All through the day, they pressed on through the biting frost, the memory of warmth still clinging to their skin before the winter could claim it. Byuga knew where the Monks of Taom-Dium dwelt. Bodhi had been one of them; he had to have been. They would traverse the plains, pushing toward the western shores. There, the son of Luga might aid them in seeking out the reclusive brethren.

  On the first evening, they gathered around the hearth-fire. Though it was yet early to halt their march, they had discovered a sheltered alcove within the jagged skirts of the cliffs. Byuga turned to Luga’s son, asking his name. He was taken aback to learn the boy possessed none.

  "We choose our own names," the boy said softly. "I have not yet reached the age of such naming."

  "Why then did your father send you?"

  "He must hope that this is the odyssey where I shall find both my path and my name."

  "May I call you Linyun?" Byuga asked. "It means The Representative..."

  The boy bowed his head in silent assent, and the conversation died there. Byuga could sense the lad’s melancholy; perhaps he harbored a secret bitterness toward Luga for casting him out. Byuga himself, despite all explanations, had felt a surge of involuntary resentment when his own father sent him to the Towers of Shyugan. And Luga had sent his flesh and blood away with nothing but a cripple for company. Such anger was only natural.

  That night, and the nights that followed, were spent in a shroud of silence. Every evening, Lin-Shu would wordlessly come to Byuga’s side, curling up to sleep as soundly as a child. As the cold sharpened into a razor’s edge after the third night, they began to huddle together for warmth. Makar would lay himself wherever the wind blew fiercest, acting as a bulwark for the others. Though the blankets and quilts gifted by Chafchauin warded off the worst of the chill, they often woke in the dead of night, seized by uncontrollable tremors.

  It was at the dawn of the second week, when they found it nearly impossible to rouse themselves from sleep, that the true gravity of their peril dawned on them. They resolved to keep a rotating watch every few hours; thus, they were never again ambushed by that particular lethargy of the soul.

  Throughout their journey, they took great care to skirt the Tangan Swamps. Winter had already draped the world in its white shroud, but the nightmares it birthed had not yet drifted south of Nyov-Moju. Byuga wondered if the demons and witches had breached the borders of Nybshan. The House of Dyumi was the eldest and most formidable of the eight Great Houses of the North, and the Eight Towers of Nybshan were legendary even in the far reaches of southern Bahysaris. If they had fallen, the North was surely lost. He could not foresee the end of this dark road, but dread sat heavy in his gut. A voice within—defying all logic and denial—whispered that he had truly been born unto the end of the world.

  Two days after leaving the Tangan Swamps behind, they passed through another hollowed-out town. It consisted of a few hamlets strung along the road that wound through the hills. Lights flickered in some windows, but they did not linger. They sought refuge only in an abandoned hut at the village’s edge, grateful for even a meager reprieve from the wind. When they awoke, they had to climb through a window to escape, as the night’s fresh snowfall had buried the door; yet, for once, they did not wake to the sting of frostbite.

  Leaving the town behind, they descended into the lowlands toward the coast. These rugged, gargantuan slopes were scarred with derelict fields. Half of every village they passed stood empty; the remaining inhabitants looked gaunt, haunted by famine. The northern provinces, which had never sought the technological wonders of the South, had always been poor, but now starvation stalked the land. The cold seeped through the cracks of ramshackle, fragile homes. This North could not fight; Byuga knew it in his bones.

  As they traveled, Byuga often thought he heard the whistle of the blizzard as something more—a touch, a phantom ringing in his ears that appeared and vanished like a ghost. At times, he would realize the side of his face exposed to the gale had gone numb, and he would reach into his hood to clear the frost from his skin. The caps from Chanchaung were a blessing, yet there were moments when even they felt like parchment against the onslaught.

  Finally, nearly two months after departing Chanchaung, they reached Doujin Halun. To gaze upon the Coast of Ruins would once have filled Byuga with wonder. Now, however, the ancient remnants, the verdant "Pillar Mountains" that rose like emerald monoliths, and the once-fertile plains were all buried under a tomb of white. Even so, the majesty of the ruins remained visible. It was said that the Elder Folk once reigned over great cities here.

  They entered the forests nestled between the Pillar Mountains. According to Linyu, the first of the seven monasteries of the Taom-Dium Monks lay beyond these woods, perched upon the sea-facing cliffs. Byuga wrestled with whether he should deliver the tidings of Bodhi. The monks, librarians, and healers of the Northern Houses were all appointed by the Taom-Dium; the news of one of their own's passing would surely be a bitter draft to swallow.

  On their second day amidst the mountains, they stumbled upon a fire. It flickered in the distance, a lonely beacon. Makar was loath to approach, but their supplies were dwindling, and lighting a fire in such deep snow was a grueling task. They agreed that if they encountered a large company, they would keep their distance and press on.

  When they drew near, Byuga was met with a gruesome sight. No living soul sat by the flames. Only corpses lay scattered, creating a macabre palette where blood had turned to a sickening pink beneath the dusting of snow. The Prince of Jado looked toward Linyu and Makar with mounting alarm. Makar, the Chafchauin prince, exchanged a few words with Linyu before raising his hands toward Byuga.

  "Demons... We must go."

  Byuga needed no further convincing. He grasped Lin-Shu’s hand, tightening her scarf against the cutting wind and pressing her cap down. He had just taken a step when he felt the girl’s hand squeeze his palm with desperate force. As he turned, a sharp, stabbing pain—like a needle driven into his ear—pierced his silence. He saw Makar, Linyu, and Lin-Shu collapsing to the earth. They clutched their heads, their faces contorted in agony. He understood then: what was merely a needle-prick to his deaf ears must be an unbearable shriek to theirs.

  Dropping beside Lin-Shu, he unsheathed his whip and scanned the surroundings. The demon was close. The stinging in his ear intensified; it was drawing near. The others were paralyzed; blood had begun to trickle from Linyu’s nose. Byuga knew what he had to do, but he doubted his own resolve. If he did not strike swiftly, his companions would share the fate of those around the campfire.

  He drew a deep breath, severing himself from the world and letting go. Just as he had when the tower fell, just as he had when he grappled with Balbun, he emptied his mind. He cast aside his anxiety and panic, reaching out with his soul and his perception.

  To his astonishment, it worked. As his senses expanded, he felt as though he could touch every individual snowflake. His head throbbed with a mounting ache, but he did not falter. In that moment, he sensed something hurtling toward him from behind. For a fraction of a second, he discerned the creature's head and torso through his heightened awareness. He lashed out, his whip coiling through the air. As he felt it bite into the creature's neck, the pressure in his skull became an agonizing roar. With a violent jerk of his arm, he severed the head and retracted his senses.

  Before he could even register his success, something slammed into his back, throwing him to the ground. He felt a rush of warm liquid drenching him. He had dropped his whip when he pulled back his perception. He could not rise. Whatever lay atop him was immensely heavy. His face was buried in the snow, cutting off his breath; he thrashed in a desperate fit of suffocation.

  Then, someone hauled him upward, and the weight vanished. It was then he realized the warmth flowing down his back was fresh blood. Linyu was helping Lin-Shu to her feet. Wiping the snow from his eyes, Byuga looked at the fallen nightmare. A demon, twice his height, lay decapitated. Its body was a spindly, repulsive thing. Its limbs were so thin it seemed a miracle they could support its weight at all. It had a waist so narrow it appeared gutted, and hips of unnatural breadth. Its chest was sunken, and its entire form seemed to shimmer and pulse as if constantly vibrating. Its black skin flickered, vanishing and reappearing against the white snow like a dying shadow. He could not tear his eyes away.

  He didn't find his whip until Makar handed it to him. The Jado prince wiped the blood from his nose and offered a grim smile. He said nothing, but he caught the look of newfound respect in Linyu’s eyes. Yet, the young Bahysa watched Byuga with a lingering bewilderment. He likely could not fathom how a "broken" man could achieve such a feat. As Byuga helped Lin-Shu up, the young man continued to stare, as if searching for some hidden deformity of the soul.

  Once he was certain the girl was unharmed, Byuga brushed the snow from her clothes. To his surprise, she threw her arms around him. Knowing she could not reach him with words, she chose this embrace to show her gratitude. He returned the gesture, a warmth spreading through his chest.

  "We must move," he said, turning to Linyu. "We stay away from fires and Bahysas—away from everything but our own hearth and each other." Linyu seemed dazed, his eyes distant. Byuga raised his hands to sign, but his fingers were stiff with cold. When the meaning finally took hold, the young man shook off his shock, bowed, and began to clean himself. Byuga took Lin-Shu’s hand and began to walk. As Makar passed, he clapped a heavy hand on Byuga’s shoulder and grinned. His thick, long mustache swept upward. In that moment, the Jado prince saw the pride of Balbun reflected in him.

  They made swift progress that day. The cold had settled into their very marrow. Byuga moved with difficulty, disgusted by the sensation of dried blood caking his back. Eventually, they reached a city—one they were certain appeared on no map. Both Lin-Shu and Byuga racked their memories, but found nothing. The architecture was new, evident even beneath the drifts of snow. Yet, they saw a light within. With nothing but jagged peaks surrounding them, they had no choice but to seek shelter. If they bypassed this place, there was no telling where they might find haven.

  "The monks are at most two days' journey away."

  "We will not survive that long," Byuga signed, his hands trembling so violently that each gesture required a monumental effort. He drew his whip and coiled it around his wrist. His vision was blurring. He did not know if it was the cold, but he knew he would soon be blind—whether in a month or a year, it mattered not. He swallowed hard and walked toward the structure. He would not die here. His uncontrollable power might be his only path to survival, let alone life. He would learn its secret. He surprised himself; he had thought his purpose was to warn the world of the demons, but perhaps, in the dark corners of his heart, he only cared for his own skin.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He banished these thoughts, descending the slope with his companions toward the gates. The dim lights from within were nearly swallowed by the heavy blizzard. As they approached the gates, they found a path carved through the snow. Stepping into it, Byuga realized for the first time just how much snow had fallen over the weeks. They walked through a trench nearly three meters deep. He dared not imagine what would happen if the skies did not clear. It felt as though the snow would never cease, until cities and homes were buried for eternity.

  Passing the walls visible through the drifts, they entered a courtyard filled with snow-capped mounds. This was unlike any Bahysaron architecture he had seen. The style was familiar, yet fundamentally different. With every step, his curiosity deepened.

  As they reached the great arched doors, Makar stepped forward to knock, but the doors swung open of their own accord. As the accumulated snow tumbled inward, two figures emerged bearing torches. Byuga recognized them instantly. Their heavy armor was etched with intricate symbols and engravings. The sigil upon their helms was one he had seen a hundred times in his scrolls. It was the mark of the Primas—the high council of mages from the other side of the world. He gazed in awe at the men who stepped before him. These were the Perlam Guardians.

  As he stared, his jaw quivered. One of the men spoke. Unable to hear, Byuga looked to Linyu. The young man stepped forward, and a brief exchange followed. Suddenly, another Perlam Guardian stepped from the shadows, drawing his blade and leveling it at Makar’s throat. With a grim, ruthless expression, he addressed Linyu. The young prince spread his hands in a panicked response. After a tense silence, the stern guardian lowered his sword and spoke to his comrade. They stepped aside, and the lead guardian gestured for them to enter, casting a look of pity toward Byuga.

  The moment they crossed the threshold, the heat hit them. It was an unnatural warmth, as if they had stepped into the maw of a great furnace. The Prince of Jado looked about as they moved through the T-shaped entrance, passing countless statues of armored warriors. Some were bearded figures, mages identified by their staves. He was bewildered. He had so many questions, but he forced himself to wait. He knew the Mashidas permitted the Perlam Guardians to roam the South to enforce the Primas’ edicts, but he had never imagined they would be this far north. The monks were the most sacred institution to the northerners; to move against them would provoke a cataclysmic response. What were the Guardians doing here?

  They ascended the right side of a grand, sweeping double staircase. They traversed another corridor, crossed an arched hanging courtyard, and passed through yet another hall. Finally, they entered a chamber larger than the last, situated in the middle of three mezzanine levels. They halted before a massive door. The Guardian spoke to Linyu again and slipped inside. When Byuga touched Linyu’s shoulder, the young man pulled back his hood, unwound his scarf, and warmed his hands before explaining.

  "He is taking us to someone. His name is..." As Linyu traced the letters in the air, Byuga’s eyes widened. "Aliquam." He had to be speaking of Aliquam Menaro. These were the commanders who orchestrated the Perlam Guardians' operations, taking orders directly from the High Archmages. This place must be a temporary stronghold. He waited with bated breath, imagining the man’s countenance.

  "Keep your eyes on me," Byuga signed. "Translate what I say."

  As Linyu bowed, Byuga glanced at Lin-Shu behind him. She looked deeply unsettled. The Jado prince took her hand, removed one of his gloves, and kissed her knuckles. She offered a small smile, and he was glad to see her relax, if only a fraction. When her gaze shifted behind him, he turned to see the Guardian beckoning them inward. He entered first, followed by Linyu, Makar, and Lin-Shu.

  The interior was a vast, high-ceilinged hall. Faded paintings adorned the walls, and two massive chandeliers hung from the baroque heights. The glow of gas lamps illuminated every corner. They were surrounded by four long tables where two dozen Perlam Guardians sat. Every head turned as they entered, their expressions sharp and arrogant. Yet, beneath the haughtiness, Byuga saw traces of grief and exhaustion.

  They continued walking, passing a spit of roasting meat. The aroma overwhelmed Byuga’s senses, and his mouth watered. The supplies from Chanchaung might have lasted another week, but they tasted like ash and barely satisfied. To eat meat now felt like an indescribable luxury. However, as they reached the high table, he had to cast aside his hunger. He looked at the men seated there. They were clearly officers. They bore no armor, unlike those at the tables below, but wore specialized breastplates with varying sigils marking their rank.

  The man in the center leaned forward and spoke to their guide. A brief exchange followed, and the Guardian pointed to Linyu. As the guard stepped aside, the man at the table took a sip from his chalice and spoke. Linyu turned to translate, but Byuga was already staring at the man in fascination. He wondered what race he belonged to. His hair, thick as a mane and flowing to his waist, looked almost like raw nerves. His skin had a strange, earthen texture. In a way, he reminded Byuga of a noble yet feral hound—regal and wild all at once.

  "He welcomes you. He asks what the House of Jado requires of him."

  "I do not represent the House of Jado," Byuga signed, his brow furrowing as his hands moved. "Will he not introduce himself?" When Linyu relayed this, the man spread his arms and spoke.

  "I am the Aliquam Menaro of Northern Bahysaris for the Perlam Guardians. I serve under the command of Trinidad Lizan, right hand to Archmage Klimer. My name is Onibu. And you are Shaolin Byuga, Prince of the Jado House. Now, tell me, why have you come?"

  "For refuge." Byuga watched the man as Linyu translated. He wondered what tongue the man spoke; he was no Bahysa, yet he clearly spoke a language Linyu understood. Byuga continued slowly, ensuring his message was clear. "We journey to the Monks of Taom-Dium. Beyond that, I have much to tell you concerning this untimely winter."

  "He asks if you know something of its origin."

  "I do." His arms were weary, the cold having drained him, but he pressed on. "I am the nephew of Ahyugan Kungam. I was there when the winter razed Gaigen. Before that, I was with my uncle on the northern campaign where he fell. This is no natural winter." The man leaned in. Byuga could see he had captured his full attention. He looked at Linyu intently.

  "He says they are aware. The reason such a large force was sent so far north was to uncover the cause. He wishes to hear what you know and what you have seen. However, he says he is not the one who needs to hear it." Linyu’s own brow furrowed before he finished the translation. The man rose and barked an order to the hall. Instantly, the other Guardians returned to their meals and business. The Aliquam Menaro then gestured for them to follow.

  They left the hall in a state of curious apprehension, climbing an oval staircase. The man knocked on a door ahead, waited, then entered and signaled for them to remain outside. Moments later, he reappeared and ushered them in. It was a spacious bedchamber. A massive desk stood against one wall, cluttered with scientific instruments. In a quieter time, Byuga would have loved to examine them. Then, he saw the man standing before the bed in the alcove. His hands were clasped behind his back.

  He spoke, but Linyu merely stared. Byuga nudged him, and the young prince snapped back to attention, raising his hands. "He welcomes you. The other Guardian told him you possess vital information regarding the winter."

  "It is true." Byuga was surprised. Why did no one introduce themselves here? Still, he signed his tale. "This winter is not natural. It is forged of magic, but not by mages. It is the work of strange, horrific creatures. I first saw them north of the Towers, in the land of frost. They laid waste to Gaigen, the other towers, and Nyov-Moju alike."

  "Do they look like these creatures?" As Linyu translated, the man produced several charcoal sketches from his desk. Some bore a striking resemblance to what Byuga had seen at Gaigen and Nyov-Moju.

  "Those creatures are the creations of the true source."

  "He doesn't understand. He asks what you mean."

  "There is a race called the Witches. It is they who bring the winter. They carry spheres that generate maelstroms, blizzards, and tempests; the winter pours out from within them. I saw this with my own eyes. The creatures in your sketches are made by the Witches. They transform the dead into those things."

  "He asks if you have witnessed all of this personally."

  "I have. Makar knows even more of them." Byuga gestured toward the Kardam standing near the door. The man remained, as ever, vigilant and grim. The Perlam Guardians turned their gaze upon him.

  "He asks why a Kardam travels with you."

  "Because he has no one else. And because he has saved my life more than once. Tell him that." Linyu bowed and translated. The man then turned to Makar and asked a question. They spoke for some time. Byuga turned to Linyu, asking for the gist of their conversation.

  "He is describing the Witches," Linyu said. "How the Kardams remember them. They can control them with blood magic." Byuga felt a flicker of irritation. Makar had not mentioned this to them. Perhaps he only spoke when asked. He suppressed the feeling and watched the exchange. Finally, the man spoke directly to Byuga, and Linyu translated.

  "He thanks you for this knowledge. He says the Perlam Guardians exist to protect the laws of magic and maintain the balance of the Primas Order. Since this involves magic and poses a dire threat to the realm, it falls under their jurisdiction. He is certain that a powerful dark mage, or perhaps several, are behind this. He will relay this to the Primas."

  "Can a few dark mages truly cause such devastation?" Byuga recalled how much Bodhi had struggled just to direct a single flame.

  "He says mages are not as dangerous as they once were, but he reminds us that many caused calamities in the North long ago. A sufficiently powerful dark mage can bring about great catastrophes." Byuga thought of the dark sorcerers who had ignited the Macatosh Wars—Roth and Shaibu, who had visited famine and plague upon the people. The thought of such power filled him with a cold dread.

  With that, the man dismissed them. The Aliquam handed them over to another guard before vanishing. They were led to two separate rooms. There were warm beds and fresh clothes waiting for them. They stripped off their heavy, layered garments and left them to dry. Linyu and Makar shared one room; Byuga and Lin-Shu were given another. After wishing the others a good night, Byuga waited by the door for a moment, thinking the girl needed time to change. As he finally stepped inside, a faint, involuntary smile touched his lips as he indulged in a fleeting dream of a future together.

  But Lin-Shu was waiting for him. She stood before the hearth, draped only in the shawl she had worn since Nuwailiji. Her back was to him as she gazed into the flames. The Jado heir, flushed with embarrassment, turned to close the door and retreat, but as he glanced back, he saw her raise a hand. He swallowed hard, entered, and shut the door. As he stood there, she beckoned him closer. The Shaolin felt his body go rigid as he approached her with heavy steps. There was no sound, only the crackle of the fire. Part of him wanted to be sure this wasn't another dream; he could not bear to wake into a nightmare again.

  When the woman of Nyov-Moju turned to face him, Byuga could not pull his eyes away. His legs felt weak, trembling beneath him. Her short tail flicked, catching the orange light of the fire. Lin-Shu was so radiant she seemed to eclipse the room itself.

  She cast aside her shawl. As her eyes met his, the Jado Shaolin suddenly heard a voice echoing within his mind. It was a fusion of voice, emotion, sensation, and intent. Just as it had been the night they slept in Nuwailiji with Balbun, he felt her entire essence within his head. “You are special, Byuga,” she said. “You have seeds to give to this world. No one is taken from this earth until they have given all they have to give.”

  Her hands began to move over his body. Byuga’s heart raced; he had waited for this, dreamed of this, hungered for it. Only one question remained in his mind: Would she truly be his from this moment on?

  “I will be,” the voice whispered in his mind. “I told you not to forget this place, and you did not. I will be yours.” She leaned in, breathing in his scent. She nuzzled and licked his neck, his jaw, his face. The Jado heir lost himself. As Lin-Shu led him toward the bed, her touch felt almost hesitant, as if she were handling something fragile. Byuga sensed a change in her—a sense of detachment—but he pushed the thought away. He surrendered himself to her, closing his eyes as she undressed him. Then, amidst her kisses, he tasted pleasures he had never known. He did not even realize he was drifting away, lost in a dream of pure, unadulterated sensation.