Build not where the water collects

Build not where the earth is soft

Build not where the sea can rise

Build not where disaster strikes

— Inscribed stone in the Frozen Plains, warning descendents of the Northern Tribes about where to settle to avoid catastrophe, transcribed and translated by the Fallen Star Pavilion

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White snow fell the very next morning, a quiet prelude to the unmistakable onset of Winter's Sorrow. Though it was not IceMourne's divine snow which drained away all warmth, it chilled the air all the same as Autumn's Colors faded away.

Molam rode in sullen confusion at the silent snowfall. Based on last year, it should at least be another week before Winter's Sorrow would begin. Though he wasn't as learned as the scholars of the Fallen Star Pavilion in the weather patterns of Winter's Sorrow, he was certain that the city of JiangXi was not ready for snow to begin so early this south of the Northern Plains.

It would be two days before he saw the Jadeite Cliffs of JiangXi, but the journey seemed different now that he traveled alone again. The silence clung to him, making his ears more acute to the distinctive lack of clacketing wheels and laughter in the distance. The nights were longer still; he slept poorly as he tried to shake away the memory of a bonfire in the darkness, of chants that vacillated between pleading and prayer until they were indistinguishable. Each night, the tears of shame burned wet tracks into the sides of his face as he tossed and turned in the bitter chill of the night.

He wanted to forget, but he could not. He wanted to forgive, but he did not know how.

When exhaustion claimed him long enough for him to fall asleep, he drowned. Each time, he awoke with gasping breaths and startled his horse into exasperated neighs.

You are not sleeping.

Molam yanked at the reins, flinching at the spirit's sudden voice in his head. The mare whinnied in anger.

It was day again.

Sleep is good for the soul.

He busied himself with guiding his horse back to the snow-covered path, taking stock of his surroundings. When did it become day again? "There's a lot to think about."

You made a decision to prioritize what you need to do. What is done is done.

"I'm not talking about that." He deflected. "I'm worried about… about what I'm lacking. That's not the only Titled One I'm going to need to overcome. JiangXi has its own."

The Tempest.

"Yes." Molam suppressed a wave of self-pity, but the memory of those glowing dark-blue eyes haunted him from the darkness at night. The breath-halting certainty that GloomSire could have claimed his life at any time, and the intense memory of something invisible choking against his throat like a noose. "I hadn't heard of GloomSire until a week ago, and the Tempest defending JiangXi has been Titled for at least ten years. She must be his equal, if not significantly stronger."

A difference of ten years is hardly anything worth worrying about.

"For a spirit, maybe. I hope eight hundred years is something to you." He responded a bit more savagely than he would have liked.

Molam squinted at the distance. What he had thought was merely looming shadows had solidified into dark-green colored slopes. The past two days had passed by in a blur and now they were coming upon the Jadeite Cliffs that held the city of JiangXi.

JiangXi itself was built atop a series of sloping cliffs that overlooked the River Jiang. A city built upon control of river trading, the roads leading to it coalesced into a main road that ran between the city's border and the Slumbering Forest's eastern edge. The city itself came into view from afar, the roofs of its buildings sloping almost linearly in parallel with the slope of the cliffs.

The city walls were built of stone, but whether by design or happenstance, the builders had chosen stone that was easy for lichen to grow on their surface. Even coated in a light layer of snow, the resulting mesh of light green coating was reminiscent of jadeite, resulting in the walls being affectionately termed the Jadeite Cliffs. The Empire of the Sun's flags decorated the walls, each emblazoned with the symbol of the Empire: a red five pointed star in a circle.

The city itself was a border city of the Empire, named in the Old Tongue for its location on the western side of the River Jiang. Defended by the Tempest, one of the Empire's Titled Ones.

I realized I failed to impress upon you the importance of avoiding another conflict with a Titled One. Looking back at your memories, it is important to recognize that your journey will be fraught with –

"I'm not looking to die."

That is not the problem. Do you not understand the unease that haunts your sleep? Did you think that you were going to embark upon this without soiling your own hands?

"I'm not unaware about what needs to be done."

You say that, but your difficulty with sleep makes it clear that you have misgivings. Even the Hero –

Molam changed the subject. "No majestic pigeon form?"

The spirit's voice fell silent in his head, and in its absence the pleading chants from that night – from all of his nights – surged with such intense volume that Molam felt a brief pang of gratitude when the spirit eventually responded.

A pointless waste of the aura in this feather.

"Is there not a lot?" He bit the inside of his lower lip and then exhaled, watching his breath condense in the chilly air. Through sheer force of will, he quieted the voices.

We condensed quite a bit from the Inner Sanctum, but it is still limited.

"Excellent. A good reason for you to talk less then." He regretted it immediately, but the words had left his mouth and he subdued the voices that clamored for his attention.

Instead, Molam brushed a layer of snow off of his lap and noticed the armguard. The temptation to unfasten it and toss it away almost claimed him, but then GloomSire's words echoed in his mind. Never, ever, forget.

He nudged his horse along faster.

***

Unlike ZhiXia, most other cities had walls, and JiangXi was no exception. Based on his time at the Fallen Star Pavilion, if someone asked Molam what the first thing came to mind was when he thought of JiangXi, he would say that one of the historical architecture scholars loved to tell him about how JiangXi was known to have the shortest walls of any city. Being built atop a protruding cliffside over the River Jiang afforded it protection from multiple sides, and only the lower end of the Jadeite Cliffs afforded entry into the city itself.

For some reason, the city guards were checking each person seeking to enter the city for spare wood. To the side of the guards room was a stack of wood they had confiscated from the people.

When the guard indicated to Molam to go in, Molam summoned up his best cordial expression as he sat across the one checking travel permits.

"I see wood is being seized from incoming travelers. Is there a reason?" Molam asked the guard as he presented his travel pass and two coins.

The guard inspected the pass and then took the coins, counting out some change for him. "The City Lord just passed a law to prevent further logging in the Slumbering Forest for a year on account of its recent burning. But people kept doing it for money, so if the lawbreakers can't sell it in the city they won't be cutting down anymore trees. If that'll be all, then —"

"Is the line to enter the city normally this long?" Molam pushed back the change the guard at the gate had given him. He kept his face still at the knowledge of how his actions had caused JiangXi to pass a law.

The guardsman covered the coins with a hand wrapped in bandages and swiped them off the table. "Drought brings poor harvest. Poor harvests bring people to the city looking for work and food."

Molam had hoped the coin would loosen the man's taciturn lips, but it seemed he would need to press for more. He gave the man a disarming smile and pressed further, "JiangXi has a lot of capacity for the surge of workers?"

The guardsman eyed him with a calculating look, prompting Molam to drop another coin onto the table. The man smiled with a mouth that was missing several teeth and pressed down on the coin with a finger before answering. "The Prince's conscription took a lot of men. These villagers need food, so I'm sure they'll find some opportunity." He gave a dismissive gesture. "Will that be all?"

Molam contemplated asking the guard about the person he had come to seek, then decided against it.

"Next!"

***

The borrowed horse had been dropped off at the stables at the entrance to the city, but the riding gear needed to be returned to the city's Shrine. Like all main settlements, JiangXi was built around a Shrine. Molam just didn't remember where.

As he walked up the city in search of the Shrine with the saddle in his hand, he soaked in the sights and scent of the city. The citizens of JiangXi were intermingled with the traders that stopped at the docks in a flitting frenzy, no doubt in response to the unexpected early onset of snow. Shouting seemed to be the occasion as men hauled items in and women chased after children with extra bundles of clothing. Curiously, the wind seemed still.

JiangXi's Shrine was located at a midpoint of the city, a relatively small building the same size as the Shrine he had seen in the abandoned village. Whereas the Shrines of the Free Cities existed to pay homage to the Gods, Shrines within the Empire of the Sun had another focus: the Hero and Companions that accompanied him against the demons during the Eternal Night. If there were seven statues here in the past, they had been removed and replaced by just one featuring the Hero. Or, as the figure was more commonly known within the Empire of the Sun, the First Hero. A scholar from the Fallen Star Pavilion had claimed this was by decree of the Red Emperor, in the hopes that talented individuals would aspire to become the Second Hero. But there had never been another Hero.

Molam couldn't help but wonder if this also contributed to the disasters that the Gods sent. Even though the Hero may have been responsible for creating the Sun and ending the Eternal Night, it was only with the help of the Gods themselves, and Molam thought it pure folly that the Red Emperor commanded the Empire to remove the Gods from the Empire's Shrines. The divine wrath seemed justified, just like the Bloody Prince's declaration that he intended to climb the Stairs to Heaven without having earned an invitation the way the Companions had.

As Molam approached, he could see a better view of the solitary statue. Unlike the statues of the Seven Gods, none of the statues of the Hero depicted a face. Instead, the sculptors always found clever ways to hide the Hero's visage, and this particular statue wore a hooded cloak that obscured everything above the chin. Molam had examined a statue at length once and found the sculptor left the facial features completely blank, so there existed nothing for even the most curious to see.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Nevertheless, the items the Hero's statues carried were the same no matter what position he stood in or what artistic expression was used to hide his face: a stone torch lifted high, with a spear slung over his back, and a hand held out in beckoning. This particular stone torch was topped with a stone sphere enclosed within a five-tipped star — the Empire's symbol for the Sun.

The Shrine's attending Priestesses were also busying themselves in the late afternoon, moving things in and out in response to the falling snow. A fire pit burned right outside of the Shrine's entrance, with a crowd of people gathered around it warming themselves. Some were even using the public fire pit to cook, and Molam noticed their ages ranged from children to the elderly. Two Priestesses walked among the crowd, speaking kindly to those that demanded their attention and giving choice words to those that jostled others in order to gain undue access to the fire pit.

The sight of it made Molam frown. Winter's Sorrow was approaching and the city seemed starved for wood. On his way up, he had barely seen any stalls cooking food. Wood was being collected at the gates, but what was the exact state of the city's wood supply, and why? The Slumbering Forest was relatively close and while he could understand the City Lord's reluctance to take actions that would wake it, it wouldn't do for the citizens to suffer IceMourne's chill either. He glanced at the people's faces as he passed by, noting expressions of grim determination and resolved to look into this further if he had a chance.

Up close, the Shrine's building was ornately detailed. The carvings that decorated the pillars and walls were painted in bright, vibrant and unfaded colors. The carvings themselves seemed reminiscent of the same carvings that decorated the Oracle's mask, but Molam could not be entirely sure.

Molam paused. The faint echo of chatter had melted into an eerie silence. He glanced down at his feet to look for an indication of a shadow that was not his own, but saw only his shadow. His hand reached for his sword just as the spirit warned him. Behind you.

Molam spun around, but a hand shoved his sword back into its sheath as he leapt backwards. The assailant's hands grabbed at his legs and Molam fell backwards, the wind knocked out of him. He kicked hard, connected with nothing and rolled back onto his feet to see himself surrounded by four or five teens.

A twist of his armguard meant to summon the spirit's flames produced no reaction.

A teenage boy stepped forward. Judging by the snow on his shin and knees, this was the one that had tackled him earlier. He pointed to Molam's pack. "Drop that."

Molam redoubled his grip on his pack, reaching for his sword again. "I'll ignore this if you —"

The boy rushed forward, kicking up snow as he went. His vision obscured, Molam swung with the sword only for a blow to connect with his head from the side, knocking him to the ground. His head ringing, Molam rolled away in an attempt to stand back up but a brutal kick struck his stomach. The air left his lungs as he slid a distance across the ground and something cracked; the pain blossomed such that his sword fell from his grip and he tasted blood. Through his blurry vision, Molam heard a figure approach and felt a boot stamp down on his wrist before someone yanked his pack away.

"Grab the saddle too, we can trade it for some wood." A voice barked to someone else behind Molam as he lay curled up in a fetal position trying to contain the pain. "Aren't you kind of weak for an adult?"

"Bryce! Look!" A girl's voice hissed from over Molam's head. "Sanctuary's symbol!"

The boy swore. "Fuck it. Drop it. Drop it all."

Molam dimly heard his things land near his head and retreating footsteps, but the pain had yet to recede. Breathing hurt — something must have broken. "Heal me," he grunted through gritted teeth.

Why? I already warned you they were behind you, and you want me to do more? I decided to accompany you out of respect for our friendship, not to be used as a tool and talked to only when you need me.

"You —" He coughed as he flipped himself onto his stomach, feeling a fresh spasm of pain as he tried to push himself onto all fours. All he could manage was short stuttering breaths and in between them, he forced out the words. "Is now … the … time?" He coughed, the tangy taste of blood filling his mouth. Sucking in the cold air through his teeth, Molam's blood boiled at the spirit's sentiment through his pain. "If you… had … helped me … to scare them off …"

I am not to blame for your situation, boy. Perhaps the Oracle is right to refer to you as a child.

His wrist flared with heat and his stomach itched. Moments later, the pain transitioned into a manageable throbbing.

You might consider it unfair that you are here as a tool, but it was not by my decision. You earned my friendship on your own, and you are at risk of losing it.

Molam spent another moment on all fours, reflexively tensing his abdomen to ensure he could move before he sat upright and looked around. The children were nowhere to be seen, and the contents of his pack sprawled out on the ground in the snow next to the saddle.

"Losing your friendship?" He felt insulted. The spirit seemed to not understand the situation at all, seemed to not understand that he was here suffering and in pain for it, not himself. "Do you want my help with the elderwood or not?" He reminded the spirit, then spat out blood, the red staining the gray snow on the ground beneath him. "Do you think I'm here because I wanted to be? I'm here because you need to undergo rebirth."

Fail the Oracle's task and you only fail yourself. A decade of waiting for rebirth is but a passing moment if I sleep. Are you going to allow your emotions to cloud your judgment and lose your way? Do you no longer want to go home?

The remark made Molam push himself up in anger to gather his things. He picked up the saddle, dusting off the snow with more force than necessary. A quick glance told him that everything was still there, even his coin pouch. He clenched his jaw and rearranged everything else back into his pack in silence.

Though his stomach and ribs no longer hurt, his injured pride and the harsh reminder of his inabilities stalled him from apologizing. Molam fumed in silence; the sheer utter hypocrisy of the spirit claiming it did not want to be used as a tool when he himself was here to hasten its own rebirth. He only found the energy to shove aside his feelings when he considered the loss of his companion's presence.

"I've been having difficulty adjusting since we met GloomSire, and I've been unfair to you." He wiped the dried blood from the corner of his mouth, Priestess Komura's teachings surfacing in his mind. "You're the closest thing I have to a friend, you didn't need to leave a feather with me and I really appreciate having you here. I was unfair to you while I tried to come to terms with what I had done. I … don't know if it will happen again, but I appreciate your patience."

Patience is a given. The spirit's voice admonished, but seemed gentler in his head. I spent eight hundred years locked up before you broke me out. You were right: even for me, that amount of time is noticeable, made worse by only having the Red Emperor and the Prince to speak to. I will forgive you for your childish behavior up till now and no doubt, the ones in the future.

"I will try to do better." Molam inclined his head as he slung his pack over his shoulder. "But can you not wait for things to be bad to warn me?"

The you who planned for five years and successfully freed me from Crimson City had more discipline than you now. Here is my warning then: Do not wait for things to be worse for you to remember it is always your responsibility to take action. Anger leads to resentment. Resentment leads to clouded judgment. And now, someone approaches.

Molam looked up, seeing the pure white cloak as a Priestess walked up to him from afar, uncertainty in her eyes as he greeted her. Barely shorter than him, she responded to his waving with wary amber eyes, but he saw her tense shoulders relax as he showed her the saddle with Sanctuary's mark on it.

"A messenger?" She immediately ran forward and reached for the saddle. "I sensed a disturbance outside the Shrine and came to take a look and saw you getting up. Even the Empire's residents know better than to mistreat those bearing Sanctuary's mark. Did any of our residents give you difficulty? If you would like, we could search for the perpetrators and—"

"No." Molam moved his hand away from his stomach and relaxed his face. "I wasn't inconvenienced any more than necessary."

"I see." She replied with the tone of one that did not wholeheartedly believe him. "But the Whale of ZhiXia…"

"Will not hear of this." Molam reassured her. "I promise. It was a minor matter, though I do hope to get to the bottom of the circumstances that have caused such…desperation."

Her eyes narrowed at his phrasing, but she had clearly relaxed when he said he was not going to pursue the matter. "Please follow me inside."

"Of course," Molam fell in step behind her, taking care to step over the Shrine's threshold as she did. "My name is Molam, and as you saw, I was recently appointed as a messenger of Sanctuary by the Oracle. May I know your name?"

"I serve as Head Priestess Cerelia."

Molam hid his surprise. Head Priestess Cerelia was much younger than any of the Head Priestesses he had seen, all of whom had at least begun to show wisps of gray in their hair. "You must be quite capable to oversee the Shrine of a city."

"I serve the people with the Oracle's blessing." Priestess Cerelia replied without turning to look at him as she led the way. "I received notice that you would be arriving and to give you as much aid as possible, but you must understand that just like the Oracle, the Priestesses of each city's Shrines are always neutral."

Several other Priestesses passed them by, dipping their heads towards Cerelia as they crossed paths. Cerelia acknowledged them with a wave of her hand, then led Molam to a storage room where she placed the saddle in front of two identical ones.

"We haven't had a direct messenger with Sanctuary for several years, so now that you've shown up…" Cerelia's voice took on a hint of unease, "JiangXi is already having problems."

Molam wanted to say that was precisely why he was here, but refrained. "I've heard as much, but the residents I encountered earlier … solidified my awareness," Molam murmured smoothly, wondering if it was something that he could use. "I hope you can enlighten me about the situation? Surely giving me a quick understanding of what ails the city is a neutral act."

The Head Priestess seemed to consider for a moment. "I can do that. But unfortunately, I did not expect to receive you today, and I also have some duties to finish attending to as we prepare for Winter's Sorrow to arrive. I am quite certain that you are tired from your journey; can you come back tomorrow around noon?"

"I understand." Molam thanked her and turned to leave, then a notion struck him. He paused, looked to the ground, then glanced towards the Head Priestess.

"Is there an inn you recommend?"

***

Molam looked out of the window of his room from the second floor. The setting Sun doused the skies over JiangXi in a deep, burnt orange which washed away into deep ochre — a reminder that Autumn's Colors were only temporary. He breathed a sigh of discontent, soaking in the evening air and took in the permeating scent of snow mixed with the muddy slush on the roads. It would be a time to relax if the sound of another disgruntled group wasn't floating up from the first floor.

Quite a first day. The feather glowed dully from its place in his armguard. Molam contemplated taking it out, but it didn't seem as though his companion cared where the feather was placed and he wouldn't want to be forced to choose either the feather or the armguard if he was suddenly forced to flee. At the very least, you arrived in JiangXi before Winter's Sorrow.

"I wish we knew when Winter's Sorrow was coming. The snow is already falling, but IceMourne isn't here yet?" Molam left the window and began undressing himself. The skin and muscles of his body loosened with a stinging sensation as he undid his garments and massaged his limbs to get the blood flowing. He sat down at the table and gingerly washed his face with the cold water in the basin. At least the water was clean, and he dabbed a cloth into it to rub at his skin, wincing at the shock of the water's frigid temperature. The innkeeper's price for heated water was ludicrous and this was the best he could do to clean the dirt and grime of travel from his body. "I suppose it's a waste of aura to warm this water?"

You will need to be stringent with how you use it. The aura can not be imbued again without returning to Sanctuary, and you may need it against the Tempest.

"Oh?" Molam used a dry cloth now to wipe himself down. Now feeling less like he was covered in a thin coating of grime and sweat, he put on his undergarments and soaked his clothes in the water after mixing in some soap. "Are you offering to fight a Titled One for me?"

If they are anything like GloomSire, this feather is limited to keeping you alive.

Molam kept his voice level as he kneaded his clothing in the soapy water. "The goal is obviously to avoid a fight I can't win."

Then avoid escalating conflict.

"As though I'm not aware of how closely I walk towards God Yven." Molam's tone softened at the spirit's support. He pulled the clothes out of the basin and dunked all of it into another basin, doing his best to remove the soap. It was during times of doing such repetitive work that he thought the Empire made a mistake with its avoidance of the inventions of alchemists. "Avoiding a confrontation with the Tempest just means I will need to learn as much as I can. If only I had a Titled One at my disposal."

He squeezed and wrung the clothes as dry as possible, the liquid dripping down his arms and splattering fat droplets into the basin. When his arms tired, he shook out the clothes and hung them along the wall to dry overnight, then pushed the used water basins out to the hall.

By now, the skies were dark. Molam locked the door and closed the window to keep the heat within his room and rolled onto the bed. It was not an expensive inn, but the bedsheet was clean and he had been provided with a thin comforter. Their thicker ones had already been claimed by other customers, but Molam didn't protest as he did his best to find his own warmth.

"What do you think of Cerelia?"

The girl's aura roils with self-doubt. But she speaks truth to you.

"I would hope, if the Oracle chose her to serve as Head Priestess."

Molam blew out the candle and fell silent in the darkness,listening for any disturbances. There was more angry shouting somewhere on the streets, but the contents were obscured. Noting that it didn't concern him, he leaned back and looked for a comfortable position, stretching himself and feeling the muscles inside of his thighs pull from his days in the saddle. "Do you know what this city's situation reminds me of? When my village was counting whether they had enough food stored to survive that Winter's Sorrow. And when they didn't like the answer..." He left the rest unsaid.

And can you use this situation?

"I don't know yet. I'll need to learn more." But his head swirled with ideas as he shifted his head and tried to relax his neck. "Komura was right. The Oracle knows this is what I'm best at."

Molam closed his eyes, praying to the Gods to not allow those dark-blue eyes to be in his dreams tonight.

Moments later, he amended his prayer.

He did not want to dream.