White powder clung to the young mans face, piled on to his shoulders, slowly driving him downwards into the soft, thick blanket of snow below him. His horse had foundered long before, killed by the cold and a denizen of the ice, a great furred beast, which he had barely killed in its lair with the Mithril sword assigned to him.
Though he knew that death likely waited for him out in the cold, he knew that certain death lurked in the corners of the monsters cave, where the ominous howls of the wind competed with other, more sinister cries, so he had set out, carrying in his pack what he could salvage from what his horse had carried. That had been hours ago, but it felt like days. He legs shook from cold and exhaustion, his eyes darkened of their own volition. He knew that his body temperature was dropping, had dropped, and would continue to plummet until it matched with the cold embrace of death.
A gust of wind, funneled down from the high peaks of the surrounding mountains, pulled and pushed at him from an unexpected angle and he stumbled and fell face first into the snow. He struggled to lift himself up, but his energy gave out, and he collapsed back into the snow. He tried to drag himself forwards, but his gloved hands could only paw at the resisting softness around him, making shallow furrows that would doubtless soon be covered by the falling snow.
As he lay, feeling his life slowly leach into the surrounding blizzard, his eyes wavered, his vision greyed, and his mind expanded with new, faint, visions around him. He was not alone: here, there, everywhere, there were people. They paid no attention to him, or to each other. They sat, they stood, they aimlessly followed their own paths, never noticing anything or anyone outside of their own grey world. He knew they were the restless dead, making their way to the vaults of creation, though how he knew this, he could not know.
Again? Messa wondered. How long had it been since he had seen the listless procession? When he had taken some strong Lunan grog at age sixteen? When he had fallen from a staircase in the Palace and hit his head, and dear Mouar had held him while the other servants had rushed for a healer?
It had been too long. His minders had always told him to stay silent about what he had seen, and sometimes even he forgot that he was never alone.
Am I
dying? he wondered as the cold crept ever deeper. His breathing became ever shallower, his eyes unfocused, and it was a struggle to remain awake. Am I going to die without having accomplished anything? Lost, alone in the Winter? His eyes began to shut, and he knew it would be true. Im
sorry, Jeon he breathed, and his eyes closed.
And there was silence in the darkness, as we prepared to enter the Grey.
A flash, a pulse of
F I R E. Burning, soothing, gentle.
Warm.
Pur
pose? What was it? What was he supposed to do? Father Jeon had said he had one, but what?
You are not the ices to claim.
Ice? Claim?
I will not let you Fall into its embrace. Rise!
Warmth returned. Muscles loosened despite the cool, and vigor returned, with a fiery new passion.
The Heat spread, deeper into his Soul. It Resonated. Grew. He looked up and saw-
-saw the most beautiful, most unearthly woman he had ever seen. Green eyes, unyielding, were accented by red hair, and he felt a Desire more than mere lust, more than the mere embers he had felt towards Mouar, who could never be as Real as this timeless woman who outshone all the misty shadows around him, who looked at him and-
-bid him to liberate her with all her Passion, from chains of pure fire that bound her wings and stretched to infinity. She, for some reason, had deigned to ask him to help her. How? Was that his purpose? Did she know?
And we will stand together against your, our, enemies.
She spoke riddles, this lady of fire. He knew of no enemies he held. He had fought the Yokaido, but they had not been his enemies. He was not at war with the Chislev, and they were not His enemies. But her sincerity, her intensity, made him believe. Believe that he was watched, was hunted by forces more powerful than there conflicts of petty mortals. But also believe that She would not let him be alone.
You will help me save my Mistress.
Save
salvation was good, wasnt it? Who would deny it? Was there ever a time in which salvation was bad?
Perhaps she would save him, lost as he was. He Envied her. She was Strong. She was Sure. She Knew what was Righteous. And he could share in it, if he just accepted the warmth that was flowing through him
You don't need to be saved, Boy. Get up, keep fighting.
The Warmth abated, dueling but not replacing the Cold.
And I will help you achieve your goals.
he could not even save himself. No, not save. What he sought was not salvation. Salvation belonged to the gods. He needed
he needed
Do not Despair. NEVER despair.
An objective. A goal. Something, anything, to work towards. But it had to be his own, and not someone elses. He couldnt accept others requests on faith alone. That was what Cassiel had said. Cassiel had always answered his questions with wisdom he had not been old enough to understand.
You will succeed.
I will help you
succeed
.
You must choose on your own path.
For a moment, Messa was able to look away from the beautiful woman who, back to the Grey people who paled next to her Reality. For a moment, eclipsed in the crowd, he saw a familiar face looking at him fondly but absently. Messa opened his mouth to hail, saying Uncle-
But to choose, you must first Live.
Cabal? he finished, and his eyes focused. He was not in the snow, or even still in the grey. He could not see the invisible procession. He was in a cave, and a cloaked orc stood over him in pleased surprise.
You arent my Uncle, was the first thing that came to mind, and fell from his astonished mouth You arent the Beautiful woman, either.
The orc snorted at the first, though it was possible, but laughed at the second.
Very observant you are, he said. I suppose you didnt suffer any permanent brain damage then. Good to know.
He looked around, and saw a Gnoll and a Lizardman in the cave as well.
Did you save me? he asked them, and they nodded. Thank you.
It was at Our Ladys directions that we found you prone in the snow. If we hadnt found you, None would have ever, until the end of all times. said the Orc.
Then I owe her my thanks, Messa said, not realizing that their Lady and his vision were the same.
May you tell her soon enough. Now then, the orc began, far more serious than before, and the Gnoll also stiffened, perhaps you could tell us why a Grigori Adventurer is this far north?
I suppose this means you didn't agree with her policies?
