We awoke in the small cabin, exhausted and shivering. The fire had died, and no one wished to retrieve more firewood, evidently; thus, the room had turned bitter with the outside world’s frost. I would have had my Soulborne do it, but I had slept soundly and deeply. It was a rare thing to pass through the night without waking, gasping, and sweating, staring around as if the horrors of my nightmares had infested reality. Yet, for this respite, I still awoke cold and stiff, wishing I were home again. It was not always nightmares of that which I’d lost that haunted me, but the memories surfacing in the quiet twilight of morning. Daydreams of small things—details glimpsed through the murk. Demetria’s hand in mind as we walked through the grasslands beyond the city’s limits, escaping it all. The days before her departure. A certain dread in the back of my mind I refused to acknowledge, refused to validate. Her soft persuasion in finally convincing me to pursue the arts, for the world had enough Sorcerers and generals. But not nearly enough people offering their voices for the weak. Be their voice. Guide them. How wrong she ended up being. How wrong we all were.

  We left the cabin, entering into the frozen highlands with sighs of sufferance. I kept an eye on Emalia as we went, but the deathly grip that held her so tightly the night before had loosened tremendously, and she moved along without much issue. Minor frostbite and a cold were all she seemed to be struck with after her fall and burial in the snow, miraculously enough. And yet, she kept her distance from me. At first, I assumed it was shame for risking our lives, but quickly enough, I caught the way her eyes flicked to mine, then Protis, then away, and knew it had to be more.

  When we were trudging our way through the high snows of a summertime shepherd’s trail, I caught up with Protis at the front, huffing with the effort. It strode in silence, not even turning to register my presence, though I knew it was foolish to believe it didn’t realize I was there.

  “When you carried Emalia back to the cabin, did she say anything to you?”

  “Do you order an answer?”

  I squinted up at the creature. “Why would you require something so direct?”

  “Promises and oaths of the living.”

  “You believe it is beyond your comprehension.”

  “No. Beyond my… belief.”

  “Belief.” I smiled. “You are something else, Protis. I wish I would have wrought you into this world sooner.” When Protis did not respond, which was all but typical of the intelligent yet utterly distant Soulborne, I answered, “Yes, consider it an order.”

  “She says you have made a promise with her, and she with her god. This promise of the truth has been learned and will be later revealed. The end comes then.”

  “Emalia knows the truth of my people?”

  “It seems so.”

  My shoulders dropped, and a horrible knot of hate welled in my gut. “She knows, and she does not tell me?”

  Protis kept forward at a steady pace, but its head turned, and its eyes were deep and black in the bright of the snowy world around us. “I can read scents in the sky, dangers in the dark, taste fear in flesh and relish it. But the workings of the living allude my teeth.” Its gaze turned towards the thin trees to our west. “She smelled of Spirits. Like you.”

  “Her god, then.” I made myself remain forward, for I wished to turn and find the priestess, grip her, and demand answers. I wanted to menace her, but that would be hasty. First, it would be prudent to understand. She claimed visions from Raizak, the Vasian god of Souls, the mind, and cunning—and also the one who supposedly betrayed Rotaal to gift humanity its consciousness. A rebellious diety, certainly. I cannot rule out divine visions, not entirely. Her god may exist, and it may speak to her, but this is not something I can verify. While the others said she had a seizure of sorts and smelled of Soul magic, that was not confirmation of any religious significance. Many Sorcerers struggle to control their abilities, and thus, they seep out in the oddest ways. Sometimes, however, the inflicted have no capacity with magic at all, and it is something beyond them. Up until now, I’d taken for granted that she was a priestess and one with particularly fervent beliefs that merely manifested in a persuasive manner, but if she was learning information from these visions… That changed everything. And I wasn’t exactly sure what it could mean.

  “Do you think her a threat?” I asked, finally.

  “She may be.”

  “You seem indecisive to a simple question.”

  “No teeth for killing.”

  I bowed my head, staring at the ground. Emalia was smart, cunning, and one for plans and grand schemes—we were not unalike in this way—but Protis was right: she was not a killer. It seemed entirely outside her nature. Only in fear, desperation, and to save the life of one close to her could she muster the courage to lift a blade to kill. And in this, the difference between us was utterly irreconcilable. Does this make me a horrid person? A villain? I would hope not. I would hope it simply reflected on the differences in our experiences, for my moral fiber had been tested and stretched more thoroughly by the darkness of my time. I could not be blamed for this. I was not wrong, but simply different.

  The question of Emalia would haunt me, and I spent the day churning questions over in my mind, weighing possible avenues of solutions. None seemed appealing, so in the end, I resigned myself to setting the issue aside. When we reached Drazivaska, I would reassess, perhaps, and remain on my guard. For as much as I wished to find the truth of my people now, it would put my life at risk. In the end, I did not wish to kill her or Sovina, even if that meant remaining ignorant about that which I cared so deeply.

  Feia must have sensed this foul mood overtake me, for she walked by my side during this frigid hike through the peaks of these western lands. We eventually found ourselves summiting a craggy mountaintop far above the tree line, and though our breaths were short and minds fogged in a dull ache, the sights unveiled before us were beautiful things. The grand mountain range all around, the valleys filled with trees and curving rivers, and west, beyond the mountains, I could see the leveling of hills and beginnings of the land of the Kosicans.

  “You nearly gifted your Soul to Hazek’s High and Low for a Column slave,” Feia said eventually, when we were far from the others.

  I sighed and looked away from the landscape, facing her. She was sharp and focused, like a couched spear, aiming through me. She’s been thinking on this, stewing in it. “I took a risk, but it was not one I feared would seriously endanger me.”

  “Did you need to have gone, Daecinus Aspartes?”

  “My Dead become difficult to control at a distance.”

  “So you say, but my question still remains.”

  I, unlike most men, would not bow under even her harshest gaze but met it evenly. “I judged it was necessary. And while it is a kind thing that you care so for my health and well-being, I can assure you that the dangers posed were not severe.”

  “And how can you know this? Are you so ancient, so wise that nothing escapes you?” She leaned forward, pressing against me, eyes daring mine with a defiant heat that seemed both petulant and knife’s edge sharp. But also passionate. “You could have been wrong, Daecinus. For all your confidence, you might have died like any other man, and no one would sing of your name and deeds again.”

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  I reached out and held her by the shoulders, looking down into her eyes. “Do I seem a man who cares for the words of others after I die?” I let the question linger, and because it was one she clearly didn’t expect, I managed to afford a brief stretch of silent consideration before I continued, “I wanted to help, Feia, for she has been a friend to me when, for many reasons, she should not be. And it put me in danger, and for that, I apologize to you, for I do not wish to frighten you with my perishment nor wager my life casually. I am truly flattered that you care for me so.”

  She regarded me dubiously, but the anger in her previous glare had waned, and so she pursed her lips and frowned away. “My anger is a righteous one, but when I wield it, you make me feel like a fool for questioning you.”

  “It is not my intention to make you feel foolish.”

  “Not as a scolded pupil,” she said, squinting back at me. “But… for doubting you.”

  “Do not feel ashamed. Many others come to the same realization.”

  My smile did not seem to dissuade her from punching me in the chest, and this did not dissuade me from pulling her close to me and leaning down till our faces were but an inch apart. “We will be spending more days in these mountains walking through the cold. How would you like to pass the time discussing Sorcery with me? I would wish to learn more about the current state of Soul magic. But more, I would like to awaken the potential within you. It stirs, begging for nourishment and release. Would you like that?”

  She grinned, and her teeth were white and shown hungrily. “I would.”

  Through the long, arduous day, we spoke of Sorcery and the finer details she was ignorant of. Though it’d been evident to me from the beginning, it was further clarified how drastically different the state of the world was from when I had left. In Pethya, we had large constructions imbued with Sorcery, but Vasia had pursued its policy of grand Wonders with far more fervor, but this was a past thing now. Vasia’s borders had shrunk, leaving a legacy of abandoned Ruins that blighted the lands with leaked necromantic power. The Fallen Cities of Rotaaland and Elansk were examples of such Ruins, though there were more, including Drazivaska. It was a city of a kingdom that had emerged in the early days of Vasian dominance, though now the civilization was a wasted, feeble one well past its days of glory. Drazivaska had been home to a Vasian folly of the most dangerous kind—an attempt to construct a portal of direct access to the Lower Spirits. This, evidently, had been tried before, with a city called Neapoli in the southeast, near a mountainous region dubbed the Silver Peaks for its richness in precious metals. Neapoli had scorched the land with curse horrid enough to render the entire island it was built on as inhabitable and the land around it threatened by Dead incursions. Such folly was underscored by a relatively recent increase in Sorcerers going mad and violent, which, when paired with the general deterioration of access and control of Soul magic, led me to believe that there was some fundamental, metaphysical shift occurring that inhibited Sorcerous efforts on a grand scale. Uncontrolled hordes of Dead ravaged the frontiers on a constant basis, with further-reaching incursions recorded and whispered about—including multiple battles against significant Dead hosts. Some were even paired with uprisings, though none succeeded past eliciting more chaos and death.

  But the general weakening of Sorcery led me to believe that Vasia had stumbled its way into ruining the foundations of Sorcery itself. This folly, as horrific as it was, did not surprise me, for the Vasians had always been a hasty, ambitious people who thought themselves gods among men, incapable of blunder. When I mentioned this, Feia grinned and cackled, and went snickering on about my speaking the webs of fate. I paid little mind to her oracular gestures. Sorcery, for her, was bound up in mysticism and the hazy arcane. It was an escape from the mundane, which was likely intertwined with the trauma she had suffered long ago.

  I had tried to withdraw some details of her past in our moments of quiet and privacy, but she was a guarded woman, and my attempts were met with stiff resistance. So I did not press further. And she hardly made an effort to press me, and for this, I was grateful.

  The same could not be said for Sovina, however.

  It was late, and I sat in my thin clothes upon an outcropping boulder and looked over the moonlit turnings of the landscape. And that was where the warrior found me.

  She was still in her battle gear, which alerted me to her arrival with the clinking of mail. I watched her navigate the icy stones with care. She had dark hair always hidden away, but now it was out and spilled around her face in a rather unkempt, curly mess, though she was beautiful enough in her sturdy, determined way that she looked the warrior even with the hair of a maiden. A strange time this was indeed. I looked on, amused at such thoughts. She had threatened me in many ways, oftentimes with my death, and yet I was judging her features as if we were friendly acquaintances. The rough times of fighting and adventure certainly spun up the oddest relationships.

  She stood at a rock next to my own, one hand on her saber’s pommel, the other holding a thick wool blanket over her shoulders. “How do you ignore the cold nearly naked?”

  I chuckled, not bothering to pull the linen tunic’s sleeves further down my arms to hide the lines of Corruption there. “It does not bother me.”

  “Why?”

  “What if it was a serious matter? One I did not wish to discuss?” Her brow raised, and I smiled despite myself. Sometimes, I wondered if the world had become more crude and direct or if that was simply my company after waking. I leaned toward the latter. “I had learned long ago to master my senses—the articulations of my Sorcerous efforts demanded it. But Corruption has altered my already variant biology, so the cold affects me differently.”

  “So you do not feel the bite of ice and snow? Is the air warm to you?”

  “Hardly. Now, it pains me some, but there will be no damage. My lineage is more naturally resistant, though it does nothing for the senses.”

  “Your lineage. What are you, anyway? Human?”

  “You are the first one to ask so directly. I am… adjacent to human, I suppose. In ancient times, portion of Pethya’s population seemed particularly capable of Sorcery, so hierarchies were established, and only those with such abilities were allowed to practice Sorcery. A positive feedback loop, as potential is somewhat inheritable.” I studied Sovina and found her frowning, perhaps in disproval but more likely in impatience. It was difficult to remember that some were not naturally curious. “Then they discovered how to stymie corruption and enhance Sorcerous capacity in one’s body—this also affected biologies fundamentally. I am the result of many generations of optimization, intentional and otherwise.”

  “Inbreeding, then.”

  “Hardly, the population sizes were too large.”

  “Hm.” She nodded brusquely, looking out. “Emalia had a vision. She won’t speak of it, though.”

  “Why come to me, then?”

  “Do you know anything?”

  “Why should I tell you if I did? Are we not enemies under a pretense of temporary peace?”

  She shrugged, pulling out her saber to check if it stuck before sliding it back in its scabbard. “This is fair. But as the days have passed, I’d like to think the chances of us sacrificing you have shrunk. I’m thinking Emalia’s path forward has changed, perhaps—”

  “You would be wrong.” I stared into the darkness so I would not glare at Sovina. “She has learned of my people from her so-called visions. She holds back the truth for fear of inciting violence.”

  Her breath caught. “How do you know this?”

  “She told Protis, for some reason. An admission of guilt in a time of weakness, perhaps.”

  “Gods. Raizak issued his commands to her, truly.”

  “If that’s what you believe.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked, and I looked over to find her brow furrowed over searching, almost threatening eyes.

  “It means the origin of her visions may not be so spiritual after all. Or rather, a different sort of spiritual.” I stood, folding my arms across my chest, feeling tired and suddenly quite cold. “She could be talking to Spirits, Sovina.”

  “Impossible. She is a priestess of the Column.”

  “When did she first have her visions?”

  Sovina squinted up at me. “Upon visiting the highest floor of the Column. A place of divination. Of the most sacred worship.”

  “Is it imbued with Sorcery?”

  “The place is a mystery to all except the highest priest.”

  I stepped across from my boulder to hers, leaning over her, pressing into her space as an arena warrior might do to another before the swordplay began. “Then it may be prudent to begin wondering why you have been set out to gather the heart of a Sorcerer more powerful than any in your time and bring it back to your Column for unexplained rituals. Perhaps it isn’t your god speaking to her, but a particularly motivated High Soul. And you are but pawns to some creature’s schemes.” I turned away and strode back to camp, not allowing her a moment of response.

  It wasn’t truly possible, what I was claiming. According to Feia, Vasia hadn’t pierced the layer of High Souls, accessing the collective consciousness of all the Dead, where capacity for reason was kept. My Soulborne Protis was born of the moment, called forth from the sacrifice of the living all around it. But access to far greater powers of intellect and thought without relying on sacrifice? That was locked behind the vaults above, where my Grand Observatory had been focused, keen for breakthroughs never to happen again, for it was surely destroyed.

  As such, it was nearly impossible for Souls to imbue themselves in Emalia’s mind, even if it was a convenient argument. But it was a good question to set them to ponder, for it might save me from their sacrificial intent. Besides, there was the slightest chance that Feia had been wrong, and this Column, so oft-spoken of, had powers beyond her understanding, beyond the priestesses’. A slight chance, yes, but one nevertheless.

  And that, while terrifying as it was in Vasian hands, made me smile. For if it did, then there was a chance my efforts with the Observatory could come to fruition after all.