Call Upon the Northern Wind

"The storm was approaching," Feodor frowned, his gaze fixed on the darkening sky. "Hold on tight, Irina. I will hasten the horse." Gripping the reins tightly, Feodor spurred his horse forward.

The sky had turned black and the storms raged fiercely. There was nothing but grassland as far as the eye could see; trees and rivers were nowhere in sight. There was no sign of life, except for the tall grasses that served as the horses' only sustenance.

Feodor's throat grew dry, and his stomach rumbled incessantly, as if a hungry child were crying. He had given all his supplies to his sister, knowing she needed them more. It was Feodor's duty to protect her from any potential threat.

Raindrops sprinkled their bodies, soaking their clothes and possessions. Irina coughed behind Feodor. He glanced over his shoulder, observing Irina's eyes growing lethargic and her grip weakening. Feodor's eyes widened with concern as he beheld this sight.

"Is this my fault?" Feodor thought. "If we had never left the village, she would never have had to suffer like this. But if I had left her in the village, she would have been hunted by the prince's druzhinas."

A faint object caught Feodor's eye amid the storm. His mouth opened slightly. He urged his horse to quicken its pace, approaching the faint object. A round yurt stood before them.

Feodor dismounted his horse and lifted Irina from the saddle, carrying her inside the yurt. The yurt was quite spacious, with a sturdy wooden floor. Intricate bird-like patterns adorned the yurt's ceiling. In one corner, a pair of sitting human idols, carved in bronze, stood with dignity. All of this was unfamiliar to Feodor, but the most peculiar feature was an altar with a fork-like metal object above it.

None of these details mattered to Feodor, except for the provisions arranged on the desk in front of the altar, along with nearby blankets. Feodor approached the altar and gently laid Irina down, taking two blankets—one for Irina and the other for himself. He then approached the desk, where most of the food consisted of fruits that were well known in the village, and the drinks were a kind of milk. However, this milk was different from what he was familiar with in the village.

Feodor peeled the orange and took a small bite. He grimaced at the sour taste. Trying another orange, he found the taste to be the same. However, it was their only source of food at the moment. Carrying the provisions, Feodor brought them to Irina. He peeled another orange and fed it to her.

"How are you feeling?" Feodor asked.

"I'm feeling better now," Irina nodded with a faint smile.

"I'm glad to hear that."

Silence filled the room, with only the loud sounds of rain and thunder outside the yurt.

"I'm sorry, brother," Irina frowned.

"No, the blame is mine," Feodor looked down.

"You shouldn't have come with me," Feodor frowned. "You shouldn't have been involved in this mess."

"That traitor," Feodor clenched his hands. "Why did he do this to us? What did we do to deserve this horrible treatment!" Feodor pounded the floor.

"Brother, please stop," Irina stood up. "Please don't hurt yourself anymore!" Irina hugged Feodor from behind.

"You're right," Feodor loosened his grip. "I'm sorry for making you worry."

"Please don't blame yourself, brother," Irina took Feodor's hands. "This was my own decision. I chose to accompany you to a land where we can live in peace together. For me, it's a small price I'm willing to pay. So please, don't blame yourself anymore."

"Thank you, Irina. I feel much better now."

Feodor continued feeding Irina until she was well-fed. Irina had already fallen asleep wrapped in her blanket. There was a leftover piece of fruit that Feodor used to satisfy his own hunger. It was already late, and the storm had subsided. Feodor took his blanket, laid down on the wooden floor, and felt his eyes growing heavy. He could no longer keep them open, so he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Feodor gazed into the empty pitch black, and suddenly, something emerged from the void. It was an object falling from the sky, gleaming like diamonds, but as soon as it touched the ground, it melted away. A chill ran down Feodor's spine as a joyful hum from a lady reached his ears. The source of the voice wasn't far from where Feodor stood. He took a step towards it, and suddenly, trees materialized out of nowhere on either side of him. With each step he took, more trees appeared.

He ventured deeper into the darkness, and the pitch-black scenery transformed into a forest of trees. Cold winds whipped against his face. The lady's voice shifted to a melancholic tone, singing a song from days long past. It evoked memories of the olden days Feodor had back in the village.

Suddenly, radiant light burst forth from the darkness. Feodor shielded his eyes with his hands, as the light was as blinding as a midday sun in summer. As he surveyed his surroundings, he noticed that the trees no longer sprouted from the ground. Looking down, he saw the landscape transform from non-existent to a snowy ground. Before him, scattered stones formed a ring.

Feodor's eyebrows raised in surprise as he observed that within the ring of scattered stones, a lady in a shining white dress twirled and sang. She wore a silver tiara atop her fair-skinned head, and her long hair glistened like gold. With each twirl, a tear escaped her eye, transforming into sparkling crystal dust as it fell.

"No, it couldn't be," Feodor took a step backward. "The song of yore, the melancholic feeling, and the woman in shining white with long, gleaming gold hair—it had to be her."

The woman halted her dance, her face contorted into a grin as she locked her gaze onto Feodor. Raising her hand, she pointed directly at him.

"Vila," Feodor frowned, recognizing the being before him.

The woman murmured unintelligible words towards Feodor as she slowly approached him. Feodor attempted to move his legs, but they refused to obey his commands. The vila drew closer, and Feodor grimaced, using his hands in a futile attempt to will his legs to move. Yet, they remained motionless. The woman stood before him now, a sinister grin spreading across her face. With a swift motion, she seized Feodor by the neck, binding him tightly to a nearby tree.

The vila whispered, and Feodor let out a piercing scream of pain. Gasping desperately like a wild horse, he struggled to fill his lungs with as much air as he could. Feodor could feel his feet dangling in the air, while his hands fought against the vila's unyielding grip.

The vila's voice grew louder, a clear sign of her anger. Feodor's gasps intensified, his neck felt like ice, and the vila's hold tightened, overpowering his weakening resistance as his limbs grew numb.

Darkness engulfed his vision, and all sounds faded from his ears. Feodor knew that at this rate, he would meet his end. He closed his eyes, resigning himself to the chilling fate brought upon him by the witch.

"No!" Feodor screamed, jolting awake from his sleep, his eyes wide open with terror.

Feodor gently caressed his neck, feeling its rough and sweaty texture, grateful that it was not frozen like in his nightmare. He placed his hands on his head and lowered it in contemplation.

"That memory again," Feodor thought. "Five days in a row now, reliving those days from early winter when the sun was hidden and snow blanketed the woods. It was the day I was returning home after gathering lumber. She was there, and everything unfolded. I lost consciousness, and when I awoke, I found myself back at my house. Hunters had discovered me deep in the woods. How did I survive? I asked them, but they merely laughed, dismissing the vila as a myth, a creation of parents to scare misbehaving children. Yet those cold hands, the menacing presence, and the wrathful voices were all too real. I still remember the strength of their grip. But I survived, and I do not know what divine or devilish forces intervened to save me from that witch. Nevertheless, I am grateful to still be here, able to protect my sister."

Feodor let out a relieved sigh as he surveyed his surroundings. The room was filled with various household items, but the statue was gone, and the altar was nowhere to be found. The interior of the room had changed. However, Irina was still there, peacefully sleeping beneath her blanket. Feodor furrowed his brow, sensing that something was amiss with Irina's sleeping position.

Suddenly, a loud noise of clattering equipment and screams reverberated through the room. Feodor turned his gaze towards his shoulder and saw a young boy standing there. The boy had his hair shaved on the top, leaving a fringe across his forehead and down the sides. He wore a slim gown and leather boots. The child's mouth opened slightly, his eyes widened, and his brows shot up in surprise. In a swift motion, the child spun around and dashed outside, shouting unintelligible words.

Feodor attempted to catch up to the child, but the young one was already beyond his reach. Barely a minute had elapsed when Feodor heard the approach of something else—the cacophony of a dozen voices piercing his ears. Men, women, the elderly, and children had gathered in front of the yurt, their collective clamor filling the air with thousands of words. Feodor winced and swiftly rose from his blanket, while the commotion roused Irina from her slumber.

"What's happening, brother?" Irina rubbed her eyes, her voice still tinged with sleepiness. "Why are there so many people outside?" she inquired, seeking answers from Feodor.

"I don't know. I'm just as confused as you are as to why they're here," Feodor frowned, puzzled by the sudden gathering outside.

As the crowd continued to stand and shout outside the yurt, a stern authoritative voice resonated among them, bringing about silence and compelling the onlookers to keep their distance from the yurt. Intrigued, Feodor took steps towards the entrance of the yurt, peering outside. A group of men clad in armor crafted from interlaced steel plates were making their way towards the yurt. However, it was the man at the center who stood out—the one donning a robe with round-collar, adorned with crane motifs, a tall hat, and a belt fastened over his garment.

Feodor surveyed the scene, observing how the entire crowd prostrated before the man in the regal gown. The figure in the center moved with deliberate elegance, his hand concealed beneath his robe, his countenance as stern as iron. Drawing nearer to Feodor, the man raised his hand, prompting all the armored men to bow before him in unison.

The man towered over Feodor, appearing much taller than he had initially perceived from a distance. Clad in his majestic gown, the man spoke with a demeanor that contradicted his appearance, emanating refined courtesy. However, Feodor merely shook his head, a single eyebrow raised in skepticism, prompting the man to shout a command or instruction.

A long-haired blond individual, donning a white gown with a round collar and narrow sleeves adorned with roundels, entered the scene at the behest of the central figure.

Feodor grimaced upon laying eyes on the man with the round-collared gown, a sense of dread washing over him as he noticed the man's lengthy blond hair and a ruby adorning his left ear—an attire befitting a Varangian. Taking a step back instinctively, Feodor caught a glimpse of the blond man's unsettling smile, one that sent shivers down his spine.

"Ah, so you hail from the same land as I do," the round-collared man grinned. "What a fortuitous encounter with a fellow countryman, but I have no time to spare on you. Speak up, you smerd, what brings you to this land?"

Feodor glared at the blond man, his feet rooted to the ground by this revelation.

"Why are you, a Varangian, present in this place?" Feodor took another cautious step backward. "You are not supposed to be here."

The man in the regal gown conversed with the blond-haired individual, their exchange marked by a certain tone. Feodor surmised that the central figure was inquiring about the situation, to which the blond man turned his gaze towards Feodor before responding with decorum.

"I am once again asking you, smerd, for what purpose you have come to this land," his face hardened like stone.

"Why do you wish to know our purpose for being here, Varangian?"

"Because His Radiant Highness has inquired."

"His Radiant Highness?"

"Why did he mention His Radiant Highness," Feodor wondered. "In the Grand Principality of Novstrana, grand princes were addressed as His Majesty, not His Radiant Highness. What could this mean?"

Feodor tilted his head, taking notice of the blond man's attire and recalling his demeanor when speaking to the man in the regal gown.

Ah, now it makes sense, Feodor thought. He straightened his posture and looked at the round-collared man.

"We came here to escape from our tyrannical prince."

"Your tyrannical prince?"

"Yes, this new ruler was unlike our previous prince, who was benevolent and just," Feodor's gaze dropped, his face glistening with sweat. "But our new prince was corrupt."

"One day, I decided to grind grain at my own home, unaware that one of his millers had noticed my intentions," Feodor paused briefly. "The next day, our prince suddenly forced me and others who had the same idea to grind grain at the miller's facility. The miller charged us two grivnas for using his mill, a service that should have been inexpensive if we used our own mill. And if we insisted on grinding at home, his men threatened to ransack our houses."

"Just that?" the man placed his hand on his chin.

"Yes, but there's another-"

"Hold your tongue," the round-collared man interrupted, flashing his palm. "I've had enough of your ramblings."

"Judging by your appearance, there's something that troubles you more than just the prince. While the prince may have been a factor, it wasn't the most crucial one," the blond man raised an eyebrow. "The town air sets a man free. I'm sure you're familiar with this saying, aren't you?"

"A smerd can find freedom as long as he remains unnoticed for a year and a day. The town was the perfect place to go," Feodor swallowed hard.

"Correct. Even though the prince would hunt you down for fleeing, the town's mayor would turn a blind eye or even sometimes aid runaway smerds because it was advantageous for them to grant you freedom," the round-collared man grinned with amusement.

Feodor grimaced, unable to utter a single word. He stood there, trembling, facing the blond man.

Feodor bit his lip. "Our homeland has been ravaged by war and plague. The nearby town has been struck by a severe plague. That's why we came here, to seek new land to live on, a place free from war."

The blond man stared at Feodor, examining his facial expression and body language. Feodor trembled under the man's gaze, feeling an inexplicable urge to look away. However, the man turned his gaze elsewhere.

He bowed before the regal gown man, who gestured for them to speak privately. Feodor's body felt heavy, as if he were being weighed down by the weight of the world.

The blond man concluded his conversation with the high hat man; they both turned their gaze towards Feodor, then exchanged glances once more. The regal gown man positioned himself next to Feodor and raised his voice, commanding the people and soldiers to stand.

The high hat man delivered a passionate speech in his foreign language, addressing the crowd. At one point, he paused his speech and pointed his finger directly at Feodor. Continuing his address, he continued to emphasize Feodor, raising his voice with each word. The regal gown man's speech filled Feodor with awe, despite not understanding a single word. The crowd erupted into cheers, echoing the enthusiasm sparked by the regal gown man.

Observing the events unfolding before him, Feodor stood in a bewildered daze, looking at the high hat man. The man took Feodor's hand and shook it, while the crowd continued to celebrate.

The high hat man shouted, once again silencing the crowd. He raised his voice and two men approached, holding something in their hands: a pair of narrow gowns and a pair of leather boots. One set was meant for adult males, while the other was intended for young females.

"Congratulations," the blond man appeared. "You have just been accepted as one of the tribe members."

"What did you tell them?" Feodor inquired.

"I simply mentioned that you come from the west, fleeing from an unjust prince in search of a new land for a better life. Unfortunately, you ventured too far east and ended up in His Radiant's territories."

Feodor furrowed his brow, unable to comprehend why the Varangian had saved him. It seemed like an act of kindness, but Feodor was hesitant to trust him. Believing in Varangians had proven to be a mistake in the past.

"You should change your clothes," the blond man cringed. "They are wet, muddy, and, ugh! They also smell foul. I doubt anyone would want to come near you."

Feodor caught a whiff of his own body and indeed, the odor emanating from him was repulsive. It had been four days since he last bathed.

"Well, since today is Saturday," the round-collared man adjusted his waistbelt. "You will join the other men heading north. And don't forget to inform your sister that she should clean herself with the other women as well." The blond man inspected Feodor. "But first, it would be best to change out of those clothes for both of you." With that, the blond man turned around and walked away from Feodor.

"Oh, and you don't have to worry about the language," the blond man remarked, spinning around. "I will accompany you to the north, and His Radiant has a female courtier from Novstrana who will keep your sister company."

As the round-collared man walked away, Feodor turned back towards his yurt. Behind the door, Irina stood, gazing at him.

"Here are your new clothes; those people gave them to you," Feodor handed the garments to Irina. "I'll be waiting outside. Please let me know when you're done changing, okay?"

Irina nodded, clutching the clothes to her chest. Feodor exited the yurt and waited for Irina to change. Outside, the tribesmen were engaged in various activities, such as tending to their cattle, tanning animal fur, and shearing sheep. What struck Feodor as peculiar was that both men and women performed these tasks, which differed from the practices in his homeland.

"Brother, I've finished changing," Irina called out.

Feodor straightened his posture and stood firmly on the ground. As he opened the yurt door, he saw Irina already dressed in her new attire.

"How do I look?" Irina twirled around with delight.

"You look wonderful," Feodor beamed.

"Thank you," Irina giggled, her cheeks turning a rosy shade.

"Now, it's my turn to wait for you," Irina said, stepping outside with a light bounce in her step.

Feodor smiled, relieved. Just last night, Irina had been feeling unwell, but now she was filled with joy. Feodor removed his worn clothes and replaced them with the new ones he had received from the tribesmen. The garments were nice and comfortable, suitable for the steppe terrain.

"I'm done," Feodor called out.

"Okay, I'm coming in," Irina entered the yurt. "You look handsome, brother." Irina grinned, her eyes sparkling.

"Really?" Feodor examined himself in the mirror. "Are you sure this doesn't look strange on me?"

"Of course not," Irina nudged Feodor. "You looked charming in those clothes. I'm sure ladies would be smitten by you."

Feodor chuckled. "Thank you for the compliment, sis, but I would argue that any sensible person wouldn't fall in love just based on appearance alone."

Irina sighed. "Brother, why are you like this? It's because of that peculiar mindset that you've never had a woman."

"Hey, at least I love my work out in the fields," Feodor chuckled.

A loud knock echoed outside the yurt. "Are both of you finished changing?" It was the blond man's voice. "The wagon is waiting outside."

The tribesmen were already gathered outside. Feodor didn't want to keep them waiting, so he concluded their conversation.

"Brother, do we stay in this place?" Irina frowned.

"For now, yes."

Feodor opened the door, and the blond man stood outside the yurt. He turned around and led Feodor and Irina to the waiting wagon. The people had gathered, forming a line for each wagon. They boarded their designated wagon, and the coachman set off, heading north.

Once again, Feodor beheld the familiar scenery—a vast expanse of land covered in grass for grazing livestock, with a clear blue sky above, unlike the previous day.

"So," the blond man addressed Feodor, "what's your name?"

"Feodor," he replied.

"Feodor, huh? I'm Ivar," Ivar said, folding his arms.

"Varangian, I have a question for you," Feodor inquired.

"Could you please stop calling me Varangian?" Ivar frowned. "I have a name, you know."

Feodor frowned back. "How did you end up in this place?"

Ivar looked up at the sky. "After the exhausting battles at Luvonia, I received my reward. I decided to retire and ventured into the far east."

Turning his attention to Irina, Feodor asked, "And what is your name, young lady?"

"I'm Irina. Nice to meet you, Ivar," she replied, giggling with joy.

"Your sister is such an upbeat person," Ivar remarked while looking at Feodor. "It's hard to believe that you two are siblings, considering how cynical you are. How did that happen?"

Irina giggled. "Oh, brother has always been like that. Maybe it's because of his job as well."

"His job?" Ivar rubbed his chin, intrigued.

"Yes, our old prince trusted Feodor to keep records of grain production," Irina said, folding her arms and smiling proudly.

"Oh, I see," Ivar said, his gaze shifting to Feodor. "You're a good brother, Feodor. No wonder she's proud of you." Ivar chuckled.

Feodor remained silent, not uttering a single word, but his expression looked unsettling. The cart came to a halt, indicating their arrival at the destination. However, there was no lake or river in sight. Instead, a coniferous forest lay not far from the cart.

"Alright, the men will disembark here," Ivar announced, and he and the other males climbed down from the wagon.

Ivar shouted a few words, and the female tribe members took the horse ropes, leading them elsewhere.

"Don't worry, your sister will be fine. Most of the females in this tribe are trained huntresses, and the location is not too far from here," reassured Ivar as Irina disappeared from Feodor's sight.

"Follow me into the woods where the river lies. We can bathe and drink there. Other tribes also reside in that area, and they are friendly. Just be cautious not to provoke them and jeopardize our diplomacy," advised Ivar.

Feodor and the tribesmen entered the woods, where the trees displayed shades of red. Flocks of birds flew across the sky, creating a picturesque scene. The path was firm and covered with fallen red leaves. The sound of water flowing downstream filled the air. They discovered a clear creek, with a family of squirrels storing their food inside a nearby tree.

The group undressed and left their clothes on the creek bank, wearing only loincloths. Feodor poured water from head to toe, experiencing the refreshing sensation. He stepped into the stream, submerging his entire body in the cool water.

A faint melody tinkled in the air. Feodor glanced around the creek, noticing that no one seemed to be aware of the melody. Curiosity piqued, Feodor hopped out of the water, swiftly donning his clothes. He ventured deeper into the forest, and the melody grew clearer with each step.

Feodor's eyes widened, and his mouth hung slightly open. Water dripped from his hair as he beheld a figure in radiant white, with fair skin and long, glistening golden hair, seated upon a sculpted stone. The figure gracefully played a flute, emanating a tune filled with tranquility and sincerity. Feodor gasped, taking a step back, and the figure ceased her melody.

"Welcome, it has been a long time since I had a visitor," the figure spoke, turning her face towards Feodor.

"Vila," Feodor murmured.

"Vila?" the girl tilted her head. "I am not a Vila; my name is Malfrida."

"No," Feodor exclaimed. "Stay away from me, you witch!"

Feodor bolted away in a panic, gasping for breath with each stride. At one point, he glanced over his shoulder, but there was nothing behind him except dense underbrush. Feodor halted, his legs trembling.

She didn't chase me? Feodor thought. Why isn't she coming after me? I don't understand. No, no, it can't be true. I won't fall for that witch's trick. Feodor turned around and hesitantly made his way back to where Malfrida was still seated on the chiseled stone.

"Why were you running?" Malfrida asked. "Did I frighten you? But I have never done anything to you. This is the first time we have met, so why are you afraid of me?"

"I... I..." Feodor stuttered.

"I understand," Malfrida replied, her tone filled with melancholy. "It's alright. People always avoid me." Malfrida resumed playing her flute.

Feodor looked down, realizing that his fear was irrational. He never expected that he would wound an innocent heart. Taking a deep breath, Feodor took a step forward and sat beside Malfrida. She ceased playing her tune and glanced at Feodor.

"I'm sorry for what I said. It was terrible to speak ill of someone I had just met," Feodor sighed. "I can't forget that day, the day when a vila tried to strangle me while I was gathering lumber in the woods."

"I am sorry about that," Malfrida apologized.

"Nah, it's okay," Feodor shrugged it off. "Somehow I survived. The hunters found me lying in the snow, but they didn't see the Vila. Even though the Vila had choked my neck with a tight grip."

"So, why do people avoid you?" Feodor asked, "Did you do something bad to them?"

"They fear me because of a single mistake I made," Malfrida walked to the side of the lake and closed her eyes. "And also because of this power."

"I can see the future," Malfrida opened her eyes.

"I thought that kind of power would attract people instead of repelling them."

"There's another one."

Malfrida whispered a word, a word that passed like a fleeting wind. It couldn't be heard, but it could be felt. She played her flute with a slow and serene melody, harmonizing with something that flowed out from the lake. A long, snake-like creature with four legs and a fearsome appearance emerged. However, the creature was not made of flesh but of the clear fluid from the lake. Its presence caused rain to fall near the lake.

The monster spiraled and split into two beings. One became a monkey, and the other transformed into a crane. The monkey and crane danced in perfect harmony against the backdrop of the blue sky, synchronizing their movements. Once again, the creatures spiraled, forming a pair of interlinked, semi-circular cradles.

The melody shifted, becoming violent and fast-paced. The dance turned into chaos. The cradles split apart, and the monkey and crane now faced each other directly. The monkey's body grew murky and disintegrated, while the crane soared high into the atmosphere, disappearing from sight and reappearing with unimaginable speed. It plunged itself into the lake.

Malfrida ceased playing her flute. "This is the story of a red-faced monkey and a black-headed crane, both born from the tears of the yellow dragon. They were entrusted by the yellow dragon to perpetually create harmony between light and darkness. However, one day, the monkey succumbed to darkness and became corrupted. The crane attempted to save him, but it was too late. As the monkey failed in his task, the yellow dragon punished him by casting him into the depths of hell. The crane, desperate to rescue his brother, spun and flew up to heaven, pleading for his return. Yet, his efforts were in vain. In an act of selflessness, he dove into the depths of hell to save his brother."

Feodor gazed at Malfrida in awe, his eyes filled with wonder as he witnessed the dragon.

"How did you manage to do that?" Feodor's eyes widened with astonishment.

"How did I do that?" Malfrida raised an eyebrow. "Don't you know how to do it?"

"I'm just a regular human. How could I possess such abilities?"

"Ah, I see," Malfrida thought.

"Alright, let me explain. It's the power that comes from knowing the true names of spirits. By knowing their names, you can bind them to your will, just as I did with the water spirit because I know its true name."

"How did you acquire such power?"

"I don't know. It just happened when I unknowingly uttered a certain word, and then something extraordinary occurred." Malfrida closed her eyes, lost in thought.

Feodor gazed at the sky, a faint smile on his face. "You know, that story reminds me of someone. He was my best friend, or perhaps the only friend I ever had. He was gentle and kind, but someone took him away from me. When he returned to our homeland, he was a changed person. He chased after us, my sister and me, when we fled from the prince. I despised him for betraying us, but at the same time, those memories hold a special place in my heart."

"I appreciate you sharing that with me," Feodor said as he rose to his feet. "I have made up my mind. I am going back to my homeland. There is something important there that I cannot ignore."

"I revealed my power to you, and yet you are not afraid. Instead, you express gratitude," Malfrida giggled.

"I had a feeling you had planned this encounter, given your clairvoyance," Feodor remarked, turning away. "Farewell, Malfrida. I hope our paths cross again one day." With that, Feodor disappeared into the depths of the forest.

"So that was the reason you survived," Malfrida whispered. "You already knew the name of a powerful spirit, one that is violent. Your path is filled with thorns, yet you have chosen to confront it. No, I should say, I am the one who has encouraged you. We shall meet again when the time comes for you to plunge the world into an endless winter night."

THE END