like he'd aged fifty years in the span of a single day. His newest wounds were aching with the cold penetrating to his bones. With every step he forced through the deepening layer of snow he felt the wounds all over his body sting, while the bruises he'd acquired were starting to turn numb. Beorn wished he could rest awhile and treat his injuries but there was no time to lose. He put one foot in front of the other and marched onward.

Beorn settled into the special breathing technique Galanör had taught him to conserve energy on long treks. Pulling up the fur-lined collar of his cloak to cover his face, he was glad he had taken the time to retrieve it and his pack from his room before fleeing the Manor, without it, he would be forced to take shelter or die from frostbite and starvation. He mentioned as such to his companion, a talking brooch in the shape of a dragon.

‘Aren’t you glad I ignored you and went to get my cloak, now? We would have had to turn back, besides there is no way I leave my bow behind.’

‘You would not be thinking thus if you were back in the hands of that snake. And I have yet to receive your gratitude for rescuing you.'

‘You’re the reason I’m in this bloody mess in the first place. I haven’t forgotten you're the reason my brother was nearly killed too.’

The brooch snorted in reply, ‘Humph, it is no fault of mine I am so attractive to power-hungry villains. It is the sacred duty of your clan to safeguard me.' It continued proudly, ‘Listen and be in awe mortal for I am Wilhelmina, third of her name, princess of the Frostwyrm, the Jewel of the North.’

‘Wyrm? Like a Dragon? But you're just a piece of jewellry.’

'Tut tut tut mortal, you are mistaken. But I shall not fault you for the shortcomings of your ancestors for not educating you properly. I am not just 'a Dragon'. Wyrms are the most ancient, the most intelligent, the most powerful of the Dragons, and you would be wise to remember it. The brooch only holds my consciousness and my vitality is part of the Dragonstone. I was only aware once I came in range of it.'

‘So, most wise and wise powerful Wilhelmina, how did you manage to get turned into a brooch, and what's with the stone?’

‘Ahem, I am unsure of the exact sequence of events, but I was mortally injured in the great war with the Shadow Drakes. Mother must have saved my consciousness and transferred it into the brooch to keep me safe. The Dragonstone is the greatest treasure of my clan, only Mother could have bonded my vitality with it. And our enemies would never guess that mortals were chosen to safeguard it’, Wilhelmina paused, 'We must venture into the Dragon's Teeth to meet my clan after we flee the vile man chasing us. I miss Mother. And the Dragonstone has lost nearly all of its power which should not be possible for another thousand years.’

As an afterthought, she added, ‘Do not worry for your safety, my clan will reward you for safeguarding me and punish the Blood-Mage for his outrageous behavior.’

The wind was insistent, snatching at his cloak, at least he did not have to worry about covering his tracks in this storm. Absentmindedly, Beorn pulled his cloak tighter while he mulled over Wilhelmina’s response. Something did not sit right with him. No one had seen Dragons in over a thousand years. There were only rumours of the Guardian Beast of the Serpent Spire being a Dragon, but no one had faced it and survived to tell the tale. If his suspicions were correct…

‘Dragon's Teeth? I haven't heard of a mountain range named that.’

‘It is the mountains to the north of here. They act as a barrier to our territory from you mortals, surrounded by that dreadful forest.’

His fears confirmed, he decided to try and let Wilhelmina down gently, ‘You mean the Wyrmfell Mountains? You know Dragons haven't been seen on the continent since the Towers rose.’

‘No Dragons? Truly? That is troubling. Maybe we just grew tired of you mortals and secluded ourselves.’ Wilhelmina sounded uncertain to Beorn. ‘And what are these towers you speak of?’

‘The Divine Towers, they rose around a thousand years ago. It’s where we undertake the initiation to receive a Blessing from the Gods. It’s the only way we humans can use Essence.’

Wilhelmina remarked offhandedly, ‘Were you not using essence earlier? You are using it to strengthen yourself at this very moment although you do not seem to be very proficient in it.’

‘I AM? Couldn't you have mentioned it earlier? Do you know how long...', calming himself, Beorn concentrated on the matter at hand, ‘Anyways forget about that. You know, Banehallow is pretty close to your territory and no one has mentioned any dragons. Ever. Also don’t you think someone should have checked up on you by now.’

‘That is true...’

‘And didn’t you say the Dragonstone had run out of power? Wilhelmina, I want you to listen to me calmly. I think you’ve been asleep for at least a thousand years. You’ve never heard of the Towers, the mountains to the north have been called Wyrmfell since before my father’s time, and I’m sure your mother would not leave you alone in the hands of humans for longer than necessary.’

Hearing no response from Wilhelmina, Beorn decided to stay silent and give her time. It couldn’t be easy to hear you were asleep for a thousand years with the fate of your whole race unknown to you. He empathised with Wilhelmina, he knew what it felt to be all alone in the world. He kept walking towards the cabin. It would be a couple of hours until he reached. He would have to rest awhile first before rushing to Atilan. It was a good thing he always kept the cabin stocked.

After a quarter-hour of mindless walking through the snow, Beorn stopped. He peered through the snowstorm to try and confirm his direction. Deciding to check up on his companion, ‘Wilhelmina, are you all right?’

Hearing no response, Beorn decided he wouldn’t leave her to deal with the revelation alone. He might not be of much help, but he could talk at least to her.

‘Princess Wilhelmina?’

Gritting his teeth, he spoke in his mind, ‘The most magnificent and powerful princess Wilhelmina, the Jewel of the North. Will you give up so easily? Your ancestors must be rolling in their graves.’

Still hearing nothing but the howling of the wind, he decided to try a different tact.

‘MINA!!’

‘MORTAL WHAT DID YOU CALL ME!?’

At last, he thought.

Grinning Beorn replied, ‘Mina? It’s a nickname. You didn’t respond to your full title and your name is a bit of a mouthful, so I decided to shorten it. Mina. Isn’t it cute?’

‘Cute? CUTE!? I AM NOT CUTE. I AM MAGNIFICENT AND BEAUTIFUL AND FEROCIOUS. ENEMIES TREMBLE WHEN THEY HEAR MY NAME. Calming herself Wilhelmina continued haughtily, ‘How dare you address me so flippantly? I demand an apology. You may only refer to me as Wilhelmina or Princess Wilhelmina.’

‘Nope, I called you by all your titles and you didn’t respond.’ Beorn continued, ‘Also my name isn’t mortal it’s Beorn Draigkyn Magnusson, Ranger of the North, Protector of Banehallow.’

‘Humph, very well, I shall refer to you as Beorn from hereon. Now apologise.’

Hearing the return of her prideful tone, Beorn was relieved.

He relented with a smile, ‘Okay, okay, I apologize. Happy?’

‘Good.’

After covering a few more meters in silence. Beorn spoke up, ‘You know we can go beyond the Wyrmfell Mountains and search for your clan. If they are as powerful as you say they are I am sure your mother and family are safe.’

‘Dragons are immortal, and they certainly are as strong I say they are; do you not trust me?’

Dodging the start of another rant, Beorn continued hurriedly, ‘But I am still weak’, he clenched his fist. ‘I need to head to Atilan, find my brother, and get stronger. I promise when I’m strong enough we will go beyond the Wyrmfell Mountains. Agreed?’

Wilhelmina was silent for a while before speaking up, ‘So be it, I have slept for a thousand years, I can wait for a few more.’

‘It won't take that long; I have business beyond the Mountains as well.’

‘Good, this princess will help you. You handle Essence like a child, no wonder you are weak.’

Beorn protested, ‘I didn’t even know I could use essence before you mentioned it.’

***

'I do not understand how you cannot sense the essence in your body. The breathing technique your mentor taught you obviously allows you to strengthen your body and enhance your senses by concentrating the essence in that region. But why is it that the moment you consciously try to control the flow, you fail?'

'I don't know!', frustrated, Beorn stomped into the clearing, 'We've been at this for hours. What do you mean 'feel the warmth'? All I feel is the bloody cold.'

The snow had covered the training field and buried the wooden cabin. It was built squat to the ground but was quite large with three rooms, the main hall, and a complete armory. He hoped the sloping roof and the small housing over the chimney had prevented the snow from blocking it. He did not look forward to clearing out in his state. The snow sliding off the roof had piled up to Beorn's waist around the building blocking the entrance.

The irritation from failing repeatedly at what even children could achieve coupled with the strain of walking for nigh on four hours in the savage snowstorm with a plethora of wounds and bruises had taken its toll on Beorn. Not to mention the fact that his head had been used as a training dummy throughout yesterday. His body had decided to protest its mistreatment in the form of a throbbing headache. Beorn wanted to fall onto his bed and sleep like a dead man for at least a couple of days.

Wilhelmina had also decided to give up, for the time being, ‘Rest awhile. Maybe you will find yourself able to achieve the simplest task of recognizing that which already exists within you after some sleep.' she muttered, ‘Though, I do not hold much hope at this point.'

'Grrr, forget it, I'll think about it later', he walked up to the enormous tree that stood beside the cabin. The Lairelossë was looking forlorn under the heavy snow. The branches were bare and the trunk looking withered. Beorn stroked the tree trunk recalling happier times. He knew it would recover come spring and bloom completely in the summer. He could still smell the fragrance of the flowers and picture its beautiful golden leaves. The tree had been brought by Galanör as a sapling all the way from Illyria when he'd decided to come here. Beorn would never have the chance to ask him why.

Beorn bent down at a mound near the tree. He dug through the snow with his bare hands pausing only to warm them enough to be able to feel his fingers. Sweating despite the freezing cold, Beorn managed to shovel off the last of the snow to reveal a tombstone which read,

Here lies

Galanör of House Sylfelune

Protector of Banehallow

Beloved Mentor and Friend

Beorn's eyes became moist at the sight of it. The past few days had made Beorn feel more lost and alone than he had in years, he wished dearly Galanör were still alive to advise and comfort him. Wilhelmina recognized Beorn's mood and asked in a solemn voice, 'Is this where your mentor lies?'

'Yes, he took me in when brother left and taught me everything I know. I wouldn't be alive without his training.'

'Must have been a remarkable man. And with immense patience too, since he was able to train you to such a degree.' Wilhelmina quipped.

Beorn chuckled, ‘Oh, he was patient for sure. But he was far from gentle. He made sure each lesson was hammered into me.'

'I suspect he recognized how dense you are. I certainly did.'

Shaking off the snow, he stood up, 'Well I won't argue with you, I just want to get some sleep.'

Beorn dug himself a path and headed into the cabin. The place was surprisingly cosy despite being furnished with sturdy and practical wooden furniture. He took off his cloak and pack and threw them onto the dining table before heading to the fireplace. Tossing in a couple of sticks of wood, he managed to get a fire going despite the damp. Finally warm, Beorn's mood improved by a lot. It improved further at the prospect of sleeping in his bed. He walked into his bedroom, lay down his bedroll, and fell onto it. Wrapping up himself in a blanket he asked Wilhelmina to wake him up the next day or if the snowstorm started dying down, before falling asleep immediately despite the violent rattle of the windows.

***

Wilhelmina had woken him at dawn the following day. Thankfully the storm had kept up its wild intensity giving Beorn time to heal. Unfortunately, it also meant Silas had enough time to recuperate as well. Wilhelmina assured him the wounds he had suffered from the explosion were not so light as to recover in a few days, but it was better to err on the side of caution. Vigilance had kept him safe all these years. The journey ahead was certain to be arduous even without a homicidal Blood-Mage hot on heels and Beorn would need to be properly equipped to handle.

But first, he needed some food. Opening the storeroom, he found himself a wheel of cheese and a loaf of tough black bread. Not caring about the taste, he ate while swigging water to wash dwon the dry bread. The food reminded him of the Whole Hog and the Olfssons, he felt like he should at least warn the town of Banehallow about Silas. But Wilhelmina had talked sense into him, 'The Mage does not wish for anyone to know the Dragonstone exists or your connection to it. He will not bother with any others; he only wishes to kill you and obtain the stone. He knows your destination; it is certain he will wait for you to come to him rather than chase you.'

Beorn agreed to the thought but decided to leave a letter informing them that he had received an urgent message from his brother and had left for the capital. They knew the location of the cabin and once Beorn failed to show up for a while they would make sure to check upon him. Finishing his meal, he grabbed an armful of dried jerky, cheese, and yet more bread and stuffed it into an oil-lined sack. Tightening the strings, he laid it next to his pack. Next was the armory.

He opened the door to the farthest room of the cabin, lighting a torch and placing it in its holder. He bemoaned the fact that he couldn't use the essence lamps. Asking Wilhelmina to do so was met with a stern refusal to waste her remaining reserves on such trivialities.

He walked to an ornate leather-bound chest that sat on the far side of the room. He undid the clasp to reveal a cloak that seemed to shimmer in the light. He felt the ethereal fabric on his hands, despite its fragile looks it felt strong and silken to the touch.

Wilhelmina spoke up, 'The cloak seems like it was woven from elvenskin.'

Boern was shocked,' Elven skin!?'

'Not skin from elves you simpleton. It is the name given to a special fabric they weave which is as light as a feather despite its toughness. No one knows what material it is woven from, besides the elves. This cloak looks like it has a weak illusory enchantment attached to it. It should allow you to blend into your surroundings if you stand still'

'Huh, that explains a lot. Galanör always seemed to be popping up out of nowhere and it's probably why I never managed to sneak up on him during training.'

'The latter is probably just your incompetence.'

Ignoring Wilhelmina, he put aside the cloak. Seemed like she was still miffed at him calling her Mina.

Underneath the cloak was an arming doublet made of tough fustian. It had straps along the length of its arms and near the waist to secure pieces of armor to it. A sleeveless leather jerkin studded with silver fittings and trousers enchanted to be as tough as his vambraces completed the set. Beorn felt his guilt rise at the sight of it. It was a gift from Galanör for passing Ranger training. Beorn had never worn it after Galanör's death. He felt unworthy of it before he completed his vow of finding his killer, but he wouldn't be coming back here for the foreseeable future. Besides, facing a Beth-ranked Blood-Mage meant he needed every edge he could get. Last was Galanör's half-sleeved shirt of maille. It shone even in the low light of the torch. His mentor rarely wore it on patrol, Beorn wished he had done so on that fateful day. It glowed in the faint light of the torch and was extremely lightweight. The rings that made up the maille was fine and looked like a piece of art, every ring forged with the utmost attention to detail. Beorn was certain it was of elf-make, which was confirmed by Wilhelmina a moment later.

'Elven forged steel. It is rumoured they sing over the metal as it cools to imbue it with added strength and lightness. Your mentor was quite the accomplished person to own armour of such quality.'

'He was a Gimel-ranked Elven Strider.'

'Gimel-ranked? I am unfamiliar with the term.'

'He obtained three Divine Blessings from the Towers. Not many people are able to get a second Blessing, much less a third.'

'Ah, these "Towers" that popped up from the earth while I was asleep. Explain them to me.'

'Well, they appeared a thousand years ago, if you pass the trials you can obtain a Blessing that allow you to use essence and the higher you climb the stronger you can get. I heard you can find treasures and artifacts of all kinds if you manage to survive. We're heading for the Wolven Spire in Atilan so that I can take the initiation and get a Blessing to be able to search for my brother.'

'Hrmm...' Wilhelmina pondered over the information she'd been given. 'Well, you certainly need divine intervention to help you use essence.'

Beorn sighed, 'Are you still mad about the nickname. I even apologized.'

Wilhelmina was outraged, 'How dare you accuse this princess of being petty? I am most certainly not angry over the fact that you butchered my name nor am I offended at being called cute. I am only commenting on the reality of the situation and your inability to achieve what even children are able to.'

Beorn shook his head and undressed in preparation for donning the armor. He first put on the doublet, fastening the brass buttons. He wore the shirt of maille next, tying the straps to secure the maille to his arms and waist. Finally, he pulled the leather jerkin over his head and laced it tightly. Stretching his body, he ensured his range of motion remained unaffected. Beorn marvelled at the fact that despite all the armor, he could move so freely. It wasn't only the lightweight, but the perfectly even distribution of it over his upper-body that made him almost forget he was wearing three layers of armor. He slid his leather vambraces onto his forearms and fastened them.

Feeling slightly chilly in his underpants, Beorn hastened to pull up the leather trousers. Moving towards a hanging rack he selected a weapons belt to replace the one he'd lost in the Manor. It was made of multiple bands of thick leather that secured around his waist and legs with tough brass buckles and fittings. It had loops on the left and right hips to secure his favoured combination of a hatchet and dagger. It also had a padded and reinforced pouch on the rear to carry his potions along with slots on the front that could hold five throwing knives. He filled them with weighted knives from a rack on his left and attached the sheathed dagger as well.

The opposite side held a variety of swords mounted on pegs. Beorn had not used swords since the start of his Ranger training, his dagger was sufficient during his patrols of the forest and the weight of a sword made him slower. Still, he'd trained in the art of swordsmanship since he could remember, first by Father, then his brother Arwen, and finally by Nathaniel. Which meant he knew the imperial standard style along with his family's more brutal forms. Although out of practice, his body still remembered the movements that were hammered into it in the past. His skills simply needed some polishing to get the rust off.

Although he never carried a sword during his patrols of the forest, loath to add extra weight, carrying one now was always preferable to regretting it when he needed one. He selected a hand-and-a-half sword from the rack and a sheath to go along with, belting it crosswise over his back. He made sure the hilt was in easy reach over his right shoulder by drawing the blade. He fell into the forms and practiced for a while until the memories returned. It helped that his ranger training had made him agile and granted him an exceptional sense of balance. Beorn worked up a fine sweat before returning the blade to its sheath. He took a hatchet from below and hung it from his left hip before moving onto the quivers.

He picked up a smaller one and checked the tips and feathers on the arrows it held, satisfied with their condition he secured it to his right hip behind his dagger. Fastening the elvenskin cloak around his shoulders, he checked on the condition of his bow and slipped it back into its buckskin tube, and secured it to the side of his pack. He cracked his neck, shouldered his pack, and checked whether his weapons were in easy. The ranger clapped his cheeks and walked into the bright snow.