The seasons changed as the pair passed through the desolate forest.

The fallen leaves vanished beneath the crisp snow, the naked trees shivered from the cold, the delicate flowers hid their leaves in the warm soil, and the birds no longer chirped their merry song.

The roots of the trees had long digested the remains of human cadavers or hid them beneath the white clouds as cold as ice, and everything died with the frost.

Winter came to stay in Aderbaal, concealing the dread that befell over the vast landscape just a few weeks earlier.

It took a month to trek from Aderbaal to the land of the deities, Salwodor, and although the druid possessed the knowledge that could take him there in no time, it was forbidden to use such powerful magic outside Sawoldor – a rule even the greatest wise man needed to abide by.

Yet it had not always been forbidden. After some incidents with druids selling their knowledge to humans in exchange for illicit services were discovered, the Council of Deities decided against the use of magic outside Sawoldor.

Now this made sense. It was deemed unethical to sell off ready-to-use magic when it took years to master such great knowledge in Boldizsár, the capital of Sawoldor.

Even if Gwydion wanted to use his knowledge in secret to shorten the distance, it was still impossible to do that without breaking the rules set by the Council who had eyes and ears everywhere.

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Everything that breathed was their spies and allies. The Forgotten Forest in Mazheven was an exemption, of course.

There, no living beings considered the Council of Deities their rulers and instead worshipped the dethroned king of Fayr, who passed away a thousand years ago.

He was indeed the true king of Fayr, who ended the Alfen Wars, and was crowned king by the six kingdoms but the deities, who instead conspired with the Guild of Manipulators, Magolia, to dethrone him and take Fayr for themselves.

Although the pair walked for several days no ogres crossed their path. Even the beasts of Sál disliked the cold and ran away to their own country as soon as the snow hit the ground in Aderbaal.

Of course, it never snowed in the land of the beasts, nor did the sun disappear for weeks like in these parts of Fayr.

It was no wonder the ogres left Aderbaal in the blink of an eye as soon as the first snow fell over the country, bit by bit, until everything became a white veil.

Gwydion peeked over his shoulder and locked eyes with the shivering boy who asked the same question for the umpteenth time. A sigh escaped from his chapped lips.

“Are we not there yet?”

“We are almost there,” he said after clearing his voice, adding. “Have no one taught you to be patient, child?”

“My grandma—I’m sorry, sir. I won’t ask again.”

Gwydion glanced at the boy out of the corner of his eyes, trying to decipher the dejected look on his dropped head.

The snow reached up to the poor thing’s knees, he realised too late, so that the boy barely could advance. He swung his arms back and forth on purpose through the powdery snow to make room for his legs.

“You must be cold. Here. I don’t need it.”

Gwydion took off his cloak and wrapped it around the shivering boy.

“T- thank you, sir. And I… I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for, child?”

Hain stared at his feet. “I… I…”

Gwydion cracked a smile upon seeing the boy’s flustered face and flushed cheeks.

“Look, do you see that tree over there? The big one? Look!”

“Huh?”

Gwydion gently twisted the boy’s head in the direction of the glade in the distance.

“There you have it, the passage to Sawoldor.”