There was a loud sound of crashing. The agony of scorching, electric pain simultaneously exploding and erupting. Piercing cold mixed with the steaming hot fluids of the human body. Then nothing.

The burning chill of ice on her bare skin jolted her awake. It was a sharp pain that came all at once. Sleeping in the snow wasn't exactly advised, but at the moment it had held a strange comfort for her. Not that she had made the decision to pass out on the bitter ice, and when she tried with great difficulty to recall her last memory before everything had gone black, the throbbing pain on the side of her head had unfortunately made her give up quite quickly. Her delicate fingers stroked her cheek and temple, before quickly realizing something was amiss. She panicked and rubbed the rest of her face in a frenzy, noticing exactly what was off.

The side of her head that was in pain was covered in strips of bandages. Poking around only caused more sharp pain and it took several minutes before she finally accepted the fact that her right eye had also been completely bandaged over. It was when her mind had settled down a bit that she noticed a distinct lack in the depth-perception that was usually there. Half blind and unable to gauge the distance of the things around her caused her a sickening dizzy spell that forced her to lie back down in an anxious fetal position. Reposed once again in the cold snow, a dark realization had struck her. The snow—that was covering the entire floor around her—didn't feel as frigid as it should be. Her body also didn't feel as mind-numbingly frozen as it should be. The white powder clung to her bare arms and legs, biting her only a fraction of what it should. Finally, another sinking realization made itself apparent—the gilded armor that had encased her in warmth and almost choked the life from her body before she had passed out had been completely removed. Replaced only with a single white robe that had no way of keeping her as warm as she was.

The comfort of knowing she wasn’t a frozen popsicle quickly dissipated, replaced by a palpable wave of fear that crawled along her body and mind.

Where even was she?

The figuratively burning question caused her to shoot back up—a motion she regretted immediately. She felt the pain redouble throughout her entire body, causing her to shout miserably. She was no better off than before. The agonizing pain she was feeling from the injuries she sustained caused the memories to come rushing back to the forefront of her mind. The mission… the invisible beast… her dying comrade—and ultimately what should have been an untimely fate. But Zulema’s path now took a new turn. She had been saved somehow—impossibly—against a creature that had pushed against the black boundaries of sanity and reality. But how? And by whom? Who had the power to create such a miracle? Had Macha, in her divine madness, truly chosen to save one of her mewling priestesses? It was a painfully comforting thought. A contradiction that just served to confuse her more.

The priestess finally stood up, bare feet sinking into the snow—because of course she was—and tried to make sense of her surroundings. Her long hair spilled over her face, covering her good eye and almost making her tumble back into the snow. Her graceful movements causing her to narrowly avoid crashing into what felt like a desk and instead, using it to regain her balance. The slush between her toes felt oddly refreshing, but the unnatural feeling once again made way for anxiety.

The room was oppressively dark save for a few strands of light beaming their way into the room from a barred opening set into a wooden door. She rushed over and jiggled the knob with all her might. A pointless exercise. The priestess had been locked in. Worse than simply being lost, it seemed she was a prisoner as well. She looked out through the opening to see if she could get any sense of her location. Gargantuan trees of white filled the scene, staked in rows through the snow, racing toward a boundless ashen void. The desolate scene completely drained all hope from her soul.

Was this still the Akhlut mountains?

Zulema desperately kicked the door, but ended up only hurting herself in the process. Her foot vibrated with the searing pain of her failed kick. After the stinging subsided, she rushed back over to the familiar frozen spot she had woken up from and dug her fingers deep into the snow, searching for something in a frenzy. The last bit of hope she didn’t realize she had melted together into the snow. Her scythe was nowhere to be found.

The captive priestess thought maybe with a blade she could at least try cutting through the door, but whoever kidnapped her appeared to have had the good sense of not leaving her any means of escape. Her hands and knees sunk pitifully into the snow. She stared at the tips of her fingers in the shallow light—bloodless and pale. It was as if her heart had already stopped beating. She slammed her fists into the snow repeatedly in frustration. Zulema had felt a strange pressure on her knuckles during that last punch, but found no evidence of anything strange in the snow or on her hand. She screamed madly into the abyss. Glaring into the yawning blackness, waiting for it to engulf her. Her eye widened in shock, letting out a small gasp before quickly covering her mouth. Too late did she realize it would be incredibly stupid of her to alert anyone to her revived state. Especially if the ones that had taken her were enemy soldiers waiting to interrogate her.

Zulema had been trained for moments like these. It was improvise or die. She combed through the desks and tables inside the almost completely lightless room for anything she could use as a weapon. What madness compels someone to live like this? Certainly not the good kind. Was this some kind of makeshift office or garrison set up in the middle of nowhere? To what end? She grew frustrated as she found nothing atop the wooden furniture. Whoever had locked her in had also cleaned house before doing so. Logical.

Who could even stay here for any prolonged period of time? There didn't seem to be anything set up outside from what little she could see. No guards or anything. No food was left for her, not that she could really think of eating at a time like this.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps crunching over snow had seeped into her ears. Shit! Had they heard her scream? Or perhaps kicking the door wasn't such a smart idea. She rushed over to the locked entrance and backed up against the wall next to it. It was remarkably cold to the touch and felt like frozen wood. This room was not meant for any living thing to thrive in.

The footsteps ended right at the foot of the exit. A looming shadow large enough to block out all the light that had been peeking in from the aperture of the door made Zulema begin to sweat bullets. She had planned to ambush her would-be jailer and escape, but her prospects were now looking worse and worse. Maybe she could use the cover of darkness to her advantage and simply hide herself in the shadows until the right moment.

She held her breath as the door slowly creaked open. The broad shoulders of a large man poked through first. He was forced to turn his body and then duck to fit through the opening of the room. Albeit, the door was not very big but his sheer size was still impressive enough that Zulema couldn't help but drop her jaw. There was just no way she would be able to squeeze between him and the door. At this point, she considered simply throwing herself at him. Disorienting him seemed as good a plan as any.

"I know you're in here," came a deep, gravelly voice that echoed powerfully inside the small room. "There's no need to be afraid."

Easy for you to say. I'm not the 6'5" monster towering over the only escape route.

"Orphan of Macha, I have specifically chosen you to assist me in a task of dire importance." His voice had an unnatural quality to it that she couldn't explain. Radiant in its presence, but guttural like a roar. A voice that chilled her to the bone. "For the present, you may address me as Derleth."