The Snows of Summer
The Unnatural Cold
February 08, 2025
Heldren was never a place of extreme weather. Its summers were mild, its winters predictable. Yet now, in the heart of summer, icy winds whispered through the trees, and hunters returned with wild tales of snowdrifts in the woods. The village hummed with unease, the strange cold a harbinger of something unnatural.
As the town buzzed with rumors, another story took hold—Lady Argentea Malassene had gone missing. A rider had limped into the village, battered and frostbitten, speaking of an ambush and fey attackers. The noblewoman had vanished into the frozen wilds, and Heldren reeled from the implications.
Among the villagers, four stood apart—seasoned by past adventures and bound by their strange companionship. Joshua, a druid-monk in tune with the rhythms of nature; Ivan, an inquisitor of Nethys, wielding magic and divine law; Alaric, another inquisitor, but of Tolc, ever armed with his pistol and righteousness; and Aelira, a witch of winter, spared execution only by Alaric’s reluctant hand and her own usefulness.
Aelira sought out Alaric first, her breath misting unnaturally in the summer air. “Something is wrong,” she murmured, fingers tracing frost on the iron railing beside her. “This isn’t just a cold snap—something bad is happening.”
Before Alaric could answer, Ionnia Teppen of the village council approached, urgency in her step. “Alaric, Aelira, I'm sure you've heard that Lady Malassene is missing,” she said, worry in her voice, “You have friends in the village—can you find her? We need your help.”
Alaric barely hesitated before nodding. Duty called. The two set off to find Joshua and Ivan, relaying the news. They quickly agreed—first, they would find the rider who brought the tale.
Yuln Oerstag, the wounded soldier, recounted the attack with haunted eyes. “Bandits at first,” he rasped. “But then… fey. Fey, this far south.”
Aelira’s breath caught. The fey never strayed this far. Something unnatural had drawn them.
"If you plan on going after her, take my sword." Yuln said, unstrapping the scabbard and offering it, "It's cold iron, it will hurt the fey."
With Yuln’s directions, they gathered supplies and set out, moving south. By the day’s end, they found the wreckage. Two caravan wagons, one overturned, bodies stiff with unnatural frost. As they searched for signs of Lady Malassene, Joshua’s sharp ears caught a muffled thump inside the upright wagon. A spear wedged the door closed.
Joshua gestured to Alaric. “Something’s inside.”
Alaric nodded, drawing his pistol as Joshua yanked the spear free. The door burst open, and the stench of death rushed out as two rotting figures lunged at them.
Joshua barely had time to react before cold, dead hands grabbed at him. Alaric stepped back, leveling his pistol. The crack of gunfire echoed through the clearing, the shot tearing through a zombie’s chest. Hearing the shot, Ivan and Aelira sprinted toward the wagon. Aelira’s hands glowed with healing energy, her magic mending Joshua’s wounds as Ivan loosed crossbow bolts.
Another gunshot—a corpse fell. Joshua drove his fist into the other zombie’s skull, and it collapsed.
Among the ruins, they found a man frozen solid—his limbs scattered around him as if he had been shattered. But no sign of Lady Malassene. Instead, drag marks led away from the site. The group pressed on, the unnatural cold thickening the air.
The first attack came suddenly. Tiny arrows whistled from the trees, biting into exposed flesh. Looking up, they saw the culprits—sprites, their tiny bows drawn.
Joshua moved under one’s perch, but it flitted away, laughing. Alaric raised his pistol, took aim, and fired—the sprite crumpled, its wings fluttering uselessly. Ivan followed with a crossbow bolt, ending another. But a third sprite hovered behind them, weaving a spell.
A burst of color erupted, and Aelira crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
Alaric whirled, firing. The sprite shrieked, wounded, and Ivan finished it—hurling his holy book with surprising accuracy, crushing the creature. The last sprite, seeing its fate, darted into the trees, its eerie glow vanishing into the night.
They moved on, wary now. The cold deepened, and then they saw it—a white elk, massive and unmoving in their path.
Then, a voice. “Why are you in my forest?”
Aelira stepped forward. “We seek a lost woman. She came this way.”
“Go back,” the voice warned. “This is not your path.”
Joshua clenched his fists. “We’re not going back.”
The elk charged.
Alaric raised his pistol—but it shrank in his hand, a cruel spell warping its size. He cursed, scanning the area for the hidden caster. The elk slammed into Joshua, its antlers driving deep. Ivan fired bolts, Aelira searched for the spellcaster, but none could see the source.
Alaric gritted his teeth, drew the sword given to him by Yuln, and advanced. But before he could strike, Joshua drove his fists into the beast, bringing it down.
A furious shriek rang out. A small fey materialized, its face twisted in rage as it lunged at Joshua.
Ivan fired, his bolt sinking into the fey’s shoulder. Alaric followed with a sword strike, ending the fight.
Wearied but determined, they continued. The river crossing, Wishbone Creek, came into view. There, standing motionless, was a snowman with a crude sign: Trespassers Turn Back.
Aelira stepped forward, but Alaric held up a hand. “Let me.”
“We seek someone in danger,” Aelira called.
The snowman remained still. Alaric took a cautious step.
The snowman exploded.
A deafening blast shook the air, stunning Ivan and Joshua. From the river, ice elementals emerged, hurling frozen missiles. One struck Alaric hard, sending pain lancing through his body.
Joshua charged, but the ice cracked beneath him, plunging him into freezing water. The elementals moved in, hammering him with blows as hypothermia crept into his limbs.
Alaric fired, striking one of the creatures. Ivan unleashed magic missiles, tearing through icy forms. Joshua, battered and drowning, began to fade.
Aelira darted forward, her hands glowing, and pressed against Joshua’s chest. His eyes snapped open, but the elementals turned on her next. They struck hard, and she fell.
With a roar, Alaric fired—one elemental shattered. Fire flew from Ivan's hand as he cast, and the second exploded into shards.
Breathing hard, shivering from the cold, Alaric wiped ice from his face. “There’s a cave nearby,” he said. “We need rest.”
Joshua lifted Aelira’s unconscious form, and they trudged toward shelter. In the cave, they pitched a tent, lit a fire, and huddled together for warmth.
The cold seeped in, relentless. Even in sleep, the winter pressed close, whispering a question none of them could yet answer:
Where did the winter come from?
The Frozen Trail
February 16, 2025
The morning was harsh, the cold cutting through their layers as the group stirred from their meager rest. Sleep had not come easy, and their recovery from the previous day’s battles was minimal. Spells were scarce, and the frostbitten wind gnawed at their resolve. Still, they pressed forward, making their way back to the creek crossing they had encountered before. Overnight, the waters had frozen solid once again, allowing them to carefully step across the ice without trouble.
As they ventured deeper into the wilderness, Joshua's keen eyes caught something unusual—a hand protruding from the snow, frozen stiff. He rushed forward, brushing away the frost to reveal a face he recognized.
"Old Man Dansby," he murmured grimly. The farmer from Heldren lay dead, half-buried in the drifts.
Aelira and Joshua worked quickly to unearth the body, their grim task revealing wounds that bore an eerie familiarity. The jagged tears in his flesh were much like the injuries they had suffered at the hands of the ice elementals the day before.
"We can't do anything for him now," Aelira said softly, pressing her lips together.
Joshua nodded, standing. "Then we move on."
Their march was quiet, the crunch of boots on snow the only sound. Then, the wind carried something new—the faint scent of smoke. The realization was quick.
“There’s a lodge up ahead,” Ivan said. “Could be occupied.”
They barely had time to consider their approach before movement burst from the underbrush. Arrows whistled through the air—an ambush.
Alaric grunted as two shafts struck him, staggering under the impact. His pistol was in his hand in an instant, the hammer cocking back with a snap before he fired, striking one of the attackers. Joshua, undeterred, charged headlong into a bandit, forcing him to draw a sword. Meanwhile, another pair kept firing at Alaric, one of their arrows finding its mark once more.
Aelira rushed to his side, her hands glowing with healing magic as she restored some of his wounds.
Ivan took careful aim, loosing a crossbow bolt that felled the bandit Alaric had wounded. The gunslinger wasted no time, turning to close the distance with the remaining archer while Joshua rained fists on his opponent, pummeling him into the snow.
Seeing his allies fall, the last bandit turned to flee—but a crossbow bolt from Ivan struck him down before he could escape.
Alaric crouched beside the bodies, examining the tracks. His sharp eye caught the familiar patterns in the snow.
“These men,” he muttered, “they were at the caravan ambush.”
The connection was undeniable. If the bandits had come from the lodge ahead, they needed to press on.
The ridge gave way to a clearing, where the hunting lodge stood against the backdrop of the frozen wilderness.
Joshua took a step—and the sharp click beneath his boot sent a chill through him that had nothing to do with the cold.
“Don’t move,” Alaric said quickly, kneeling beside the trap. His fingers worked the mechanism, trying to disarm it.
But the ice was treacherous. His hand slipped.
The trap triggered.
A flurry of crossbow bolts shot forth, piercing both Joshua and Alaric. Joshua turned, wincing at the pain, and shot Alaric a withering glare.
"Thanks for the help," he said dryly.
Aelira wasted no time, stepping in to heal their wounds.
They turned their attention to the lodge. Lights flickered inside. There were people within—but whether they were more bandits or something worse, they could not say.
"Everyone wait here," Alaric ordered, moving forward cautiously.
The lodge came alive in an instant. Windows were flung open, and bows were raised.
Alaric fired first, but his shot went wide, striking the wooden frame of the window. Joshua surged forward, trying to shoulder the door open, but the man behind it held firm.
Arrows hissed from the windows. One struck Alaric, drawing another grunt of pain. Joshua took another as well, still struggling to force the door open.
Aelira fired a ray of frost through a window, hitting a bandit, who recoiled from the freezing blast. The battle turned into a siege, each side exchanging projectiles. Arrows, bullets, and crossbow bolts flew.
Alaric and Ivan worked together, dropping foes as they appeared at the windows, while Aelira unleashed magic into the fray. Joshua grappled with the man in the doorway, fists and steel clashing.
At last, the lodge fell silent. They stepped inside, wary. Among the fallen, Alaric noticed something peculiar—half the men had been fully armored, but five bore dark blue splotches across their skin.
Then the bodies shuddered.
A sickening sound filled the air as their flesh sloughed away, revealing bones wreathed in ice. The skeletal corpses rose, weapons still in hand, eyes glowing with unnatural cold.
Alaric barely had time to react before three stood beside him. He turned, pressed his pistol to one’s skull, and fired. The shot shattered the bone, sending the creature crumbling.
Ivan arrived, magic crackling in his hands as he unleashed divine energy, weakening the undead.
Another skeleton advanced, its blade cutting into Alaric, ice seeping into the wound. He stumbled back, grimacing as the chill spread through his veins.
Then came the whisper of a spell. The unseen caster’s voice slithered through the room, and suddenly, the fallen skeletons began to reassemble.
Joshua cursed. “This again?”
Aelira tried to cut off their advance, conjuring a wall of ice. But the skeletons shattered it effortlessly.
Alaric turned his pistol on the unseen foe, but as he pulled the trigger, the gun jammed. Cursing, he dropped it and yanked free his handaxe, just as an invisible figure materialized behind Aelira—blade flashing.
Aelira cried out, stumbling back, healing herself even as the shadowy figure split into two identical forms.
Alaric slashed at the foe, striking true—but the illusion held, his axe cutting through empty air.
Ivan launched a volley of magic missiles, hitting the figure twice. Joshua forced his way forward, hammering him with his fists.
Then, the man staggered back, panting. Blood dripped from his wounds. His illusion flickered.
“Enough,” he gasped. “I surrender.”
Alaric wiped blood from his chin, picking up his pistol to clear the jam. “Who are you?”
The man hesitated, then spat, “Rohkar Cindren.”
He claimed to be from Qadira, but Alaric wasn’t convinced. When pressed, he admitted to helping murder the Sentinels guarding the border.
Aelira’s eyes narrowed. “Alaric, these men were at the caravan ambush.”
Rohkar begged. “Spare my life, and I’ll tell you where she is.”
Alaric sighed, glancing at the others. Then he nodded. “Fine.”
Rohkar led them behind the fireplace, pulling away a bearskin rug to reveal a trapdoor.
Inside, a woman stood, disheveled but unmistakably noble.
“You must be Lady Argentea,” Aelira said.
The woman looked up, weary but relieved. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
Their mission was complete.
As they searched the lodge, they found maps detailing ambush points, trails, and—most disturbingly—a caged winter-touched fey.
Aelira freed the creature, which immediately darted into the night without a word of thanks.
In a locked chest, they found an ice diamond—a hint that Rohkar might have lied about his origins.
The next day, they returned to Heldren, bringing Lady Argentea to safety. Rohkar was thrown in jail for murder.
But the cold continued.
The village council stood before them, grim-faced.
"Something strange is going on,” one said. “We need someone to find out why.”
The four companions exchanged looks. They were the only ones who could.
“We’ll need supplies,” Ivan stated.
“You’ll have them,” the council assured them.
And so, the path into the heart of winter lay before them
The Witch's Doll
February 22, 2025
The icy wind cut across the landscape as the group departed Heldren, determined to uncover the unnatural winter’s source. Their journey led them once more to the hunting lodge, but this time, the path took them across a treacherous rope bridge, swaying dangerously in the wind.
Ice and snow coated the bridge, making each step uncertain. To ensure their safety, they anchored a rope to a sturdy tree on the far side, tying the other end to Joshua before securing themselves in a line. Joshua led the way, moving with care. Midway, his foot slipped, his body tilting dangerously toward the abyss. With a sharp intake of breath, he caught himself and pushed forward, reaching the other side.
Alaric followed next. His step faltered, and he dropped to his knees with a jarring thud, his breath misting before him. Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself upright and continued. Aelira moved next, light-footed and unbothered by the treacherous ice, reaching safety with ease. Last was Ivan. He untied the rope from the original side, securing it around his waist before stepping onto the bridge.
Once across, they pressed on. Snow crunched beneath their boots as they followed the forest path. Suddenly, Alaric raised a hand, signaling a halt. He crouched and inspected tracks half-buried in the snow—misshapen footprints, staggering and clumsy.
“Something's not right,” he murmured.
Aelira knelt beside him, brushing snow away to better see the prints. Recognition flickered in her eyes. “Skeletons,” she said grimly. “Undead.”
Alaric let out an exasperated sigh. “Of course they are.”
The tracks led in the same direction as they were traveling, and soon enough, they found their quarry. A clearing ahead was filled with the shuffling remains of the dead. The skeletons turned as one upon seeing the living, empty sockets glowing with eerie malevolence. Without hesitation, they attacked.
Joshua, at the front, took the brunt of the assault. Bony fists struck him, rattling his frame, but he held his ground. Alaric leveled his pistol and fired, the report echoing through the clearing. Ivan followed with a burst of divine energy, reducing a skeleton to splintered bone. Aelira kept Joshua standing, weaving healing magic into his wounds as the group fought, wearing down the relentless undead until, at last, Joshua crushed the skull of the final skeleton beneath his fist.
Their victory was short-lived. Alaric once more spotted tracks in the snow. This time, Joshua recognized them as belonging to a giant weasel. He recalled a hunter in Heldren, speaking of a great white beast that he sought to bring down.
It wasn’t long before they found the hunter’s fate—his frozen body, mauled and lifeless. A journal rested beside him, its pages stiff with ice. They read of his hunt, his pursuit of the white weasel, and his mention of a strange hut with an eerie doll inside.
Determined, they tracked the beast, following its path until Alaric noted something unsettling.
“The tracks lead to Somir Valley,” he said. “The hunter mentioned setting bear traps here.”
“Just be careful not to step in one,” Aelira warned.
At a clearing, as they debated resting, the trees around them came alive. Without warning, they rushed forward, animated with unnatural rage. One slammed into Ivan, the impact driving the air from his lungs. Sticky sap coated his armor, hindering his movements.
Alaric fired, his shot chipping away at bark that should not bleed. Joshua’s fists connected with solid wood, while Aelira swung her lantern staff, firelight reflecting off its polished surface. The battle was brutal—bludgeoning force against sheer endurance—but at last, they felled the living trees, Joshua landing the final strike.
The mystery of winter’s grip upon the land drove them onward. As they traveled, a distant sound reached their ears—a deep, pained growl.
Aelira’s pet ermine, Eira, shifted uneasily. Aelira gently stroked its nose. “She thinks we’re being followed.”
The group advanced cautiously and found two polar bears caught in steel traps. One, the mother, lay still, her breath long since ceased. The cub, panicked, gnawed desperately at the trap.
Joshua moved forward, anger and sorrow warring in his expression. He barely had time to react before the white weasel burst from beneath the snow in an ambush, sinking its teeth into his flesh.
Alaric fired. Ivan’s crossbow bolt followed, while Aelira unleashed magic. The weasel was fast, but the group fought with precision. The beast fell, lifeless, upon the crimson-stained snow.
Joshua turned to the cub, extending his hands in a calming gesture. He spoke softly, his bond with nature soothing the frightened creature. Slowly, he approached, murmuring gentle words. When the bear finally rolled over in trust, Joshua freed it from the trap and tended to its wound.
The cub, now orphaned, clung to Joshua. He named it Titan.
With the young bear following, they pressed forward, eventually reaching a field strewn with frozen boulders. Among them, Alaric saw a child—a small girl, shivering.
“Hello, child?” he called.
She flinched. “I didn’t mean to insult you. Please don’t hurt me.”
Aelira approached gently. “We won’t hurt you. We’re here to help.”
“I miss my mother.”
Aelira stiffened at the name the girl whispered—Ms. Vasilliovna. “That’s a white witch’s name.”
Suddenly, the girl darted behind a boulder, vanishing. Moments later, Alaric spotted her again, far across the field. The child’s voice drifted through the wind.
“They took me from my mother. The Pale Tower.”
As the group neared a hut perched atop what looked like clawed legs, Aelira whispered, “Witchcraft.”
Inside, a doll rested, eerily similar to the child. Its mismatched eyes—one a gemstone, the other a mirror—glistened in the dim light.
Aelira reached out, touching the gemstone.
The doll sprang to life. A dagger flashed, grazing Aelira’s skin. Paralysis overtook her, and she slumped into a chair.
Joshua rushed in, followed by Ivan. The doll hovered above Aelira, its presence suffocating, the air turning frigid. Ivan struck with his book, alerting Alaric, who fired—but the tiny, malevolent thing was hard to hit.
The doll plunged its dagger into Aelira once more. Blood welled, her breath shuddering. With effort, she moved, grasping the doll tightly.
Joshua struck. The doll stabbed again. Aelira fell limp once more.
Then Alaric focused. He invoked his holy judgment, his shot ringing true. The bullet shattered the doll, shards scattering across the floor.
Ivan pulled Aelira from the hut, healing her with his magic. They gathered the gem that had once been the doll’s eye before quickly departing.
As they traveled, a sign loomed before them:
TURN BACK BEFORE WINTER CONSUMES YOU.
Aelira scoffed. “We’re going the right way.”
The sign exploded in a blast of cold, engulfing them. Aelira gritted her teeth and healed the group.
Night fell. They made camp, finding shelter among the trees. Just as sleep threatened to claim them, a gust of air roared through, extinguishing the fire. The darkness came alive—an air elemental and an ice mephit struck in unison.
Titan snarled, engaging the mephit, while Alaric’s gun flared to life, casting eerie light across the battlefield. The elemental struck, but Aelira conjured a kinetic shield. As the elemental flew at Alaric, it smashed headlong into the barrier, shattering on impact.
Alaric chuckled. Aelira shrugged.
The mephit fought desperately, but Ivan’s fire ended its struggle.
Exhausted, they rekindled the fire. But as the wind howled through the trees, they knew rest would not last. What was the Pale Tower, and what held the dark secrets of winter’s curse?
Through Ice and Shadow
March 01, 2025
The bitter wind howled through the trees like a vengeful spirit, whipping at the group’s cloaks as they huddled over a miserably cold breakfast. Aelira shivered as she chewed a piece of hard bread, the frost clinging to her eyelashes. Even Alaric, usually impervious to discomfort, cursed under his breath as he tried to warm his hands over a pitiful ember. The storm was getting worse.
By midmorning, visibility was nearly gone, the world swallowed in a white haze. They trudged forward, the snow dragging at their boots, only able to see a few feet ahead. Then Alaric halted, raising a hand.
“Shelters,” he murmured. “Up ahead. Igloos.”
The others stopped as he moved forward, his pistol drawn. The camp was eerily silent. Four squat snow shelters loomed ahead, but no signs of life. Alaric returned to the group and relayed what he had seen.
“Stay close,” he warned. “Could be a trap.”
They advanced cautiously. Aelira leaned forward, peering into an igloo. Joshua did the same—only to find himself staring into the tiny, beady eyes of a fey sprite. Before he could react, a rock whistled through the air and struck Aelira squarely in the shoulder. It detonated in a burst of frost, leaving her staggered and deafened. A second later, a tiny arrow flew at Joshua.
He ducked, then lunged into the igloo. The floor gave way beneath him. He fell hard, landing on his back at the bottom of a hidden pit.
At that moment, a guttural roar echoed through the snowstorm. A hulking troll barreled out of a nearby cave, its beady eyes locking onto Aelira.
Alaric’s gun roared as he fired at a fey perched in a tree. The bullet struck true, but the creature merely snarled, gripping another rock. A new threat emerged—a twisted ice mephit, wings of jagged frost flapping as it loosed a freezing blast. Alaric reeled, his breath coming in ragged gasps, sickened by the unnatural cold.
Aelira gritted her teeth, blood running from her nose. She raised her hands, sending out a burst of healing energy. Warmth coursed through her allies, but the fey in the tree cackled and cast a spell. Alaric felt his body shrink, his limbs withering until he was no taller than a halfling.
His fury flared hotter than the cold. Even reduced, he fired again at the tree-bound fey.
Joshua scrambled out of the pit, barking orders to his bear, Titan. The massive beast was already locked in combat with the sprites, swiping at them with crushing claws. Meanwhile, Aelira rifled through the nearest igloo, seizing a thick woolen blanket. She had heard whispers that trolls feared fire. With a spark of kinetic magic, the fabric ignited. She hurled it onto the fallen troll’s body. The air filled with the acrid scent of burning flesh.
The troll screamed and did not rise again.
The fey in the tree hurled another rock, missing Alaric by inches. Titan lunged at a sprite, slamming it into the snow. The creature gave a final, pitiful squeak before it was silenced forever.
Then the tree-bound fey made its mistake. Frustrated, it streaked toward Alaric in a reckless charge, an icy sickle raised high. Alaric stood his ground, pressing the barrel of his pistol to the fey’s face and pulling the trigger. The creature’s head snapped backward, its lifeless body falling limply into the snow.
The mephit remained, its supernatural resilience making it nearly impervious to their blows. Alaric snarled, tucking away his pistol and drawing the magic short sword they had found in a previous encounter. The moment the blade met the mephit’s flesh, it howled in pain.
With a final, decisive strike, the creature crumpled.
Alaric wiped his brow. “Damn, that was not good.”
Aelira caught her breath. “We should see where the troll came from.”
“Maybe after some healing,” Joshua grunted, rubbing a bruised shoulder.
Aelira nodded and sent out another wave of healing energy before they searched the cave. The creatures had hoarded gold and potions, but the real discovery was the cave itself—a safe place to rest from the storm.
Then came the boom.
A deafening, electric crackle split the air, reverberating through the icy wasteland. The group fell silent, waiting, tense. The wind howled, but nothing approached.
Then, a cry—faint but unmistakable.
“Help... someone help...”
Joshua’s expression hardened. “Someone’s out there.”
Alaric adjusted his grip on his pistol. “Then we go.”
They pressed forward through the storm, visibility worsening. At last, they reached a clearing where the snow swirled chaotically.
A man lay facedown, an ice spear lodged deep in his back.
Aelira turned him over—and gasped.
“The Black Rider,” she whispered.
Alaric inhaled sharply. “One of Baba Yaga’s heralds.”
The world seemed to still. The dying man’s eyes opened, ancient and weary.
“Illarion Matveius... Black Midnight,” he croaked. “The last of Baba Yaga’s Three Riders. The world is in peril... Queen Elvanna has betrayed her mother.”
He coughed, blood speckling the snow. “She seeks to cover all of Golarion in ice. Only Baba Yaga can stop her.”
Alaric’s disbelief warred with his sense of duty. “And what exactly are we supposed to do?”
“Find Baba Yaga. Use her Dancing Hut. I secured two of its keys... stolen of power... but I can restore them.” He weakly pulled forth a lock of white hair and a plague doctor’s mask.
Joshua’s hands clenched into fists. “And what happens if we say no?”
Illarion’s eyes darkened. “Then the world freezes.”
The decision was clear.
“I will do this,” Alaric said grimly.
Aelira nodded. “So will I.”
Joshua hesitated. Then sighed. “Fine.”
Illarion smiled weakly. “Then take these keys...”
With shaking hands, he slit his own throat. Blood poured over the relics. As the Rider perished, his magic melted away, leaving only a frail old man.
Then, dark sigils flared to life on the foreheads of Alaric, Aelira, Ivan, and Joshua.
Alaric recoiled, his face twisting in horror. “Witchcraft,” he spat. “We’ve been marked.”
Joshua eyed his darkened cloak. “Did he just make us the Black Rider?”
Aelira exhaled, the weight of fate settling on her shoulders. “I think so.”
Alaric turned toward the portal. “We promised.”
With grim determination, they stepped through.
On the other side, the cold was even worse.
A village loomed in the distance, but the storm was relentless. They struggled forward, pushing against the wind.
Then came the cries.
“Help! Shoot it!”
They crested a ridge to find a massive mantis holding a thrashing man in its mandibles. The villagers fought back, but their blows barely scratched the beast.
Titan roared and charged. The mantis turned its attention to the bear, its jagged limbs lashing out. Alaric fired, the shot splintering its carapace. Joshua rushed in, fists glowing with energy, while Aelira healed a dying villager before launching a blast of kinetic energy.
The ice-blue force struck true. The mantis collapsed.
A woman stepped forward, eyeing Aelira. “Thank you,” she said in Skald. “For saving my friend.”
Aelira hesitated. “Where are we?”
The woman smiled knowingly. “Irrisen.”
The storm worsened.
“You’ll never make it far in this,” the woman continued. “Come with us.”
Alaric shivered. “Yes. We’re freezing.”
As they made camp, the woman introduced herself. “Nadya Petska. Leader of this group.”
When Alaric mentioned the Pale Tower, Nadya spat into the snow.
“My daughter was taken there,” she growled. “We were gathering supplies to barter for her release. But with your strength... perhaps we take her back.”
Alaric didn’t hesitate. “We’ll help.”
Aelira glanced toward the storm. “And the village we saw?”
“My home. Walsby. We will go there first, then to the Pale Tower.”
That night, a stranger arrived—Mierul Ardelain, a Forlarren minstrel. She sang and laughed, but Nadya cut off any questioning.
“She’s not to be trusted,” Nadya warned.
As the group settled in, the storm howled outside. Tomorrow, their journey would begin in earnest.
The Pale Tower's Shadow
March 08, 2025
The morning sun crested the snow-covered horizon, painting the sky in pale hues of lavender and blue. The chill was biting, but the villagers wasted no time in preparing for their journey. Breakfast was meager—hardtack and salted beef—but it was enough to keep their bellies from growling as they readied the sleds. Dogs barked eagerly, their breath rising in small clouds as they were hitched to their harnesses.
The adventurers sat at the front of the sleds, the cold biting through their clothing. Nadya led the way, her sharp eyes constantly scanning the skies.
Then, suddenly, she tensed. “Crows,” she called, her voice low but urgent. The sleds came to an abrupt halt, and she turned back toward them. “Hide,” she ordered, her tone brooking no argument.
From beneath the sleds, she pulled white tarps and flung them over the adventurers. “Get down. Stay still,” she commanded.
Aelira, ever the scholar, barely had time to whisper, “Why—” before Nadya turned on her and shushed her fiercely.
“They’ll hear you.”
The air was thick with silence, save for the distant caws of the approaching birds. The adventurers remained motionless beneath their snowy coverings. But it was no use—Joshua’s large frame made an easy target. The ravens landed atop him, their beady black eyes gleaming with unnatural intelligence as they tore through the cover and attacked.
Alaric was the first to react, flinging off his tarp and drawing his pistol. The crack of gunfire split the frigid air as a bullet tore through a raven, sending a spray of black feathers into the wind. But the birds were relentless, clawing and pecking at Joshua and Titan. They went for the eyes, their beaks sharp as knives. Blood ran down Titan’s face as he let out a pained roar, momentarily blinded.
“Ivan!” Aelira shouted.
The sorcerer raised his hands and uttered a fiery incantation. A cone of flame erupted from his palms, engulfing the swarm of birds in an inferno. Screeches of agony filled the air as several ravens plummeted to the ground, their charred bodies hissing against the snow. Those that survived took to the sky, scattering toward the horizon.
Alaric fired a final shot, but several birds escaped. He cursed under his breath, holstering his pistol.
Nadya watched the retreating flock, her expression grim. “They were spies,” she muttered. “This is bad. Very bad.” She turned back to the sleds. “We need to get to Waldsby. Now. They’ll send someone.”
The rest of the day was spent pushing through the relentless snow, the cold sinking into their bones. By the time they reached Waldsby, the sun was dipping behind the distant mountains, casting long shadows across the eerily familiar town.
People stopped in their tracks as the adventurers arrived, their clothing unmistakably foreign. Mothers pulled their children close, whispering in hushed tones.
“They’re dangerous,” one woman murmured, guiding her child away.
Nadya shook her head in exasperation. “Ignore them. Come, I’ll take you to my home.”
The small house was unassuming but immaculately clean inside. An older woman, Nadya’s helper, gave them a cautious glance before continuing her work. Nadya disappeared briefly and returned with bundles of thick winter clothing.
“You stand out too much,” she said, handing each of them garments. “You’ll need to dress like a local and lay low. The Pale Tower is too dangerous right now.”
That evening, as they sat around the fire eating a modest meal, Aelira broached the question that had been weighing on her mind. “Why was your daughter taken to the Pale Tower?”
Nadya hesitated, her jaw tightening. “The White Witch Nazhena Vasilliovna came to the village,” she said slowly. “My daughter... accidentally insulted her.” She exhaled sharply, her hands clenching into fists. “She had her taken as punishment. She told me if I brought a large shipment of food, she would release my daughter. If you hadn’t helped yesterday, I might not have made it back with the supplies.”
A silence settled over the room, thick with unspoken words. Nadya shook her head. “But for now, it’s time to rest.”
Morning came with a sense of unease. The house was immaculate again, eerily so. Though the adventurers had cleaned up after themselves, it was as if everything had been reset to perfect order.
Ivan and Alaric found their packs dumped out. Alaric muttered a few choice words about fey, gathering his belongings with a scowl.
The group spent the day in town, shopping for supplies and taking in their surroundings. It didn’t take long to notice something strange—Waldsby was laid out exactly like Heldren, their home village. Even the bell tower rang with an identical chime.
Stranger still, Aelira encountered a gnome who was the spitting image of a gnome from Heldren. To her shock, he revealed that he had a twin brother—one he believed was dead.
As dusk fell, a young messenger approached them with a handwritten note. The Goltiaevas, owners of the White Weasel tavern, had invited them for the evening.
Curious and wary, they accepted.
The tavern was warm, filled with the scent of ale and roasting meat. The Goltiaevas greeted them with open arms, eager to hear about their homeland and language. But as the evening wore on, Katrina, the tavern keeper’s wife, leaned in close to Alaric.
“We need to leave,” he said suddenly, his expression darkening.
Aelira frowned. “What? Why?”
He didn’t answer, only standing abruptly. Aelira turned to their hosts and offered a quick, polite excuse. “It’s late. Thank you for your hospitality.”
They left, stepping into the cold night air. Aelira turned to Alaric. “What’s going on?”
Alaric’s jaw was tight. “It’s dangerous here. The ravens spotted us, this town isn’t right, and something is going on. We need to leave.”
Nadya crossed her arms. “If you leave now, you’ll freeze to death. Come back to my home. We’ll figure this out in the morning.”
Alaric’s expression hardened. “We have to go.”
Aelira sighed. “We’ll rest and discuss it tomorrow.”
Alaric’s stance wavered, then suddenly, his whole demeanor changed. He nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, we should go back.”
The others exchanged puzzled glances. But when they returned to Nadya’s and the subject was broached again, Alaric blinked in confusion.
“Why would we leave?” he asked.
The silence was deafening.
Aelira narrowed her eyes. “You were just saying we needed to leave Irrisen immediately.”
Alaric’s brow furrowed. “No, I wasn’t. Why would I say that? We have a mission here.”
Ivan exhaled sharply. “Someone cast a suggestion spell on him.”
Alaric had no memory of it.
The next morning, a sharp knock at the door shattered the uneasy quiet.
“Tower guards! Open up!”
Aelira glanced at Alaric. “What do we do?”
He shrugged. “We need to get to the Pale Tower. We could just go with them.”
Ivan scoffed. “Ask nicely.”
“Shut your petulant mouth,” the guard snapped. “Our captain wants to see you at the tavern.”
The group exchanged looks. “Alright,” Aelira said cautiously. “Let’s see what they want.”
They were led back to the White Weasel, where a group of tower guards stood with the Goltiaevas behind the bar.
The captain stepped forward, his voice dripping with mock politeness, obviously recognizing the party. “Ah, the strangers from the south. My name is Volan Sertane, and I am here to see you arrested and taken to the Pale Tower.” His eyes narrowed. “Lay down your weapons. Spellcasters, identify yourselves.”
Ivan smirked and raised his hands. “Here’s my response.”
Flames erupted from his fingertips, engulfing two guards. They howled in pain. Alaric fired his pistol, dropping one of the burning men before he could recover. Nadya joined the fray, slashing at another with her blades.
The guards surged forward, crossbows loosing bolts into the melee. Joshua lifted his hands and summoned a barrage of magic snowballs, pelting three guards—one fell, his body unmoving.
From behind the bar, Katrina murmured a blessing, strengthening the remaining guards. Aelira snarled and retaliated with a blast of frost magic, sending ice shards streaking toward her.
Her husband Emil leveled a crossbow at Aelira and fired.
The battle raged, steel clashing against steel, magic flashing through the dimly lit tavern. One by one, the guards fell.
Only Emil remained. Nadya stepped forward, voice pleading. “Emil, stop. Lay down your crossbow. We don’t want to bury both of you.”
His face twisted with grief and fury. He raised his weapon.
And Ivan struck him down.
Blood pooled across the wooden floor.
The room was silent, save for the heavy breathing of the survivors.
Nadya swallowed hard. “We need to go.”
Alaric frowned. “Why back to your house?”
Nadya’s expression was unreadable. “I know someone who can help.”
Alaric turned to Aelira and murmured in common, “I don’t like this.”
Nadya stiffened. For the first time, she responded in common. “I’m trying to get my daughter back. You don’t like that?”
Alaric turned on her. “I don’t trust any of this.”
Nadya’s patience snapped. “Then go! Freeze to death in the storm if you want. But I’m going to my home, and I’m going to find help.”
She turned sharply and stormed off.
Alaric clenched his jaw, his fingers tracing the cursed mark on his forehead. Aelira stood between them, caught between trust and doubt.
The storm howled outside.
And the Pale Tower loomed in the distance, waiting.
Assault on the Pale Tower
March 16, 2025
The air inside Nadya’s modest home was thick with the scent of pine and the lingering chill of the winter outside. She dumped her travel-worn pack onto the floor, shaking snow from her coat before turning toward the rafters.
“Hatch, I need to talk to you. Come here… Hatch!”
A hush fell over the room as the group scanned the shadows above. Then, slowly, a pair of bright eyes gleamed down at them from the beams. A small figure shifted in the dim light.
“Hatch, come down here. These are our friends; don’t be shy,” Nadya coaxed.
With a quiet huff, the figure climbed down, revealing a small, hunched man with wiry hair and nimble fingers. He eyed the strangers warily, rubbing his hands together.
“Hatch has lived in the Pale Tower,” Nadya explained. “He can tell us about it.”
At her urging, the domovoi told his tale—how he had once lived in the Pale Tower, unseen and unnoticed, until Nadya helped him escape. Since then, he had stayed with her, loyal as a shadow.
“We can take the food shipment to the Pale Tower to get close,” Nadya said, her voice steely. “Then, instead of unloading, we strike.”
Aelira frowned, folding her arms. “Is that really our plan? Just storming in? Shouldn’t we try to talk to the Queen?”
Alaric snorted. “She tried to have us arrested. ‘Drop your weapons’ and ‘Spellcasters declare yourselves’ is about as clear as it gets.”
“The Queen does not negotiate,” Nadya added. “She is cruel. Manipulative.”
“And a witch,” Alaric muttered.
Aelira turned to Hatch. “Will you help us?”
The little domovoi hesitated, scratching his beard.
“Wouldn’t you like to rescue the little mistress of the house?” she pressed.
At that, Hatch’s eyes widened. “Yes! Get Thora. Yes! I will help.” He nodded eagerly.
Nadya exhaled. “Then we take my dog sleds. We’ll reach the Tower by midday tomorrow.”
The morning came quickly, and the group set out on five dog sleds, Nadya leading the pack. The wind howled over the frozen landscape as they sped through the snow.
An hour into the journey, Ivan tensed.
“Hello there,” came a voice.
Ivan yanked his sled to a halt. “Stop! Something’s here.”
The others skidded to a stop, scanning the woods.
“Ah, good, good,” the voice continued, shifting from one place to another. Then, a black-feathered figure swooped down, perching on a high branch.
“Hello! I am Lytil,” the crow announced. “Where are you going? Not many travel this road.” Its head cocked. “Are you going to the Tower? How brave.”
Aelira sat up straight. “We have goods for the Queen. We must be on our way.”
“Oh, but we must talk! What goods do you have?” The crow’s voice was deceptively casual. “Show me!”
Alaric’s fingers twitched toward his pistol. “Let’s just go.”
Aelira kept her voice calm. “The Queen would not like us delaying.”
The crow’s eyes gleamed. “The Queen is not at the Tower.” Then, in a blink, it dove toward them, snatching a pouch from Aelira’s belt before flitting away into the trees.
Alaric snarled, pulling his firearm. Ivan loosed a bolt, but the bird dodged in midair.
“We need that back! Eira is in that pouch!” Aelira cried, her voice tight with panic, "And the keys, the ones that the rider gave us, are in there too."
Aelira had an empathic link with Eira, her snow ermine, and could feel her not far in the woods. It did not take long for them to hear the squawking of the crow and realize that the ermine was fighting and being a nuisance.
Alaric steadied his aim. The pistol fired with a crack, and the crow tumbled from the branches. Moments later, Eira emerged from the snowdrifts, dragging the stolen pouch back to Aelira.
“Enough delays,” Nadya said. “Back on the sleds.”
An hour later, the group crested a ridge. Before them loomed the Pale Tower, its ice-carved spires gleaming under the midday sun.
Alaric muttered a spell, vanishing his pistol from sight. Aelira turned to the group. “Are we sticking to the plan?”
Nadya nodded. “Let me do the talking.”
As they approached, a voice boomed from the battlements.
“Who goes there? State your business!”
Nadya shouted back, “It’s Nadya. I have the Queen’s food delivery. Open the gates.”
A section of the ice wall shimmered and parted, revealing the passage inside. Guards flanked the entrance, watching them with cold, suspicious eyes.
“You know the routine,” one called down. “Unload and get out.”
Nadya flicked her gaze to Aelira.
“This is our chance,” she whispered.
Aelira stepped forward. “I need to speak with your Queen.”
The guard scowled. “I said unload and leave.”
The ice crackled as Aelira raised her hand. A blast of frost surged forward, striking the guard square in the chest.
“I SAID,” she hissed, “I want to speak to your Queen.”
The guard reeled back, gripping the railing. Then, panic filled his eyes.
“We’re under attack!”
A gunshot rang out. Alaric had drawn his pistol, the shot taking the guard clean in the shoulder. Ivan loosed a bolt, and the man crumpled over the railing with a sickening thud.
A deep, guttural roar sounded as a troll erupted from a nearby hut, wielding a crude axe.
Alaric turned. “We have company.”
The battle erupted in full. Ivan and Alaric focused fire on the guards above while Joshua and Titan took on the troll. The beast swung wildly, drawn to Aelira’s magic. Titan snarled, tearing into its leg, while Joshua’s fists beat on its skull.
The troll roared, shrugging off wounds, but Alaric’s pistol fired again, and the monster staggered. Ivan threw an oil flask, and Aelira ignited it with a burst of flame. The creature shrieked, its flesh blackening, before collapsing in a smoking heap.
Aelira searched the troll’s hut—only trinkets and bones. Alaric had already moved to the great doors, examining their edges before pushing them open.
“Hatch,” he called, “where do we go?”
The domovoi scuttled inside. “What do you want to do?”
“Find the girl,” Aelira said. “Where is Thora?”
“Upstairs.” Hatch pointed to a side chamber. “Teleporters. Over there.”
As they moved toward the magic circles, the water in the central pool began to churn.
“Something’s wrong,” Ivan muttered.
A surge of liquid burst forth, forming into a monstrous water elemental. It lunged at Joshua, knocking him back, sending waves cascading across the stone floor.
Weapons flashed and magic flew as the group battled the raging creature. Every strike seemed to splash harmlessly against its form, but a well-placed series of blows and spellwork finally collapsed it into a spreading puddle.
Aelira waved her hands, using her magic to dry everyone’s sodden clothes.
Then, with a sudden, deafening crash, every door in the chamber burst open.
Dozens of guards stormed in, blades drawn.
The fight was brutal. Crossbows fired, steel clashed, and the sergeant led the charge, wounding Titan and Joshua. Aelira’s magic lashed out in icy arcs while Alaric’s gun roared. Finally, as the last guard fell, silence filled the chamber.
Aelira knelt by the sergeant’s body, pulling a small tuning fork from her belt. Hatch peered at it.
“That is a key to the teleporters,” he confirmed.
Aelira clenched her fist.
“Then it’s time to move up.”
The Masquerade and the Maw
March 22, 2025
The pale-blue glow of the teleportation circle bathed Joshua in cold light as he stepped forward, confidence and curiosity in equal measure. Hatch’s voice echoed behind him—dry and casual, as ever. “You can use the tuning fork or say the pass phrase.”
Joshua chose the latter.
As the arcane words left his lips, the magic took hold. Ice encased him like a coffin of glass, and in a blink, he vanished.
One by one, the others followed—Titan, then Alaric, Aelira, and Ivan—each swallowed by the same frost-born portal.
Joshua emerged in silence. Titan appearing soon after.
He stood in a vast dining hall where a long table stretched beneath frost-laced chandeliers, dimly flickering with witchlight. At the far end of the table, flanked by two tiny winged atomies, sat a familiar face. Mierul, the forlarren bard, her beauty as cold as her smile.
“It appears we have visitors,” she said to her fey attendants.
Then chaos struck. The atomies vanished in flashes of air and shadow, and Mierul’s fingers danced through a spell. Joshua’s world twisted—he shrank rapidly, the room growing massive around him. An atomie materialized and thrust a tiny rapier into his side. The cut was shallow, but the frost spreading from it left him gasping, knees weak.
Then the teleporter sparked again, and Alaric Aethelred stepped through.
He saw Joshua—shorter, staggering. An atomie poised to strike again. Mierul, lips moving in lyrical cadence, weaving enchantment. His instincts flared. With a quick sidestep, he drew his pistol and fired. The shot missed, exploding through the edge of the table in a burst of splinters.
Mierul answered with flame.
A scimitar wreathed in fire and ice erupted into her hand. She vaulted onto the table and brought the weapon down on Alaric. Flame bit into his shoulder, cold numbed his ribs. He staggered, gritting his teeth through the pain.
Then the tide turned.
Nadya surged in next, locking blades with one atomie. Aelira followed, hurling a burst of icy magic toward Mierul—but the bard only laughed. Cold did not faze her.
Joshua, still diminished, was beset. Blades flicked in from multiple directions. His was struck with pinpricks of steel and ice. Blood speckled the icy floor beneath him.
From side doors around the room, more enemies emerged.
A spriggan—twice the size of a man and clad in blackened chain—charged from a side chamber. It crashed into Aelira with a morning star, sending her reeling. She tried to back away, casting shields and darts of frost, but the brute bore down with relentless strength.
Joshua dropped one atomie at last, giving Titan the opening to slam into Mierul. The bard spun, redirecting her fury to the young bear, slashing wildly.
But the fight took its toll.
The spriggan crushed Aelira with a brutal overhead strike. She collapsed, blood streaking her temple. Alaric cried out—"Aelira!"—and fought to reach her.
Then the atomies began to fall.
Titan battered Mierul, finally ending her song—and her life—with a thunderous blow. Only the spriggan remained.
Alaric spun, his coat flaring as he raised his weapon. He took a breath, aimed true, and fired. The bullet slammed into the spriggan’s chest with a crack, toppling the monster backward in a heap.
Silence followed.
Aelira lay still.
Alaric ran to her side, placed a hand, and muttered a healing prayer. Color returned to her skin. Her eyes fluttered open, lips parting in a pained smirk. “That hurt,” she whispered.
After a round of healing and regrouping, the group pressed on.
Through narrow halls and twin doors, they moved with caution. Alaric stopped at one pair of doors, crouched low to check for traps, then held up a hand. He pointed—someone was inside.
“You guys ready?” he whispered.
He flung the doors open.
Inside stood a towering woman mid-incantation—an enlarge spell, he realized too late. She turned and brought her greatsword down on him in a sweeping arc. Pain flared through his arm.
To even the odds, Aelira cast enlarge on Joshua, who surged forward with growing power, shoving Alaric aside and stepping into the fray. Titan followed. The fight was brief and brutal. The enlarged Joshua cut the woman down before she could land another strike.
Across the hall, another room—smaller, filled with plants.
Alaric entered first, gun drawn, cautious. Aelira followed, curiosity piqued by the various flora. She stepped near a wall, eyes narrowing—until something snapped.
A vine struck like a whip. A toothed plant lunged from its pot and bit deep into her arm.
Alaric fired.
The plant shrieked—a high, keening cry that set Titan and Alaric retching. Nausea overtook them, weakening their resolve. Joshua entered, swinging, but the plant’s tendrils lashed out, striking and poisoning him.
Aelira staggered, pale, as the plant drained her blood. She too fell into confusion, her thoughts a fog of whispers and pain.
Then Alaric, shaking off the sickness, raised his pistol and took a slow breath.
The shot rang out. It struck true—piercing the stem and severing it in a spray of sap and blood. The plant collapsed.
Again, Aelira was needed. Her magic knit flesh, eased pain, steadied minds.
Beyond the far door, they found a curved hallway. Another teleporter stood waiting, dormant. Alaric checked a side door and picked the lock with practiced ease.
A bedroom. Quiet. A key taken from an earlier fight opened a chest in the room.
Then further on—another hallway. Another door.
Alaric opened it and stopped, seeing a familiar face sitting in a chair in the middle of the room.
“Lady Argentia?”
She sat calmly inside. Regal. Composed. But…wrong.
"What are you doing here?" Alaric asked, perplexed.
“What do you mean, I’ve been here?” she said, her voice flat.
"Since we rescued you?" Alaric was even more confused.
"I wasn't rescued, I was brought here after my abduction. I've been here all along." she replied.
“You don’t remember being rescued?” Joshua asked, confused.
“I wasn’t rescued. I was brought here after my caravan was attacked.” Lady Argentia became insistant.
Alaric frowned. “We saved you. At the border.”
“That wasn’t me.”
Aelira’s eyes narrowed. Her snow ermine hissed. Without a word, she raised her hand and hurled a blast of cold.
The illusion shattered.
Lady Argentia’s form twisted and fell away, revealing a shapeless creature of flesh and mimicry. It lunged at Aelira, striking her hard before it could be stopped.
Alaric fired again. Joshua and Titan closed in.
And the creature died under their blows.
“Doppelganger,” Aelira muttered, spitting the word like poison.
Two bedrooms in that hallway, both empty of anything useful. The illusion had almost fooled them—but now their path was clear.
They needed to ascend.
Only the teleporters ahead promised the way forward.
And whatever lay above… waited.
Blood on the Ice
March 29, 2025
The air in the icy tower was still as a graveyard, heavy with the lingering stench of magic and old death. Their breath steamed in the cold as the companions stood before the sealed doors, an unused teleporter gleaming like a hidden promise behind them. They had cleared the lower floors—each battle inching them closer to their true goal—but this felt different. There was a pressure in the air. A reckoning above.
Joshua stepped forward first, fingers tightening around the enchanted key. Without hesitation, he activated the key, was encased in ice and vanished in a shimmer of cold blue light.
He emerged in chaos.
The room he appeared in was full of ravens, the tower aviary. The air was thick with feathers and screeches. A woman stood among a throng of birds, vial to her lips, her wild eyes snapping toward Joshua as if she'd been waiting. “Attack!” she shrieked, and the room exploded into motion.
The birds came like a black tide—wings beating, talons raking, beaks stabbing. Joshua barely had time to raise his arms before they were on him, clawing for his eyes. He shouted in pain, staggering as blood ran down his cheeks.
Then Titan appeared beside him, and the storm of feathers turned toward the great bear. They tore at his face, his fur turning crimson as Titan roared in pain.
Alaric arrived next, immediately assessing the room with cold precision. He raised his firearm, aimed into the swarm, and fired. The bullet tore through the flock, feathers and gore erupting mid-air.
Joshua and Titan fought desperately, swinging and clawing through the swarm, cutting down bird after bird, but the mass was endless. Above them, the woman now floated near the ceiling, her arms raised in incantation. She poured divine energy into the air, and the birds seemed to mend themselves, screeching louder than ever.
Alaric cursed under his breath. “No more.” He turned his pistol skyward, squeezing off shot after shot. Some bullets struck true, but others twisted in the air, deflected by an unseen wall of wind. Still, the impact had her bleeding and screaming.
Titan’s howls turned to whimpers—he was blind, his face shredded. Joshua, too, was blinking blood from ruined eyes. Nadya came through the teleporter just as Titan staggered back, nearly collapsing, and the birds swarmed her as well. She screamed, hands flying to her face as blood poured from fresh wounds.
Despite his blindness, Joshua swung wildly and struck true—finally shattering the morale of the swarm around him. They scattered into the corners of the room. A moment later, Ivan appeared, his voice sharp with arcane power. Magic missiles launched from his fingers and streaked into the flying woman. Her scream was cut short as she crumpled mid-air and crashed into the icy floor.
Aelira finally arrived last, stepping into the aftermath of a bloody, broken scene. She surveyed her companions—each of them wounded, blinded, staggering—and exhaled a sigh. “Is everyone bleeding?”
Ivan grinned, brushing ice crystals from his robes. “Not me.”
Aelira rolled her eyes and immediately moved into action, casting healing spells with methodical focus. Slowly, vision returned, wounds sealed, and the group was restored—though weariness hung like a shadow over them all.
The aviary held little of use. Trinkets, trinkets, and more blood. So they turned back, heading for the second teleporter—the only unexplored route remaining.
Again, Joshua went first.
The new chamber was unlike anything before. A glowing sphere floated ominously above a massive summoning circle etched into the ice. A robed man chanted beside it, finishing his spell even as Joshua arrived. A goat—yes, a goat—stood beside him, eyes glowing with unnatural light.
Joshua wasted no time. He snarled, summoned the spirit of the bear, and charged.
The man sneered, lifted into the air, and from the circle below burst a monstrous ape and five ice mephits that shrieked as they hurled themselves at Joshua. Titan arrived in a blink, barreling into the fray to defend his companion.
Then Alaric came, raised his pistol, and calmly shot the flying man in the chest.
Ivan appeared moments later, unleashing another barrage of magic missiles. Joshua struck down the ape with a crushing blow, but the ice mephits and infernal goat still clawed and bit at him. Then, from beneath Titan, a spear of ice exploded from the ground. The bear roared once—and fell, unconscious.
“I’ve got him!” Ivan shouted, diving to Titan’s side and casting a stabilizing spell. Titan’s breathing steadied, but he didn’t rise.
Nadya appeared next, stepping into battle without hesitation. Her weapons met the goat’s thick hide with a crack of steel.
Alaric kept firing, bullets slamming into the airborne man—who responded with spells of his own. Ice spears shot from the ground. The magical nails Alaric kept to ward off hexes blackened as each spell was absorbed. “Witchcraft,” Alaric growled, forced to pause and heal himself.
Then Ivan’s book found its mark. The goat dropped, and the man above screamed in fury.
Two spears of ice shot from the circle, skewering Ivan. The impact of the ice threw him to the ground, bloody and bruised, but undeterred he raised a hand and healed himself.
Joshua was a force of nature—swinging, battering, chipping away at the mephits until ice shards littered the floor. Alaric, grim and resolute, lifted his weapon one final time.
Bang.
The bullet struck true. The flying witch crumpled and dropped like a stone.
The rest fell quickly after that. One by one, the mephits shattered. Silence followed.
They stood, bloodied, exhausted. Aelira healed them again, pale and shaking by the end. Then her eyes lifted to the globe suspended above.
“That’s it,” she whispered. “The portal. The heart of winter.”
They explored briefly, discovering bedrooms and one locked room. Alaric tried the lock, but failed. With a shrug, Joshua simply smashed the ice door in. Inside lay treasure—and a statue of Nazhena Vasilliovna.
The statue spoke.
“The uninvited shall wither and die like the frost-covered bloom. You should never have ventured here, and you’d do well to leave before my return.”
A wave of magic washed over Aelira—but she stood her ground, resisting the spell. They took the treasures and returned to the central chamber.
Aelira studied the orb, face drawn. “I can turn it off,” she said slowly. “But it’s a ritual. I’ll need all of you.”
She looked at Alaric, who stared at the summoning circle like it might bite him.
“It’s witchcraft,” he muttered.
“It’s to undo the greater harm,” she said.
He grunted. “Then let’s get it done.”
Each of them took a place around the circle. Aelira began the chant. Magic thrummed in the air, chilling their bones. As the ritual reached its crescendo, the sphere above them shuddered—and its light died.
Aelira sagged, breath fogging the air. “It’s done. The portal is closed.”
They looked at one another, a quiet understanding settling between them.
“Our easy path home is gone,” she added.
But no one spoke. They weren’t going home. Not yet.
Whitethrone awaited.
Then the tower shuddered.
“Time to get out,” Joshua said grimly.
They ran for the teleporters—but the magic was gone. Aelira pulled out a wand, breath tight. “Feather Fall.”
They opened a window. One by one, they stepped into the open air, drifting downward as the tower groaned behind them. Chunks of ice broke free and plummeted.
They hit the ground running, gathering sleds and dogs as the tower of ice cracked and collapsed behind them.
Into the white winds of Irrisen they fled—bloodied, cold, and alive.
But ahead lay Whitethrone.
And Baba Yaga’s Hut