A night blizzard raged outside the Iridescent valley, the caravan moved slowly through snow drifts and dunes. Walls of prismatic ice closed in on nomads, bathing thick furs and frilled shawls in dim, fluorescent light.

A male figure in an astronaut suit sat at the front wagon, pulling the reins of a snow bison. The creature lazily dragged its six feet and tree eyes on its large, neckless skull illuminated the path in a beam of red light.

The man uttered from underneath his thick hood, inside the wagon. - “Mark, the stars bear the light no longer. Our guide, is she reliable?”

“It ought to be alright, father.” - A scrawny boy in his sixteens warmed his fingers up over fading embers. A long scar ran through his nose, right cheek, and down to his chin.

The astronaut turned, unsatisfied by an incomplete answer. His eyes rolled back to the dark, concerned about the pilgrims who struggled at the rear, many of them collapsed due to fatigue and frigid temperatures.

“Mark!” - The man called aloud. - “Bring her.”

“Sure, father.” - Mark lifted himself and wrapped arms around his shaking torso, then disappeared behind a curtain of patched cloth. He returned, gently supporting a pregnant lady until she rested on a bench.

“I came, as you insisted.” - The woman pulled her hood off, revealing features of an outsider. Her silky blond hair and silver skin gleamed in the light of a campfire, that now, was reflected in the black sclera of her eyes. Across the bridge of her nose and cheeks ran a broad stripe of glittering freckles in the shape of stars.

“Tell us, o' nameless one. Is there a place to wait out the night?” - The astronaut asked.

“It's a necessity, that we keep on moving. The night breeds all kinds of horrors.”

“We can fend them off. Our people are desperate and frustrated, cold is going to end us quicker. We need a shelter to rest in.”

“A few fallen souls is a necessary sacrifice, it'll appease the hunger of those who follow.”

“Dare not to utter more nonsense and spare us your heresies. Either aid us or re-join the pilgrims.”

The woman grimaced, holding back her anger. She stroked her belly and stared at it with worry. - “Fool! Do as you wish! I shall show you the path of the wailing echoes, to long-forgotten catacombs, but heed my warning – any sacrilege will not go unnoticed.”

[ … ]

The caravan descended to narrow, sapphire canyons down the dale, and was welcomed by howling winter winds. Many people crowded in the wagons to escape the deathly weather, and those who had to walk tried to shield themselves behind the bonnets, but nature had no mercy, and the corpses of its first victims faded in the white fog.

The spirit was low. Whispers of disgruntlement reached even the astronaut in the front. First, there were rumors that the path is cursed. Next, there was a melody in the skies and tales of humanoid crow-creatures that drew circles above the carts. Then, the first report of abduction, followed by many simultaneous screams in the middle of the caravan. Mark reported an overturned wagon, stained in blood and pillaged, all traces of passengers were lost.

The astronaut was adamant, they had to cut the losses and move forward. He passed the orders to his son, who hurriedly relayed it to other carters. They would move, but when gossip about a possible mutiny started, their leader couldn't discard them.

“Mark, bring me the guide.” - The astronaut commanded, his voice cracking from stress.

Mark did as asked, in compliant silence. As he passed, his travel companions eyed him with discontent. Yet, they would not budge, seeing how Mark's hand was always resting on the handle of his knife.

Mark passed the curtain. Nothing could be read from his stone expression.

Their guide rested in an armchair, underneath heaps of blankets. She directed her furious gaze at the youngster, uttering. - “Stop bothering us! I did all that you requested!”

“Nameless one, it's not up to me.” - Mark uttered. - “You still must come.”

“For all I care, your corpses could all rot, consumed by the Blight. I would still not move.”

Mark didn't even flinch, he just stood there, with a dagger at ready.

“What? Are you going to threaten me to come?” - Nameless one asked.

“No.”

“Then leave me alone.”

“I'm not a threat to you, but the threat still exists.”

The woman squirmed nervously under her quilts. - “I... I'm not moving.” - She sighed and stared down, at the floor. - “...but you may ask.”

“You're making it unnecessarily hard for us.” - Mark occupied one of the chairs, resting his arms on its back. - “Explain what is happening.”

“We're heading to the catacombs, as your elder wished.”

“How long will it take?”

“We should arrive a quarter night before dawn.”

“Understood.” - Mark stood up, prepared to leave.

“What? Is that all?” - The guide's troubled face betrayed that she knew more than she was willing to share.

Yet, Mark was unbothered. - “I don't need anything else from you. You can keep your secrets.” - Before he disappeared behind the curtain, he overheard almost inaudible.

“Thank you.”

[ … ]

The astronaut narrowed his eyes, struggling to identify what lied before the caravan. Hanging above him, on a thin string, was a small hourglass, at which he occasionally peeked until the time ran out. - “Mark! The sand is at the bottom and there is no sign of shelter! Throw her out!”

“Father, we are riding too slow. Give it a few minutes.”

“Don't question my decisions! She took advantage of us for too long, let it be a lesson.”

“Father, I understand, but two lives are at stake, not one.”

“...and many more lives were lost to the winter, because of her bastard child. We'll be trading that life, for another. As the gods are willing!”

“...but father...”

“Don't you understand the situation, son!?” - The astronaut turned, to face Mark. Worry and determination mixed on his wrinkled face, but what was the most prominent, was the intent to remind him of their associates.

Mark carefully observed the passengers next to him, the vexation on their gloomy, sunken faces betrayed their thirst for blood. The guide would be a sacrifice, to appease their hunger, even If temporarily.

Without a word, Mark walked past and disappeared behind a curtain for the last time.

In the guide's compartment, Mark sat down, in the same position as before. He took a moment to ponder on what to say.

“Leave.” - He finally uttered.

“What do you mean!?”

“We found no shelter and the time is up.”

“Fools! I gave you directions and you still got lost!?”

“...”

“What!?”

“Get up.” - Mark uttered in a grave voice, and seeing no reaction other than fear, stood up and approached the woman. - “Don't make me force you, you'll regret it.”

The guide scrambled out of the quilts, fastened her clothes, then hissed. - “Curse you and your bloodline.”

Mark grabbed the woman by her wrist, his grip was firm and unrelenting. He marched her out of her room, but once he was outside, his fingers loosened. All the passengers were in front of the wagon, pointing at something afar, discussing among themselves and with his father.

“Mark! We've arrived!” - The astronaut shouted, seeing his son is here.

“Imbeciles!” - The guide pulled her arm out and returned back behind the curtain.

[ … ]

Through a narrow corridor of glacier, the wagons slowly moved to a vast cavern illuminated by unfading, turquoise lights inside the ice. A few passengers unloaded their cargo, setting up a small camp with campfires, cauldrons, and stools.

A few hours passed, but the storm was still raging. To fend off their sorrows, some travelers set up a few tables where they could gamble away their money by playing cards or dice. It wouldn't go without smoking and drinking. A bard occasionally amused the company with his melodies and in the corner of the cave, a group of pilgrims was kneeling in prayer, holding their statues and trinkets and muttering their long worships.

The astronaut grabbed two clay bowls and filled them with a goulash from the largest, communal pot. He walked up to Mark, offering him the stew.

“This ceaseless storm could have been the end of us.” - Father said as he lifted his wooden spoon below his mustache. A few drops of goulash dropped on his beard.

“Ye, but it can't be worse than the black moon.“

“True, true.” - The father said, then blew on a steaming onion. - “Cursed to walk with the lunar seal, upon the end of time and then... your soul falls into the void. No gods or central realm to take you under their wings, scared of consequences that follow the breaking of the witch's edict.”

“...and it happens at birth. To suffer for your parents' choices. Injustice.”

They continued to eat in silence, the astronaut was first to finish. He took his backpack, a blunderbuss, and a spear, preparing to move.

“Dad, are you heading to the catacombs?” - Mark asked, hasting to finish his stew.

“Aye.”

“Can I come with ya?”

“Have you not learned anything? Wits and strengths, they do not matter without an astronaut's immunity.”

“Ye, but it's not the witch's domain. I can be of help.”

“It would be better If you guarded the wagons.”

“They ain't leaving, not in this storm.”

The astronaut sighed. - “Overeager... overeager...”

“Nah, just bored. You forbid me to gamble, drink or smoke.”

“It's for your own good. Why won't you sing with the bard?” - The father chuckled.

“Don't jest! The first time, a whole tavern tossed their mugs at us. Innkeeper begged me to shut up.”

“You won't get better If you don't train!!”

“I ain't falling for this one.”

The father guffawed. It was worth a try. - “Then pray with the pilgrims!”

“To whom? False gods?”

“Why not? They might bestow a blessing upon you.”

“At cost of my dignity. I will swear my allegiance to one, the day they dare forsake their delusions of grandeur.”

“Oh... hoho.” - The father guffawed once more. - “Some gods do see us as equals.”

“Never met one.”

“I see... I see... you left me no choice, but to take you.”

Mark exhaled with relief. - “Thanks... father.” - He put on his bow and quiver, ready to leave.

They both walked towards the gate to the catacombs. Red symbols in unknown language glowed, inscribed into large bricks that arched over their heads

“Wait! Wait!!” - A voice called from behind them, it was the guide. She was running until she stopped in front of both, panting. - “Fools! Fools! Dare not to enter!”

Mark and his father looked at each other, and the latter spoke. - “We have to ensure it's safe to stay here.” - He partially lied, knowing that they head there mainly to kill the time.

“You'll wake up the spirits of the dead!” - The guide warned.

“That's even better, we can put some unfortunate wretches to their eternal rest.” - Mark added.

“Insolent thugs, it's not your role to grant them passage to the afterlife!” - The nameless one argued.

“We're doing them a favor. Nobody else will come. Don't deny that.” - The astronaut spoke,

The guide gazed down, concerned. - “You've to burn the bodies, to ashes.”

“Mark, bring oil canisters.” - His father requested.

“Yes, pa.” - Mark disappeared, and the guide gauged the astronaut with a troubled stare. She tried to approach the man, but he warned her.

“Not a step closer, lunar-cursed.” - He spoke.

“...oh, so you did notice...”

“Do understand, my earnest desire is for you to crawl back to a hole you came from, but my son seems fond of you, even If it doesn't show.”

The woman bit her lip, swallowing the insult. - “He mustn't go.”

“He's ready. Always was.”

“The depths of wailing echoes are hiding monstrosities that no mere man is capable of facing.”

“He's no mere man. He's my son.”

“But he's not one of the astronauts!”

“It's time we learned to fight our own battle, without relying on their inhuman covenant.”

“...so you truly are a deserter.” - The woman spat at the man's feet. - “Traitor! Don't drag innocents down with you!”

“...don't stick nose into not your matters.”

The astronaut stared behind the guide, Mark was returning with canisters. - “I believe it's time we depart.”

Nameless one fixed her shawl. She stared at Mark, afraid. The man ignored her and passed one of the canisters to his father, who put its strap over his shoulder. Together, two men passed the gate, but were stopped by a final call.

“Wait! Let me come with you! I beg you.” - The nameless one pleaded.

“What's her business with us, father?” - Mark asked.

The astronaut contemplated. - “Isn't it too dangerous for you, madam? You've got an unborn to take care of.”

“I will navigate you across these treacherous hallways and make sure you bury the dead properly.” - The guide suggested.

“We appreciate the offer, but we will do fine in two.” - Astronaut responded.

“It's not discussable!” - She responded in a fierce tone. - “Your bare presence is profanity! Without a priestess, the whole place will be defiled.”

“Oh... hoho!” - The astronaut laughed, holding back his wrath. - “...so you're not only a guide but a clergy too?”

“Yes!” - The woman yelled out and confidently stepped ahead.

“What do you think of this lunacy, Mark?” - The astronaut asked, testing his son.

“I think, If it's that important, then I could protect her.” - Mark replied.

“If that's what you want.” - The father answered coldly. - “...then do just that and don't get in my way.”

“Sure, father.”

Without a further word or warning, the astronaut descended into the cold dark, sure of one thing – they had no need for a guide anymore.