Chapter 1: Prologue

Prologue 

His lips parted, and a breath escaped as if held for thousands of years, only to turn into white vapor before his face. His eyelids started rising as if taking inspiration from his lips, yet he saw no change.

There was nothing but darkness.

He tried to raise his hand, but that turned out to be an arduous task. It felt like something was holding it in place. He managed to raise his hand only after minutes, and with that movement, a sound arose.

A cracking resounded through the black space; sounds of bones moved for the first time in ages. That sound echoed throughout the area as he stood up from the cold object he had sat on and tried to find his footing. His mind was as empty and dark as the area he found himself in. His boney hands moved by themselves, slowly rising towards his face. The touch was light and would’ve gone unnoticed without his own hands performing it. They slowly moved around his face. From his dry lips to the cheekbones, protruding like mountains above the hollow cheeks, and up the narrow nose in the middle of two sunken eyes.

His hand returned to his side, but his mind remained empty, as if he had already forgotten his skull-like face.

He took a slow step forward, the few remaining muscles in his legs trembling, trying not to let him fall.

After only a few tiring steps, there was a sudden brightness, and with it came pain starting from his eyes and then flowing through his entire body. The pain was such a distraction that he almost didn’t notice that something had passed through him like a chilly breeze had swept through his body.

Turning around, he bumped into something solid, making him stumble backward, only barely remaining standing. After some hesitation, his hands rose towards the object and felt a stonelike surface.

His hands traversed the cold, uneven surface like they had his face before. The more they felt, the more confident he became. A person was standing before him, or rather a statue, the hands clutching a sword with a blade thin like paper, yet sturdier than metal, driven deep into the ground.

He moved his hands toward the statue’s face and explored it like he had explored his own.

As he explored the face, a memory flashed in his mind. At least he thought it to be a memory of a man resembling the statue before him.

His hands lifted from the statue as though fleeing. Closing his eyes, he focused entirely on the already fading memory.

The memory brought not only images but also feelings of exhaustion, despair, and rage, and buried deep underneath these, as if hiding, a slim glimmer of hope.

Being overwhelmed by the sudden emotions, he could only loosely focus on the image in his mind. It seemed to be of himself, sitting on a simple stone throne, looking at the back of the man he recognized to be the statue before him.

The man turned his profile to him. Although he looked like he couldn’t be much older than thirty, you could see decades of experience in his tired, pale golden eyes contrasted by his bright smile; moving, saying something intangible.

The memory left as fast as it came, fading, like the emotions that brought him closer to the breaking point than the strain put on his corpse-like body stumbling through the darkness.

With the emotions gone and the memory faded, he turned around. He continued walking in the direction of the statue’s gaze, creeping forward, hands searching for obstacles ahead and, after a while, finding one. Like before, the surface was uneven and cold, but this time he found what seemed to be a door waiting to be pushed open. He put his arms in position and applied pressure, making it feel like the bones would tear through whatever flesh remained under the cracked-up skin. Slowly, the few remnants of muscle lost their strength, letting his arms slump to his side, the door standing unmoving like a mountain.

He found himself lost in his thoughts, trying to think of a solution. The memory of him walking through the statue surfaced, combined with the sudden brightness of the surrounding space and the piercing pain.

He focused on replicating what had happened beforehand, raising one tired arm to touch the door.

When his arm was about to drop again, a piercing pain permeated from his eyes, rippling through his body like a current only exaggerated by the sudden brightness.

He fell through the door like a cut-down tree, and found himself lying on the white, powdery ground, waiting for the pain to fade completely.

He lifted his head while still on his hands and knees, squinting his eyes, seeing what seemed to be a sea of red and white stretching itself out before him. His vision became clearer, and he realized what he was seeing was a sea, a sea of bodies and blades stretching towards the horizon.

Bodies of different sizes, some towering over the field like trees. Others were as small as children’s, their bodies reduced to what seemed to be white stone, with cracks all over.

Some collapsed in on themselves as the wind picked up. Others lost their limbs or heads and settled on the vast field as white dust.

Most of the bodies were of humans, some in the middle of swinging their weapons, others kneeling or praying to their gods. The majority laid on the ground dead long before the phenomenon that turned them into what they are now had occurred. Between them, giants as broad as they were tall, towering over the terrain even when kneeling on the ground, contrasted by the child-size bodies scattered over the field, most lying next to deers and boars bigger than the horses lying next to the men.

The weapons not being used were either scattered on the field or driven deep into the ground, acting as gravestones.

After taking the sight in, he started looking down at himself, only confirming what his hands already felt.

He looked more like a skeleton than a person, with remnants of what used to be white cloth hanging from parts of his body. His skin was grey and cracked like stone, contrasted by his long white hair almost touching the floor.

Turning around, he looked at the building he had just exited, or what remained of it. Now it was nothing more but a ruin made of black stone surrounded by a battlefield.

Quickly losing interest in the ruins, he turned around and started walking through the battlefield and towards the forest made of dark tress carrying white leaves on the horizon.

…

“We should head back.” Maylin urged, “We won’t find anything.”

“Afraid already?” Olwyn asked in an amused tone.

Those last couple of weeks, Maylin got used to Olwyns’s childish attempts at getting under his skin, so he didn’t take the bait. “No. I’m just not eager to find out if the first thing that takes us is the hunger or a goddam Grey.”

“Why do you think we went through the mountains?” Owlyn asked mockingly, “There shouldn’t be any of them this far north, and anyway, I’d rather deal with a couple of walking corpses than the Forsaken.”

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Maylin didn’t even bother to reply and instead looked around the dense forest and up the darkening sky.

He started to regret ever agreeing to Olwyn’s proposal. He and Olwyn have been traveling for weeks now, hoping to find anything valuable behind the Silver Mountains. They weren’t the only ones that did so. Many before them tried to dodge the Forsaken one's by going up north, through the mountains, and then to the east, trying to find ancient treasures in the thousands of years old ruins. But rarely did anyone go anywhere near as far as they did. There were too many stories about the White Stepps to which they were etching ever closer. Stories of ghosts haunting the Ashen Forest they were currently walking through. Stories of giants and other beasts still living near the White Stepp’s. Though almost no one believed those stories, one couldn’t help but feel nervous when actually being there.

“The sun is setting. How about we rest here?” Olwyn proposed after seeing Maylin nervously look around.

“Yes, good idea,” Maylin quickly replied, eagerly nodding.

“I’m going to set up camp. How about you look for some firewood?” Maylin suggested sheepishly.

“Yes, of course,” Olwyn replied with a light chuckle, already walking deeper into the forest.

Although he would never admit it, Olwyn was also nervous. He never planned to walk this far east. Still, his pride wouldn’t let him turn back without having found anything valuable, especially after taking so much time convincing Maylin to accompany him.

Walking deeper into the forest, Olwyn kept looking for firewood, which was hard to find in the darkness, so he picked up many little branches. While doing so, he heard steps walking on leaves that had fallen to the ground and breaking branches he would’ve picked up. He turned his head in the sound’s direction but couldn’t see much other than the outlines of the trees.

“Maylin?” He called out nervously.

But there was no answer.

After a couple of seconds, he unsheathed his sword. He started creeping toward the sounds, carefully listening while looking around with squinted eyes, leaving the branches he had picked up behind.

Hearing the steps come closer, Olwyn called out, “Who goes there?!”

Then the steps came to a halt, but only briefly. He could see something creeping through the woods, its two eyes giving off a low, hypnotizing golden glow.

Looking at the figure’s eyes, Olwyn felt... Joy. The fear faded for a second, and all he could feel was bliss, but also shame, like he wasn’t worthy of directly looking into the figure’s eyes. It differed from meeting a nobleman or even a king, to which he would bow not because he desired to do so, but because of obligation.

It took Olwyn a couple of seconds to get out of the daze, and before he knew it, the figure stood almost before him. Raising his sword with his trembling hands, he shouted. “For Lylyr!” and charged at the figure, swinging his sword with all his might.

The sword traveled through the air, making a whistling sound, looking to kill whatever dared to stand in its way. The second the sword was about to touch the figure, which was still slowly walking as though unaware of what was happening, its eyes suddenly flashed with a bright golden light, almost lighting up the dark forest.

The sword didn’t cut the figure, but rather traveled through its body like thorough air.

Blinded by the sudden golden flash permeating from the figure’s eyes, Olwyn couldn’t stop his charge and fell into the figure’s body. Still, just like his sword, he simply fell through the stranger. The only difference was when his skin touched the figure, his body turned stonelike, part of it shattering when hitting the ground, his expression of shock forever carved into his face.

The figure’s already glowing eyes lit up even more, shining like a bright star in the middle of the forest. His cracked grey skin healed, its color changing from grey to white, so pale it seemed almost translucent.

The figure slumped to the ground, taking deep, painful breaths.

Between them, he could hear hurried steps coming in his direction. Looking up with squinted eyes, he could discern a panting man, his gaze alternating between the partly broken statue on the ground and the pale man on his hands and knees, seemingly in pain.

…

When Maylin heard Olwyn shout, he didn’t want to go looking. It was the last thing he wanted to do. Yet, he too had his pride, though it was buried deep beneath immense fear.

While running deeper into the forest, Maylin cursed Owlyn for convincing him to come this far east. Yet he cursed himself even more for not trusting his gut.

Arriving at where he thought Olwyn to be, Maylin’s first reaction was confusion. He didn’t find Olwyn, but a being he first thought to be a man, but dismissed that thought after looking into the being’s glowing eyes. ‘Is this... Lylyr?’ He thought to himself. He’d rather believe that what he was looking at was the god worshiped by the people of Beymore, the continent he grew up on than a mere human being.

Maylin dropped his sword out of his trembling hand. His mind was empty, and the fear he had previously felt vanished, and so did the pride hiding within it. All he desired was to get closer to the golden light permeating the being’s eyes.

Before he could even take a step, the being vanished from his view. A second later, all he could see was a hand in front of his face, so pale it seemed transparent, giving him a good view of the golden eyes staring deep into his soul behind it.

With feelings of pure bliss, Maylin fell to the ground after turning into white stone.

The being, now entirely alone, only surrounded by the darkness of the night and the dense forest, didn’t even glance at the man he had just turned to stone and turned his head so quickly it probably would’ve broken his neck beforehand. Looking in the direction he came from, his eyes began glowing, and he vanished from where he was standing.

…

Appearing in front of the ruin he woke up in, he opened the door and walked towards the statue. Looking at the statue, a slight smile emerged on his face.

“Thank you, teacher,” he said with a quiet voice, soft as flower petals, “I will find them.”

His hands hesitantly reached towards the sword driven into the ground, which seemed to respond to his touch with a humming sound resounding through the ruin, like a song.

Pulling the sword out of the ground, the statue crumbled, turning into white dust, slowly falling to the ground.

Giving his teacher's remnants a last somber look, the man’s eyes yet again lit up golden, and he vanished, making the dust swirl up, leaving only a white cloud behind.

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