Cold Welcome

A leader is bound to fear, for he is responsible not only for his own life but also for those under his command. Lirien always said the hardest part was showing no fear, even when you were the most afraid of all.

Showing fear was our single, unforgivable sin.

To stand before the barrier, knowing it would breach, brought me a fear I had not yet known. It was not the kind bound to the adrenaline of combat, but to expectation. The warning felt less like a blessing and more like the fog mocking every attempt I had made to stop it.

Around me, the district bustled with preparation. Soldiers from every part of the district converged on this point. Carts rattled, shields thumped shoulder to shoulder as each squad found its place along the line and raised spears.

There were many already, but it would take time for all our forces to arrive.

They arrived in waves, their armor and the clatter of chain announcing them. Many were confused to find a breach that had not yet happened until Gustav spoke.

"We received a warning of a beast," Gustav began, then paused and corrected himself. "A monster is coming our way. We lack details, but the warning was clear: it is capable of breaching the ward."

It was not the first time he said it. Every minute or so, another knot of soldiers reached us with questions in their eyes, and every few minutes Gustav lifted his voice and laid the facts before them again.

"Warning?" many asked, confused. They probably thought a group of chainrunners had run ahead to alert us.

The notion of a message moving through the fog without boots to carry it still felt wrong to most of them. Yet the device was not a secret, although this was the first time it was used.

I kept my eyes on them, feeling the weight of the trust they placed in me, and knowing that even if we held the defense, tomorrow would be a day of mourning, because many would fall.

The monster out there, about to breach our ward, would weaken in the attempt, but the fog was not kind. Even if we killed it quickly, the fog would send many more before the ward could restore itself.

That made me think of my wife. She used to say the districts were humanity's last candles, waiting to be snuffed by the strong winds outside, one after another, and that I was the one cupping the flames.

I dared not think about her or my son; the monster seemed to have attacked them. Maybe they had fended it off and held the breach, but if so, why didn't they ask for help? And why weren't they certain of the ward's integrity?

"You're thinking the same as I am, right?" I asked the man beside me, Leslo.

"…"

Leslo's silence confirmed it even before he spoke. "Yes," he said. "The message was strange, and so was the fact that they did not use the device to ask for help defending their ward."

We had positioned ourselves on Via Appia, facing the road toward District 99, where minor fortifications meant to slow the beasts were being raised as we spoke.

People moved quickly because the work was familiar, and quicker still because the warning came first. We had drilled this response countless times; with advance notice, soldiers were already in place, carts rolled to their marks, and squads stepped straight into the gaps they knew by heart.

More soldiers from every part of the district converged on the road, forming the line that would face whatever was out there and the horde that would follow. Gustav, tired of repeating the message, passed the duty to another and joined us to watch for movement in the fog.

"Could it be a ruse?" I asked, giving voice to the doubt no one dared speak.

Those close enough to hear shifted uneasily. "Possibly," Gustav said.

"Do you really think he would do that?" Leslo asked.

For once, Artemis didn't take her eyes off the fog. "Told you not to trust that one. Snake. Still not sure he'd have the balls to pull this off."

"I have to agree with her," Gustav said. "Captain Cairen is many things, but I doubt he'd attack our district."

"I thought so as well," I replied. "But consider this: he controls District 99 as regent until my son, Omen, comes of age. If he eliminated me, he could take control of District 98, and then 97 and 96, using my son's rightful claim."

"Yes, but he would have to coordinate with 97," Leslo said. "To draw our forces here, they'd need 97 to start an invasion from the other side."

Leslo was right. Even though the message had been a strange one, it was simply too obvious. Cairen could've plotted this to drive our attention and our forces to a single point, but an invasion through the other side would mean 97 betrayed us.

We stood with them in their direst hour. We bled beside them, many of ours falling in their defense. They were the first to legitimize our claim over New Araksiun. To think they would betray us felt like paranoia.

"So we have to consider that whatever is out there might be playing with its food," I said at last. It was the only way any of this made sense.

The air seemed to grow colder at the thought, cold enough that some of us started shivering. "Regretting not retiring?" Artemis teased Gustav, who hugged himself against the chill. Then it struck me: the faint smoke curling from her mouth.

The air grew colder still. Winter was nearly over, yet the chill was sudden and sharp. I raised a hand and, to my surprise, a single snowflake landed on my palm, then another, and another.

"It's… snowing," someone behind us said. We looked back, surprised by the one who had just joined the defense.

Cedric Highrow, the son of Norman Highrow. His presence fed my worry that this could be a ruse. Gustav had killed his father during the rebellion, and even now Gustav held Bloodreaver in his hands.

By the Law of the Finders, Bloodreaver should have gone to Cedric or his sister, Hana. Yet both relinquished their claim. Cedric was a fierce warrior, trained by Norman himself, and said to have disagreed with the council, but my suspicion of betrayal only grew.

Many of them became allies out of fear of my dead brother. That fear thinned with each year since his death. A shadow that would one day fade and leave only silent daggers in its place.

Cedric and Gustav stared at each other for a long moment as silence settled. Then Artemis strode over and slung an arm around Cedric's shoulders. "You're here! Thought you'd miss the fun," she joked, drawing him closer as if he were just another old companion.

Artemis's sudden approach made Cedric flinch, though not from confusion. "Artemis," he managed, forcing a crooked smile. "Nice… nice to see you, despite the—well, the situation." The way he said her name told me they'd shared more than a few moments before today.

Maybe Artemis was part of the ruse, too. Could this be a distraction, to give her the chance to slit my throat while everyone focused on an enemy that didn't exist?

I studied her face, the easy grin, the hand still resting on Cedric's shoulder. But no, it made no sense. She'd proven loyal countless times and could have killed me long ago without a distraction, just as she'd done to many in 99.

Leslo seemed to notice my scrutiny as he whispered to me. "You're being too paranoid."

He said it plainly, almost bluntly, and I could not tell if it was my scrutiny of his sister that sharpened his tone or simply my lack of subtlety. "You sound like my wife," I said. I kept my voice level and loud enough for the circle to hear.

That, at least, drew a few faint smiles. "Maybe you should listen more often, then," Leslo said with a smirk.

Leslo was right. That was simply Artemis's way. Her careless charm often broke the tension among allies, and she read people well. It was reason enough to keep her close.

A heavy clatter turned our heads from the fog to the road behind us. Wagons rolled in, wheels grinding stone, while chainrunners leaned forward, chains biting across their backs as they dragged the open frames carrying Lucious's machines—usually scattered across the district. Today, they arrived together and aimed at the same horizon.

Lucious himself had built them when we brought him to District 98 for a year to help us prepare for this moment. Bringing a civilian on a run was a risk, especially one as valuable as him, but now it proved worth it.

For a breath, the bustle soothed me. Soldiers moved cleanly, following their training, and the road held more of ours than I had seen together in years. I felt, for a moment, that whatever was out there, we would defeat it as we had defeated so many fog beasts.

It did not last. What we heard next broke that feeling entirely.

The noise came as groaning rock, the thunderous sound of something huge and heavy coming our way. It moved fast at first, but then it slowed for some reason.

"It was no ruse," Gustav said. None of us could deny a monster was truly out there, and the only thing between us and it was a thin, almost invisible barrier.

Warriors stood ready with their weapons, even as they shivered under the falling snow.

The monster moved painfully slowly toward us, as if taking pleasure in our torment. Across the haze it appeared, faint at first, then clearer as it drew near, shapes within the fog—massive tentacles flailing in the air, some even piercing the ground.

"Evil incarnate," Gustav muttered, his grip tightening on the massive axe.

The only one among us who showed no fear was Artemis, but I doubted she was capable of it, even though she showed signs of unease. "Are you sure those weapons will work?" she asked, voicing what everyone wondered.

"They should," I answered, shivering as the snowfall thickened by the second.

The closer the monster came, the more of its form we saw, tentacles multiplying across the fog. The nearer it drew, the slower it moved. It was mocking us, and that kindled my anger. Then, at once, the fog bent and thinned around its body, as if lifting the veil beyond the ward to show us the full horror we were about to face.

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"It controls the fog!" someone screamed along the line. But no—it wasn't that. The monster didn't control the fog. That was the proof: the fog had sent it and was here, present, to watch the chaos it was about to unleash.

First the warning, now this. It had given us an advantage, a clearer aim for our new defenses and the fog knew it. It was as if it were saying that no matter what we tried, it would all be in vain.

The monster before us belonged to nightmares, not something that should walk this world. It extended for miles, as far as we could see, even as the fog parted around it.

It seemed to be made of ice, with far too many limbs to count—tentacles massive enough to crush not only warriors but buildings with each strike. They had no order, branching from one another like roots above ground. Despite its size, it moved.

Miles of ice in sight, and still nothing but ice. "Where should we aim?" Gustav asked, ready to direct the soldiers controlling Lucious's machines.

Six powerful cannons, which Lucious named Hell's Mouth, were built to defend us from the horrors beyond. Despite their complexity, the true cost of these weapons lay in their ammunition: iron balls forged with intricate runic constructs that connected to the ebony core at their center.

Upon impact, the core erupted in a bloom of raw mana that could tear a beast apart or turn a man to ash. Every shot was ruinously costly, but it was a cost I accepted, knowing there were things in the fog no blade could reach and no bow could bring down.

But where to shoot?

I could make out a faint form, maybe a body, but it was too simple, too tiny at the center. Maybe it was a weak spot, but too small for any of them to hit.

There was no doubt in my mind: this monster could breach our ward.

"Where's the Guardian?" Gustav barked, voice raw. He spat the last word like a curse and slammed his fist on the cannon's barrel.

Curiously, the one to reply was Cedric. "That's what I came to warn you about, the Guardian hasn't moved." He didn't look at anyone while he said it.

Gustav's laugh was a short, bitter thing. "So he's going to sit and wait till the ward breaches?" he snapped.

His worry was warranted. We had no control over the Guardian, but we had always believed that in our moment of need, it would move to defend us, yet it seemed it would not.

We were positioned not at the fog's edge but farther back, so we could take advantage of any weakening once it breached the ward—our only chance against horrors capable of such feats. Still, I doubted it would be weakened; my instinct told me otherwise.

With the fog lifted, distance favored us for once. I would be a fool to wait for the breach.

"We can't wait. Start the attack now," I commanded.

"What?" Gustav asked, puzzled that the command went against the protocol I had devised.

"FIRE!" I roared, voice cutting through the wind. Men cursed and moved, a chain of fists and ropes. The first cannon answered with a blast that rattled the snow.

***

My run toward District 98 had been quick, the fastest yet, even if loud; beasts for countless miles had heard me, some daring to approach, but most simply kept their distance.

I kept my aura folded close, a fist within my chest, yet the miles of ice I laid down made the air bite and the clouds sag. Wind turned thin and sharp. Snow began to think about falling. Power leaked into the weather, no matter how tightly I gripped it.

In my hurry, I didn't dare stop, didn't dare breathe, until I reached the end of this waking dream, until I saw whether it would shatter and fling me back to the Abyss with Sjakthar still alive and Winged Death blocking my escape.

Ahead of me, my vision moved, miles ahead, piercing the ward and beyond. There I saw a line of people. Among them stood someone I would always recognize regardless of the effects of time: Tarin.

Time had carved him. He stood taller and broader, stronger than ever.

That made me halt for a moment. I had considered, countless times, that time would separate me from those I wished to see again. But if Tarin was there, the others might be as well, including Meris.

I looked around and half expected shadows to gather at the edge of reality, waiting to see if this waking dream would shatter. None came. Only then did I accept that this was no dream at all.

At last, I breathed, and snow followed soon after.

Beyond that, Tarin must have noticed it was me as well. His senses had been sharpened, like Lirien's before. Could he distinguish my form even through the fog at this distance?

I thought so; that would explain why so many had come to welcome me back. Lined along the ward, staring into the fog and… and… gripping their weapons tight.

Were they preparing for a defense?

I tasted the fog for movement that was not mine, searching for whoever would dare breach the ward. I found no enemy, only ebony beasts, a few onyx, no crimson in sight for many miles.

Then the cannons—six of them—rose and aimed directly at me. Only then did I realize what my haste had caused.

A lone chainrunner should have known to approach the ward with caution, and this was certainly not what they expected. They had no way of knowing it was me, so I needed to show I wasn't an enemy.

I slowed my movement, reduced my pace, and made the farthest limbs vanish. Yet as they faded, the snow thickened, and still no one lowered their weapons.

So I went a step further. "Living mana, master of life, part. Do not blind my allies today," I said, using the Language of the World and an insane amount of will to make the fog around me part.

It was momentary, a breach in its extensive dominion over the entire world that wouldn't last long, an hour at most, but it let them see farther, to the being within the ice.

A human was all they would see through Hazeveil's illusion.

"Too distant, eyes weak," the voices warned me, despite my command for them to stay silent.

I knew that, but only one of them needed to discern me. I hoped he would, but I was wrong for thinking he could.

What I saw next were six iron shells streaking through the air at once, each one trailing a thin wake of blue flame from the runes etched along its surface. The cannons roared like beasts in unison, their power shaking the ward's light.

For an instant, I felt the ebony cores inside the shells, a tight, angry heat wrapped in rune-work, and then they struck my tentacles and detonated. The blasts rolled through the ice with a deep, hammering roar.

Two of my tentacles sheared off at the joints and dropped. I watched them fall, slow at first, then gathering weight until they hit and sent a shudder through the ground that cracked stone and flattened whatever stood beneath.

Another tentacle took a wound that tunneled into the ice. Fractures spidered from the crater, leaking pale mist as if the ice itself were bleeding.

Impressive.

So much force pulled from a single ebony core and a runic construct.

"AGAIN," Tarin shouted, and they obeyed him without hesitation.

The soldiers moved fast, loading new iron shells into the cannons, which roared soon after. Their recoil kicked the wagons used to move them. Smoke and light jumped from the mouths, and the air shimmered with faint traces of mana.

Boom—one thunderous note that rolled through the air, one that the wind carried far. Beasts stirred not far, drawn by the noise, circling and waiting as if they expected me to strike the ward next. But I did not. I simply watched, fascinated by this marvelous creation.

The second volley came closer. The shells tore through the tentacles, carving long, ugly channels through ice. One more limb came loose and toppled; the wounded ones held, groaning as the cracks settled.

The third volley came even closer. These cannons weren't meant for targets this far away, but each time they corrected their aim following Tarin's guidance to strike my true body rather than the extension of it.

When the fourth fired, I moved two tentacles in front of me and let them take it. The impacts punched through and both broke, sagged and then fell, slow as drifting trunks until gravity remembered them. They hit hard enough to shatter the ice underneath.

Beneath me, the ground disappeared under my own fallen weight, layer on layer, a pale platform forming from the wreckage of my limbs. I hovered above it all, feeling the strength of the cannons and admiring the craft that let them bite so far from the ward.

***

The monster came like a tide, slow and deliberate. Hell's Mouth spoke and spoke again, and still the monster came forward, as if we were throwing pebbles at a glacier.

"He's not even attacking back!" Leslo yelled, palm clapped to one ear as the cannons roared again.

Despite our continuous attack and the monster's proximity to the ward, it did not strike back, not even once.

"Don't get sluggish, you maggots. Keep firing," Gustav bellowed at the bowmen and crossbowmen. Their shots stitched a dark rain across the monster's nearest limbs, but the points skipped or sank shallowly into ice that might as well have been iron.

"It's pointless!" someone shouted, voice cracking under the roar.

"Keep firing, damn it!" another barked back, though his hands shook as he nocked another bolt.

"Then make him bleed for every step!" came a reply somewhere behind the shields.

"I need more arrows—where the fuck are my arrows?"

"We can't; it doesn't bleed."

Many of these soldiers were chainrunners who had faced horrors in the fog and slain fierce beasts. Seeing their runic weapons prove so ineffective shattered their morale.

The few dozen soldiers forming the line quickly became hundreds as warriors arrived from every part of the district, shields locking, eyes wide, breath steaming. Unfortunately, despite our numbers, only the cannons could pierce the monster.

However, even after correcting our aim to target the weak spot with precision, it simply raised new limbs from thin air to shield it, taking the blows meant for its heart.

Despair spread like a plague. I saw it take two young chainrunner volunteers not far from me, crossbows in hand. Sweat cut lines through the frost on their foreheads. They flinched at every cannon's roar, and harder when a fallen tentacle hit the ground and the earth answered with a deep shudder.

"Say it," Artemis breathed at my shoulder. "Say it and I'm on that thing. I'll climb the ice and stab that monster's heart."

Desperation made me consider it for a moment, but it would be impossible even for her. That weak point stood at least one hundred, maybe two hundred meters above the ground.

"No," I told her. "I will do it."

They looked at me, surprised. "You should wait till the breach, when it weakens," Leslo advised.

The cannons were powerful, but the Arrow of Pure Light was and would always be our greatest weapon against the beasts of the fog. Saving it for the moment the beast weakened was prudent, but I saw through the monster's stratagem.

At that rate, by the time it reached and breached our ward, only a handful of warriors would remain. Even now, the two young soldiers I had just watched were deserting, running from the fight.

Morale had to be restored, or none would stand. The arrow could give us that, perhaps even end the monster before it breached our ward.

"Gustav, fire again only on my command," I ordered.

"Yes, sir," he replied as the soldiers loaded the iron shells for the next volley. A quick count revealed to me that we only had enough for three, perhaps four more volleys.

I took the Dawnbreak Bow in my hands and felt its quiet pulse like a resting bird's heart. Its grip was worn smooth by years of practice that never felt enough. I set my feet, lifted my eyes to see beyond the ward, and let the shouting, the roar of iron, all the noise fall away until all that remained was me and my target.

The fog had always hidden its monsters. Today, it was generous, giving me a clear line of sight to a target that did not care to move out of my way.

Then I gave the command. "FIRE!"

And so they did. Hell's Mouth spoke, six throats at once. Blue smoke curled and broke on the wind as the iron shells flew toward the monster's heart. As before, two tentacles rose to meet the shells. They caught the blows, split and began their long fall.

I had no way of knowing both limbs would break. If a single cannon missed, one might have stood in my way. This time, however, I was blessed.

Light gathered on the bowstring as if I were dragging the sun by a single hair. The world dimmed. Snow lost its brightness and became ash, faces turned gray, steel dulled. The bow drank the surrounding light and, in moments, formed the Arrow of Pure Light.

I loosed. The arrow flew faster than I could follow, soundless at first. Then the world tore, a dry rip that split the air and tried to split our ears with it. The monster seemed startled and did not react in time.

The arrow struck. Light broke outward in a white bloom that swallowed the snow and painted the sky bright, a false dawn that made men blink and lift their faces.

For a moment, I thought we had won, but as the light faded, the monster still stood where it had been. It was mostly undamaged, yet along its distant form, shadows peeled away as if consumed by the light, and there I saw it with my enhanced vision.

I saw something that should not be.

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