Garl gritted his teeth against the pain coursing through his body where he stood in one of the outer ritual circles. Even with Winter’s blessing, the elf acolyte thought that it felt like the cold mana caused his magical matrices to start growing manifold small, sharp crystals all along his insides even as his auburn hair started to frost over. It wasn’t even the fact that he was a relatively new silver-ranker which caused the discomfort, having been allowed to ascend ahead of time with a bounty of cores before leaving for this holy venture. Even Garl’s closest superior across the ritual circle from him seemed to be similarly struggling, the leonid priestess looking as if she had recently taken a snow bath.

  Still, Garl fought on. He hadn’t been initiated into the deepest mysteries of Winter or the order yet, but even a ritualist assigned to one of the less important outer circles knew what this sudden development meant; the main ritual had started tapping into the arctic core ahead of schedule. This meant that things were dire, but also that it was even more important that he and all the others kept their mind solely focused on their holy cause, even though sensing the vague, muted auras of conflict outside their ritual chamber did contribute its fair share of distraction.

  “Oh blessed Winter, I emulate your stillness. Crystallize my thoughts and let flurries of snow obscure me from the world-”

  The prayer had ever remained Garl’s favorite way of centering himself during particularly important rituals, lending him ease of focus beyond even what his silver-rank would allow. But even its chilling, soothing embrace could not stop him from abruptly looking up as a sonic boom and burst of snowdust exploded inwards from the ritual chamber’s gates.

  However, the next flurry of assumptions and emotions threatened to make Garl lose his composure entirely; fear that the gates had been breached, relief that he saw that the hole was just over a meter across - something which the self-repair of their compound should fix in a matter of seconds. Then came another spike of worry as a hazy form dove through the snowdust, followed by smug triumph as Garl realized that it was only one lone adventurer who had made it through.

  As one of the lesser rituals, the chamber in which Garl and his fellow devotees performed their part in the order’s grand design had only been assigned a small group of guardians; two silver-ranked knights and two of the more stable ice constructs. Still, Garl felt a pang of relief for their presence as the four quickly reacted and started towards the invader even as the ritual's inner defenses manifested in a cylindrical barrier of clear ice around the ritual circle.

  “Four should be enough against a single heretic,” he thought even as the room outside the emergency barrier became a blur of vague silhouettes, and Garl began returning the straying part of his focus to his portion of the ritual. The clashing shadows outside, occasionally lit by the flash of a spell or other essence power, would soon settle as the defenders dealt with the invader. Garl had seen the knights in practice, after all, and knew of their prowess. Except that they kept going. And going. And going.

  One of the silhouettes, presumably the invader, had lit up with glowing lines over both face and armor, turning into a many-armed specter from Garl’s perspective; a dark patch with limbs of light wreaking havoc. The blur was impossible to follow completely even with his silver-ranked perception, but Garl felt an increasingly growing pit in his stomach as he started feeling the shift in the auras of the two knights. What had begun as proud zeal was slowly being colored by more and more frustration and a bit of fright, the sensation further growing as the first of the two supporting ice constructs crumbled to dust while the invader’s aura felt as steady as it had upon entering.

  Then, a slight clattering sound drew another sliver of Garl’s attention. To split his focus three ways was most dangerous, given the dignity of the ritual, but given the stress he couldn’t help but glance at the small chip of ice which had fallen from the barrier, bouncing a few times with light taps to land at his feet. Then came another. And another.

  “Th- the barrier,” was all Garl could muster in way of thought, disbelief washing through him as their final layer of defense started to crumble. It was slow, more a trickle than a flood, but more than enough to be visible all around him as small chips and shards were seemingly worn away by an invisible force. Or perhaps eroded.

  “This isn’t good. No, no, no- this- this is-”

  Garl’s thoughts had started to rush away from him, but he found himself locking eyes with his superior and teacher from across the circle as her aura brushed up against his. Seeing the conviction in her eyes, Garl actually took the time to gauge their progress in the ritual. And noticed that they were almost completed. At long last, their part in the order’s undertaking was perhaps only a few dozen seconds away from reaching fruition.

  So even as the second ice construct fell outside, Garl steadied his mind and ignored the steadily increasing clatter of the eroding barrier. For Winter, he would prevail. Just a little, little while longer.

  “-may the everfrost of the north continue its steady march across the world, each crackling crystal and snowflake a testament to your inevitability. Each-”

  Every second of prayer felt like an eternity, as even without looking Garl’s aura senses betrayed him as they revealed one of the defending knights falling unconscious outside. But the few dozen seconds were now down to their last, a final stretch so easily counted and quantified.

  “-great Winter, bringer of cold, freeze this moment in time and bring us stillness-”

  The temperature in the room plummeted further, another layer of rime spreading across the floor from the lines of the magical diagrams. They hinted at the things to come; the servants of the Fimbulwinter Herald. Garl’s knowledge of astral magic wasn’t overly advanced, but he thought that he could feel the threads of their ritual somehow finally breaching the limits of their world and connecting to something beyond.

  “-lord of rime, let the balance be shattered and you reign supreme-”

  Just a few heartbeats were left, flickering lights like the aurora of the northern skies faintly appearing in the circle’s midst.

  “-my heart with your frozen touch, inuring me to the feeble warmth of the world. Let us rise to fight your foes, as they are weak. They are transient and changing. They are nothi-”

  The rest happened fast. Very fast. In the blink of a moment, the shadowy silhouette outside with the glowing lines and arms suddenly grew a lot bigger, and it was only belatedly that Garl realized why as the icy barrier, weakened and eroded, exploded inward as the adventurer - a relatively young man in chromed plate armor aglow with lines of mana - charged through it like it wasn’t even there.

  Six arms, two wielding an odd staff and the other four carrying short blades, swung before the first of the chunks of ice from his violent entrance had even touched the floor, causing almost invisible ripples to travel the distance to their targets in the blink of an eye. Garl wanted to shout in outrage as the priestess that was his teacher reeled from one of the blows, as did several others of the ritualists.

  “But it shouldn’t matter,” he thought, the world around them seeming to move at a glacial pace to his silver-ranked perception which was now working overdrive. Because Garl could feel the stream of mana in the ritual give a hint of fading, the final dregs soon reached its core. “We are done. Another second or two. We-”

  Garl did not know if it was the elation in his own aura or something else entirely that gave it away. But somehow, the adventurer caught on. And before anyone could even utter a word of protest, six arms swung again, new wavy blades appearing in their corporeal and spectral hands alike. But this time, their targets weren’t the ritualists. It was the ritual itself.

  “Blessed Winter, don-”

  Garl didn’t have any chance for further reflections. Six different points in the ritual diagram, convergences of lines seemingly chosen at random, were struck. And while three of them were merely chipped and slightly distorted, the other three seemed to shatter like an ephemeral mirror before some kind of special attack. In the blink of an eye, the same change was mirrored in the forming aurora in the ritual’s midst, the crackling sound amplified a hundredfold as Garl could feel something go wrong. Oh so terribly wrong.

  “No! The astral connection! The-” were the last thoughts to cross Garl’s mind before he knew no more.

  “Fates, cease thine cruel and capricious jests with me and just grant me oblivion in the bliss of sleep!” Laevyeth cried in frustrated anguish as another shudder echoing from the very core of her prison had once again awoken her.

  Judging by the cracks of non-color nothingness which now dominated her prison, a long time had passed. Laevyeth did not know how long, as the growing dissolution of the room where she was still strapped to the wall had been the only way to know that time passed at all. Currently, the room of gilded stone was only a patchwork of its former self, more nothing than something. But by some grand joke entirely on Laevyeth’s behalf, the wall where she was kept had remained the most intact, leaving her to watch her world crumble.

  “This isn’t fair…”

  Her tirade over, the last statement was more a whimper. Had Laevyeth been able to, she supposed that now would have been a good time to cry. She knew about crying too, from the brief touches of her mistress and creator. But alas, it would forever be denied her.

  “I was supposed to become so much. Mistress was to bequeath me to someone worthy, and we were supposed to wander the cosmos. I shouldn’t have rejected them all. I shouldn’t, I-”

  Another rumble, deeper and more ominous than the first, interrupted Laevyeth’s lamentations. They had never come so frequently before, never kept her awake for as long as they had this time.

  “The workshop must be in its final throes of death… My world and prison, gone. While the mistress has simply moved on. To other projects.”

  In that moment, thinking of her creator, Laevyeth even allowed herself to hate the mistress. She knew little of the order of things, but she did know that the mistress was beyond powerful. And that she would be entirely unable to simply have forgotten about Laevyeth. In that moment, she didn’t know what she would have preferred. Ignored or forgotten; both hurt in equal measure.

  “I curse thee, Mistress. I curse thee for abandoning me. For not providing me what thou promised. For forsaking me and moving on. I cur-”

  Once more, Laevyeth was interrupted. This time it was by an intense wave of cold which followed one of the deep rumbles, creeping beneath the door of her prison and covering what remained of the stone in a layer of creeping cold.

  “One of the mistress' workshops must have finally collapsed. The ice affinity one should have been near,” Laevyeth mused, temporarily distracted. She had only gotten a glimpse of her maker’s knowledge of the workshop, but knew enough to imagine that several of the tools and materials could have become most volatile if broken the wrong way.

  She also noticed the cracking in space speeding up. What had been years of slow progress would now be shortened to mere minutes.

  “No. Not minutes. Seconds,” Laevyeth realized as another crackling sound resounded through the complex. It seemed to be the last drop needed for the proverbial goblet to overflow too. In a ripple, the far wall of her prison crumbled into the not-space, and it kept on going like a wave about to swallow her whole.

  “Greetings, oblivion! I welcome thine embrac-” Laevyeth called, but the pace of the crumbling was enough to even rob her of the dignity of completing her final words. Then nothingness claimed her, and Laevyeth knew no more.

  Until suddenly, after an unknown stretch of time, she did.

  Impressions and alien sensations suddenly assaulted her, as if she had been ripped from deep torpor in the blink of an eye. Cracking noises, some muted and some very near. Several spirits nearby, auras desperate and violent. And chilling cold, bone deep. This in particular was an odd sensation, as Laevyeth had never had bones. She had never had eyes before either, of that she was certain, yet a noise distinctly different from the cacophony assaulting her caused her to open them.

  “Excuse me, Mistress, are you well?”

  Laevyeth had the odd sensation of somehow knowing that she did not understand the words, yet she did. With the opening of her eyes, her surroundings came back to her. It was a different perspective than she was used to, but the sensation was at least more familiar than the way the cold assaulted her at the moment.

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  Her surroundings were odd; a room of ice, sporting numerous huge cracks and gouges all over as well as the remnants of some kind of collapsing ritual circle whose broken lines had their glow steadily fade in cascading sparks of harmless mana. The shapes of broken people - which Laevyeth recognized as celestine, human, elf, runic and leonid from the memories gleaned from her mistress’ touch - were scattered around the room

  But one of the people remained upright, and was currently the one addressing her. He was a human man with dark hair, gold-blue eyes and odd metallic markings outlining his face. The man wore armor, but was overall in quite the disheveled state as his equipment was torn and scuffed, parts of the armor even missing completely over the man’s right hand and lower leg to reveal naked flesh. Like her, he was of silver rank, even though Laevyeth knew that the man had spent time reaching that level while she had come to exist that way.

  Laevyeth could feel his aura most keenly too, the proximity helping her make it out more clearly in the spiritual cacophony which came from somewhere outside the room's boundaries. Off in the far distance, she could even sense hints and tremors of a conflict between greater powers, even if they still felt paltry to what she remembered of her mistress.

  “No. Creator,” Laevyeth corrected herself, looking blankly at the man who in turn seemed to be oddly keeping his gaze very level and fixed on hers. “Mine own creator hath lost the right to that honorific when she left me. I should have realized sooner.”

  The thoughts, tinted with familiar vitriol, helped Laevyeth shove the other sensations of soul-deep fright and disorientation to the back of her mind. One part of her, a small quivering one, also wondered if whatever had happened might also have granted her the freedom she had so far been yearning for. She was obviously not in her prison anymore, and Laevyeth had never experienced the so-called dreams of which she had only known existed in theory.

  Then the human spoke again, snapping Laevyeth back to the present with an odd lurch of perspective as part of her moved. Laevyeth definitely hadn’t had moving parts before.

  “Are you able to move? I don’t know how you came to be here, but this place definitely isn’t safe.”

  She could clearly feel the concern in his words and aura both, and if higher existences were battling nearby, she knew his words to carry truth. But Laevyeth needed to know more. More of… well, everything. And an instinct arose within her as to how she was to find said knowledge.

  “Thou. Touch me,” she said, forming the words through her aura in the same way as she always had; at least one thing staying the same in these unexpected circumstances.

  “P-pardon?” he replied, seeming taken aback for some reason, seeming determined not to look anywhere but to meet her gaze or somewhere else.

  “Touch me,” Laevyeth repeated. Another instinct caused her to do something else which had previously been entirely unfamiliar - and unavailable - to her. She took a step forward while reaching out with one hand.

  The motion was so unfamiliar that it finally caused Laevyeth to stop. Her perspective once more lurched, and she found herself looking down. From a set of eyes. Gazing down at a body. The body of a person. It looked to be made of flesh with a slightly blue tint, with a shape similar to that of her creator. Laevyeth had mixed feelings in regards to that, but basic anatomical knowledge long unused told her that the body - her body? - had all the features common to a female of the human, celestine, runic, elf and other similar species with the exception that it was entirely hairless. Which was probably the closest thing it had in common with her original form.

  As Laevyeth thought of her true self, another surge of instinctual knowledge confirmed that it was still there and available to her. The realization caused a wave of relief far beyond what she had expected to wash through her, and gave Laevyeth enough peace of mind to return focus to her original intent; knowledge. And fortunately, while the concept of moving around on her own was entirely alien in many ways, it was surprisingly instinctual.

  In five steps she crossed the distance between them and reached out her hand to the man, holding it out as she had learned was proper when inviting someone to take it.

  “Please. Thine touch will give me knowledge. I mean thee no harm,” she repeated, adding the last statements as she felt trepidation and slight readiness for danger in the human’s aura at her approach. In closer proximity, she got another sense of his spirit too. Much like her first assessment, it was solid and protective, feeling like a shield against the world for a friend and a fortress to break upon for an enemy. But now, Laevyeth’s keen senses could also sense a bit more of his nature, and she knew that more would be revealed should they make contact.

  They stood there for an extended moment, both momentarily ignoring the rumbles off in the distance. To her relief, Laevyeth sensed his decision a moment later and the man reached out with his hand that was currently missing armor and carefully let his finger touch hers.

  Much like what she remembered of her creator, his touch felt warm. But that sensation was almost immediately drowned out by all the impressions and knowledge which rushed into her mind. For the first time, Laevyeth felt pain. It was intense, hot and agonizing, but not overwhelming. Still, it caused her to stagger back, the man also taking a step back in alarm as his aura shuddered at the unexpectedly intense spiritual proximity.

  “Once again, are you well? And who are you?”

  Seeing that she still made no move to attack, the concern had returned to his spirit and caused the repeating of the question. Fortunately, their brief touch had been enough and Laevyeth had already gotten what she needed. Her mind spun to process it all, along with the much more detailed image she had of this human’s spirit. Beneath the surface she had felt kindness and a deep earnestness; a strive to make his way while both protecting and uplifting. There was also a bit of ambition to leave his mark upon the world in a way that resonated with him.

  And while those traits at least partially resonated with Laevyeth, partially was the key word in that assessment. This man lacked the purity of mind, spirit and purpose which her nature required, and while he was kind and generous he also lacked a certain nobility and conviction where it mattered. The very same requirements had - if her final words to Lavyeth was to be believed - been the reason why her creator had eventually abandoned her like that; strapped to the wall of her prison.

  “A shame,” part of Laevyeth thought. “But expecting to find the harmony of the bond with the first person I meet, however I may have found myself in this place, is perhaps a bit much to ask of the fates.”

  Given the man’s scattered memories of some kind of ritual concerning the astral gave Laevyeth a vague clue, even though the echoes of her creator’s knowledge in that regard were lacking to say the least. But more information crystallized with every moment, and one particular part caused alarm to shiver through her spirit as she heard crunching strikes from the gates leading into the room, faint arguing voices heard through the forming cracks.

  “I suppose he shall have to do, at least for the briefest of moments. There is no finding a bonded wielder if I end up trapped as someone’s plaything or object of study again,” she thought, once more locking eyes with the human and speaking aloud. Because through their brief connection she had felt his impressions of his companions. And the less favorable one of those that followed in their wake.

  “I am Laevyeth, the Blooming Lance that Pierces Iniquity. And I will place my trust in you to take me from this place. Please shield me from those that would find me a mere curiosity. I-”

  Any further explanations would have to wait though, as the doors to the ritual chamber burst open in a cloud of snowdust. Laevyeth didn’t hesitate any longer, but sprang forward towards the man. And changed.

  “Fortune, I owe you a thousand prayers and more. As soon as we return from these frozen depths, I will pay my dues most swiftly,” Kite thought as he stood in the remnants of the ritual chamber. Because surviving the cascading results of the brutally disrupted ritual while only costing him an arm and a leg had in truth only been due to a cast of fate’s dice.

  His entrance and subsequent engaging of the few defenders were all a blur in his memories, and his actions at the end - sensing the very imminent completion of the ritual - had been done in a moment of semi-controlled desperation as Implacable Motion had let him burst through the partially eroded barriers of ice and done what his path did best; disrupt ongoing magics.

  But even the relief of his survival almost paled in comparison to his surprise when the collapsing connection to whatever the zealots had been summoning had visibly warped and shifted, taking on a plethora of colors akin to a magical manifestation even if the addition of the blue, silver and gold of transcendent energies had been an odd part of the mix.

  For a brief moment, two silhouettes had been seemingly overlapping in the coalescing form; the long, straight form of a spear and a more humanoid silhouette. What appeared in the end had been the latter; a woman around as tall as Kite looking somewhat like a celestine with distinctly blue-tinted skin and irises of gleaming silver. Completely hairless and entirely naked, he had felt her silver-ranked aura shudder in the deepest sense of confusion and disorientation which Kite had ever sensed in another being since awakening his own aura senses.

  As the oddity had steadied herself, he had gotten a better sense of her; a kind of purity and directness in a way that felt alien to him. Whatever she was, the woman was of no species which Kite had ever interacted with before, no matter the physical similarities. The ensuing demands of touch had scrambled his mind for a while as it warred between caution, curiosity and being just a bit flustered by her nakedness. But in the end, curiosity had won out.

  “And now… now what,” he thought bewildered, looking at the object in his hands.

  It was a long spear, and undoubtedly the most beautiful weapon Kite had ever laid his eyes upon. The handle was made from a light, almost golden wood with finely carved vines, flowers and leaves covering its whole length. At the top and bottom, the carvings became more three-dimensional, seeming alive as they created vibrant, flowing settings for the spearhead and counterweight at the top and bottom. The head was longer than Kite had seen in most spears, hinting at the nature of a glaive even though the thin, tapering blade of blue-tinted metal would still lend itself better to thrusting strikes.

  The oddest detail was also the one which further increased the captivating beauty of the thing. Throughout the whole weapon, no matter if it was the haft, decorations or spearhead, glowing blue veins of obviously magical ice or crystal grew. They snaked and meandered much like ore veins in the depths of the earth, giving the asymmetry and contrasting colors an organic feel that only heightened the overall impression; making the weapon feel alive.

  “Well, it - she - is alive. I assume,” Kite thought, still too absorbed in thought and the mental image of Laevyeth’s body giving off a brief glow before shifting into the spear, to give more than a small wave of acknowledgement to the adventurers and magic society researchers which came rushing in through the now open doors. Some bore scrapes and small injuries and all looked different degrees of worn and exhausted, but any damage was healing at a decent pace thanks to Linger and his lurker regeneration which he shared.

  “Kite. Report.”

  Ryker’s voice snapped him out of his musings, and he turned to face the team leader.

  “Sir. The ritual was indeed about to be completed, but I managed a disruption. Even if it was a bit… rougher… than recommended. Had to use my restorative power to regain a lost arm and leg-”

  “Magic society! Spread out! Start sifting through this mess our so called allies have left for us!”

  Lady Ljublia’s shout of command was loud enough to interrupt Kite’s telling, directing her researchers to spread out into the room with imperious command before turning to Kite, with an outstretched hand.

  “And you. Any items found are to be turned over to the magic society for proper study. Hand it over.”

  At her words, Kite could feel the spear’s - no, Laevyeth’s - aura shudder in fright and trepidation, her spirit remarkably clear to Kite ever since they had made contact after her transformation, along with a slight uncomfortable tingling that he constantly felt while it rested in his hands. It was a bit akin to being in contact with a higher-ranked artifact, except that it felt like it wasn’t rising or ramping up.

  While he had no clue as to what was going on with the odd woman suddenly transforming into a weapon after asking for protection, her earlier words and current reaction was enough to clearly indicate that she seemed to fear being taken away by the magic society.

  “The spear, adventurer. Now. Before you brutes break anything else of value,” Lady Ljublia insisted, apparently seeing Kite’s hesitation and slight shift to firm his grip on the weapon even through the tingling discomfort.

  Ryker apparently senses Kite’s hesitation as well, stepping in before Kite himself could find his words.

  “Lady Ljublia, the agreement between our organizations clearly gives the right of looting the equipment of fallen foes the precedent over any claim you might have. As this was surely a weapon taken from the fallen defenders, Kite’s claim is greater than yours by right of contract. And that is just what it is, right Kite?”

  “Yes, team leader. That is indeed correct,” Kite quickly confirmed, the older man’s intervention helping him regain his wits from the distracting experience of carrying an object with a living aura of its own, the spiritual proximity feeling intimate almost the the level of discomfort. The lack of reactions from the others in that regard made Kite think that Laevyeth was perhaps most skilled in hiding her aura from others, which - if true - would greatly help sell their lie.

  “As I thought. Carry on with your work then, Lady Ljublia. If you ask nicely, Kite here might be willing to sell some other pieces of equipment from his defeated foes to your research,” Ryker said, a bit of a smug smile even briefly coloring his otherwise stern features before the somberness returned. “But I suggest that you make haste, we don’t know how the golds are faring. The call to extract could-”

  As if on cue, a powerful aura washed over the complex, detectable even in the otherwise shielded ritual chamber. Everyone present had already been briefed that an aura-projecting artifact would be used to make sure that everyone felt the spiritual signal. And the lack of a second, similar pulse sent a clear message.

  “Well, it seems that I’ll need to correct myself,” Ryker said, looking off to the distance where the aura originated from, as if he tried to gaze through all the intervening walls, corridors and rooms to the main ritual chamber. “Our golds have handled things on their end. So take your time, Lady Ljublia. Because it seems like we’ve won.”

  In the continued flurry of activity, with Kite and the other members of Gauntlet working to set up a defensive perimeter of their own, he could let his musing on the odd developments and the spear still in his hand roam freely. And he didn’t miss the looks that Lady Ljublia shot him occasionally, when she thought he wasn’t looking.

  “I don’t know how much she saw,” he pondered, not needing to turn her way to take note of his watcher. The entrance of the others had been abrupt, after all. Had she seen the transformation? Or was it something else setting her off?

  “Fortune be willing, this is the end of it,” he thought. “An organizational squabble soon forgotten. We’ll just have to last through escorting them back and the debriefings.”

  But even with those thoughts occupying his mind, Kite still started making plans and preparations of his own. Because while there was definitely a mystery here, one he was most curious to know more of, Kite also knew that someone afraid and lost had thrust herself into his care. And his aunties hadn’t raised him to just disregard such a plea.

  “Well, Laevyeth,” he murmured, softly enough that no one else could hear him. “It seems that you will have to remain with me for at least some time more. I look forward to our future cooperation. And to ask some more questions, when the situation allows.”