An alarm chimed; a quarter century passed.

The leather creaked, metal shrieked. Adam forgot about the centuries old chair. Gazing to the spread of half-burnt micro bulbs. The numbers fading, letting the last hue of red decay, twisting a knot in his stomach.

Today was the promised day.

A small lamp stood in the midst of scrambled notes. Papers stacked on high off to the furthest corners, muddled with countless thoughts, a miracle that they hadn't fallen over. He didn't need to use such amounts-- the whole process really; the ink, paper, even the desk was superfluous. But he couldn't shake it, he liked it. Writing, drawing, having a physical substance, there was just something about it. Pushing the shakes away.

Against the wandering memories.

The Void. Falling over upon himself, his thoughts, his entire world, thrown in disarray; he could barely breathe without a minder. He was less than a babe in knowing his own body.

He remembered the solid ground. The shallow cliff he laid upon, the clouds overhead.

A burn the first sight of stable color, a touch of rain had fallen. Was it warm, or was it cold? He didn't know at the time, but the world let him learn again. The days drowning one another.

It was cold.

He paused-- another deep breath. He couldn't linger. Thankful for the clarity. Cleared of his shivers, and a night well rested; absent of the jolts and sudden walks. He felt more passion in the day, leaving his heart to pick and unpleasant beat.

Soon, it would be... home. And this long, self-imposed exile would cease. The dreary days would end; a return of warm memories, and the hope...

That he would not lose himself, again.

Blurry memories broke the minutes in mind; only still images and shame. Batu, the Guardians, the look of loss on his boy especially... he couldn't bare it. Not like this, not when he was broken.

There was but a sloppy note left from his escape. Running away to his most secluded lab. Hiding. Going dark. Sealing the cold mountain, leaving but time and crisis for his freedom.

Though even in those day, he prayed. Guilt weighed upon him-- he prayed, those doors would never open because they needed him.

Because power without sense would hurt everyone he cared for.

His hand strayed along the edges of the desk. The nicks were evident. He strained a smile. Until he ran off where the right corner should have been. The smooth grain of wood was cut, charred at a sharp angle, grimacing.

Hardlight was a fickle thing. He felt close to a breakthrough, but even after a decade, there was still something missing. Something just out of his reach.

A jittering sigh escaped his breath.

The last of his work had maxed the [Notes] transfer for the day. It needed to be done, but, he would miss the printed word.

With a wave, he controlled his mana to lift the papers into the air. Another, and they were sent off to the far end of the room. A grate opened from a subtle probe, and he released. Letting them fall down into the pit, igniting, incinerating everything with a metallic echo, leaving nothing but specks of ash.

A cracking hiss shifted his gaze.

The vault door opened, lighting up a stark passage. He rose with a sharp breath. Making sure he had everything stored. Smelling his arm; the faint scent of flowers, a small hint of pride welled up from within, glad he remembered to shower. His clothes were pristine. His hair stylized short and off to the side. His speckled grey beard trimmed, keeping to hard angles his mother had given his father.

It was the best he could muster.

Heavy footsteps took him to the newly lit hall. A grunt made himself more upright. Stepping beyond the threshold, a shiver trailed his spine. Looking back to the dull room; memories of his insights, turned to refining his creations, to be something more than a quiet existence-- he flipped the switch. The lamp shut off, and the door began to close.

There was ten minutes before the power in the passage followed suit. But, maybe a nice walk was just what he needed to settle his heart?

If only?

# # #

Luck is never enough, when the demand is unending. Powerless, helpless, chased to the ends of the world. Breaking hearts at unknown crossroads, masked as dead ends, lingering on the unknowing burden, but resolved for the exchange far too great to realize the simple worth of ancient tales and traditions. Perhaps it would have been better, that it would have been right to discard hope for such legends, so nothing would change, for the few to cherish, and continue a new hope to tomorrow.

But the ways of the Spirits were not so easy to ignore.

Ingrid reminisced, the days of the Varür; wanders of the northern passes, guides of the winter's lost voices. Their hunt, unending, tied to near forgotten trails. A life carved by their fore mothers, to hold fast against lurking chills of the long nights.

She longed to return gentler times, but the day would not let her.

The sun shone without interruption, piercing though the thick, woven pines. Months of snow layered on some branches, dripping from the scarce day for the Regvic Valley. Mountains cradled the descending rings; sheer cliffs of rock and packed snow encircled the valley, sinking down till the Órgrímm Ravine, marking the edge of fragmented stories. Deeper underground, endless tunnels twisted between unrelenting beasts that never saw the sun, but would eclipse it's light.

She imagined the sight. Some great leaps from their high alcove; the snow and frost glistening, the peek of green determined to shine. Smiling at the thought. She loved the little trails made by her own adventures, the duty of a trapper she was grateful to prove. Even in this land, where her mind would ache from the constant attention, never knowing the ease of tracking, forever keeping to shallow breaths, there were moments of peace. Savoring days.

The world was beautiful in it's still silence.

It was unfortunate that the sky posed a threat to her future.

Memories made due. There was much to be done.

Away from her musings she trailed behind the concealed cabins and pavilion of pine, to a patch of shade. Frozen over by the water they boiled, the little flakes almost sticking to the ice.

Her hands, coated in Sutar; the will of the spirit, thickened, laid on top of the frozen cache. She searched for the edges, enveloping the solid sheet.

This was the moment she took hold, for if but a single crinkle was made more than a whisper she could not think of her self as a Wolborn.

She enclosed, seizing-- willed-- the ice broke with a muffled wake.

Ingrid smiled, it was better.

The ice was brushed away from the cured pelt layers. Leaving only the finest working offerings for her family. Their coats were due for a change, and a bit more growth.

She held the cuts of a beast that would fell anyone of them by their lonesome. Peerless this land might be, the scattering of their tribe; an ache the cold could never truly dull, her grandmother commanded, and left them in the most desolate land they could still thrive. Away from prying eyes, was hope.

And for Alma, there was nothing they wouldn't give.

Crack!

Branches shattered-- her peace was broken.

Her twin axes took over her hands. The pelts crunched into the snow without care-- instantly her sense spiked, her Sutar flowed. Hearing the tumble and crash, she peered the origin; the coalesced ball of snow, breaking to see a figure groan.

"Faðir!" She rushed, uncaring of her steps. Helping him up. "Faðir, what's happening?"

Ulf, scared from a hundred ill-fated hunts spit blood, rose with defiance, his sword glistened, shield chipped. His teeth grit red, struggling to breath. Glaring up the ridge, a single word was all that was needed. "Dragor... His man has found us."

Her world shook. A rush of dread flooded her veins, colder than the heartless winds of the frontier.

She was forced back-- two blows hit the cabin, knocking down the weeks of snow.

A spear cut through. An arm reached out, fighting off the pain.

"Sven!" She called, her father rushing up over the ridge once more. The sounds of metal clashed. Leaving to run to her husband's aid.

His legs shook, he struggled to stand even with her support.

Their eyes met; with all the love of their first meeting. A gathering from their Sister tribes that neither thought to be so festive, turned with a glance. A word was all he asked for their bond to be forever tied to the Realm of Spirits. They never hoped for so much, but now, there was a truth to their love. A purpose that was greater than one another.

A single breath escaped his lips. "Alma..."

She looked into Sven's blue eyes, taking all that she could. A kiss much too quick for her heart.

But it gave enough for her Sven to grit his teeth and stand.

She yearned, ready to run, her spirit committed to a new motion.

A burst of wind, and the sight of her father shattering the woven branches changed it all.

Before a few leaps stood a short man. Gruff, but sharp, his appearance unlike anything she ever seen. The shallow tan mixed with his black speckled-grey beard and hair. Stood against her family's blond hair and light skin. His clothes; buttoned leather, packed and creased with puff, paired with boots outlined a foreign presence.

Had Dragor spent his fortunes to hunt them?! Ingrid never would have thought the part. If he still desired a seat on the Durgard Council-- never, it's not possible? Unless something changed, Grandmother...

"Ingrid." Maðir spoke, returned over the cabin to raise Faðir. Sharing a look; one knew by all.

Together.

Sven rushed around, Faðir took the front. She and Maðir enclosed the sides.

The enemy raised a brow, grimacing at the sight of her bloodied father.

Their forms flooded with Sutar, sinking the area in a chill; as the snow merged, and the ice took over.

Her heart beat with a beast's fury. Together they would survive, not even the likes of Dragor would leave unscathed. Not when everything was on the line.

Their Sutar pulsed as one, linking together, they knew each other-- The Agrio Circle formed. The hunt began.

As one they echoed their most profound technique.

Igni's Bite.

The frozen ground shattered.

A faint wolf's maw formed over her and mother's axes.

Her father added his triumph.

[Frosted Edge]

His sword and shield pulsed with a chilling cut.

Sven called his own.

[Breath of the Junär]

His spear whistling as the storms of the endless night.

Together, they had the will to fell any beast... to see the light of tomorrow, they would end it here...

But the man just sighed, "It hasn't even been an hour... I can't, I'm sorry for this..."

There was a blur-- the circle shattered, and before the pain came to her. The world went dark.

# # #

"Can you sound this out?" A distant voice trailed her ear.

"Re-Ren-aaaaa-g-ade. Ren-a-gade. Renegade." Alma's voice came sweet. Ingrid could almost imagine her concentrating; her eyes leering. The budding resolve at each turn, till the end, she could hear it, her smile.

She felt it like a dream-- her eyes shot open. Ingrid flew out of bed.

"Good job." The door to the bedroom shot open.

Before the gentle fire, she saw the stranger seated in a chair that they did not craft, rocking back and forth. Alma sat in his lap, nestled in a soft blanket holding a unknown book.

"It looks like your mother's awake, Alma." The stranger spoke with a soft smile. "Would you give us a few moments?"

Alma's snowy hair shimmered with a nod, jumping out and taking the book to her room nearby. The soft click settled some worry. But the man stood motioned her to the dinning table.

There wasn't much room thought.

It was a single space, for their gatherings, cooking, and rest area. The few chairs near the fireplace weighted thick blankets and warm furs, the rest were paired with the dinning table.

Her eyes drifted to their entrance, a crack letting in light. Dusk was near.

She took a seat across from man, tension in her shoulders. The feeling familiar; the hunter turned hunted, and prey. Only this time she couldn't see a way out, if things should turn... she could only hope Alma remembered her.

"Cute kid." Ingrid twitched. "Sorry, I don't have any alcohol with me."

Her heart racing to catch a glimpse of hunter. Where they stood, was it high or low? Maybe... just, she could lead him to something else. Away from her love. "Why are you here?"

The man paused. His expression, strange, almost slow; unsure of what to show.

Her heart pounded against her chest. The man tried to hide a sneer against his tight lips. She expected something, a flare of Sutar, a harsh retort; men from the settlements never did learn, the weak sent back with bruises. Did they not have ears? Or eyes?! No doubt their loud mouths eclipsed the caravans' that traded their wares and tales. Countless warnings they gave, yet many still desired to simply take.

She thought this man the same, but his eyes didn't linger here; not in the moment, so far bellow him it was, he looked to the fire, the flicker of flame in his eyes, dancing almost by it's own whims.

She prayed to the Spirits, this man wasn't a flame.

Yet their eyes met, and a frown showed. Her hands gripped the hemp of her pants. Perhaps this is the end, against this man she could not face Dragor, but, if nothing more, at least another prey to take and let her family escape.

"Please, don't take my child." Ingrid pleaded, her eyes bowed. There was no other way. "Anything-- I'll give you anything you wish, just not my child-- not her, please..."

A promise broken before the Spirits would never find love in death. Her ancestors might scorn her, but Sven would understand. Alma is the only thing that mattered.

She waited, until she heard a hurl?

Her eyes shot up, seeing him out of breath, hand over mouth, pain in his eyes.

"Stop. It." He spoke through grunts. "I'm--" the man choked, "not here for anyone. I even don't know who you people are!"

She blinked. Then why... why was he out here? She needed to know. To hear the words, "Your... not one of Dragor's men?"

The man's confusion came quicker, "Who?"

"Dragor; the Frozen Fang of the Borlnn Steeps?" The man was still not there, perhaps "The Grendel on the Bone Throne?"

Again, confusion?

Who is this man? Ingrid thought. To not know such a cold butcher?

Foot steps creaked, Ingrid looked over. Seeing Sven at the edge of battle-- they shared a look, a nod was enough to bring him over. He sat, reaching for her hand. She took it into her own, as some of the tension bled to bliss.

Sven looked on, "What will you do with us?"

"Nothing?" The man sighed, an arm rested on the table propping up his head. "Listen... I, really don't want a part in whatever you have going on. I was just out for a walk and--"

"A walk?" Sven interrupted. Ingrid squeezed his hand. But the thought was absurd!

The man hummed, both of them flinched as he pulled out a strange cube of dark metal. The edges, indented, lit, a shiver trailed their spins, but felt nothing in the way of Sutar.

Sweat beat down Sven's brow.

The man's frown was evident. "Why are any of you even here? By this, none of you should be here, if you came across any of the real dangers of the valley, not even your resonance would do you good."

Her hunter's pride felt shame. Knowing when to end a hunt was the necessity of anyone of their kin. Her grandmother, and a handful more might be able to challenge this land with a honest contest. But if the man knew such things... well, she kept the curiosity to herself.

Only she wasn't quick enough for Sven.

She felt it, her eyes shook. The lingering touch of Sutar willed itself over the table. Her minor taps went ignore, Sven's entire pride put forth in stealth. Perhaps one of best of their generation and the last, if she was so bold. But not this man they couldn't--

Sven's Sutar paused-- and shot back. He coughed, reeling.

But their was nothing to sense, nothing to know the cause.

How?

Sven's hand held a tremor. His shoulder's looked panicked.

They looked to the main, awaiting, until... he laughed? "Ohhh, that was pretty good. You have some talent their Sven."

"Huh?" Sven blinked.

"Alma told me-- oh. Sorry, been a while." His hand reached over, "Adam. Sorry for the panic."

Sven took it, "Yet we're here."

Ingrid elbowed him in the gut, a small whine came as the two men broke.

"Yeah.. Like I said, been a while." He looked his hand, grasping. "It's bit hard to control my output when I'm surrounded."

"Then what was the attack on Ulf?" Sven pointed; his eyes sharp.

"Sven!" Ingrid tried.

"That--" Adam voice shut from a higher tone. He took a deep breath. "No offense, but that man is a lunatic. Three times I tried to explain, but nooo the man just came at with a sword. Cursing like mad man." The man scoffed, "Idiot."

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Ingrid froze, only just holding off from barring teeth.

Silence returned to the cabin. Unsure of what to do, what to say.

Adam gave a sigh, and whispered. "Probably shouldn't argue in from of the kid."

Her head whipped. Seeing a peeking crack of blue eyes and tiny hands. She smiled, they would talk later. This was much too deranged for the powerful to play, her instincts told, feeling no turn of the heart. Especially with the man's lack of pride.

Her hand broke Sven's and beckoned her love over.

Alma pulled the door, rushing to her mother's arms. Hoisted up to her lap, the book cradled to her chest-- shoved forward, throwing a leer at the man.

Adam kept his smile. With a motion three cups of glass were manifested before them. Sparkling liquid filled with another, faint with some sweetness tickling their senses.

Her eyes were locked, transfixed, not by the rarity of glass, nor the faint concentration of Surtar from the drink, no--

[Inventory] rank 3... the memory of her her grandmother recounted. The estranged encounter with a Trial brought her close to losings a leg to gain such a privilege. If this man was more, then... what would a man need Dragor's attention?

The last of her distress whittled away, but before she could "accept" the offering. Alma beat her hands, the glass was emptied before the snatch.

"Awwww," Alma whined. Reaching for her glass. Failing. Her eyes sough another-- Ingrid took hers-- Sven snapped his away. Alma whined again.

Adam just chuckled.

"What is this?" Ingrid asked. A hand over Alma's mouth kept her down, ready to cough up the contents.

"Samosa; a drink from some fruits and a fresh spring." Adam replied, taking out a glass for himself. A crisp breath left his lips as Ingrid watched to the very last drop. "Always bring something nice whenever your far from home... If you can spare the space..." His tone drifting off, reminiscing.

Ingrid stared at the drink. For the an old tradition, and confidence in her instincts. She gave thanks to the Spirits, and toasted in their teachings. A sip was all it took, feeling color flushed her cheeks. Sutar perforating her body... such a thing...

"Spirits..." Sven muttered. "Why would you offer something like this?"

Ingrid held off her curiosity, relenting to Alma getting her glass. The man filled it up absently.

Adam shrugged. "I'll get more soon. But it was mostly for her," he looked to Alma. Filling another glass. "Can't be good for a child to grow up like this. Something to make it brighter, I guess."

The loss hurt her pride as a hunter. But the words he spoke, burned her as a mother. Yet couldn't find a word otherwise. She looked down, the happy smile as Alma took far too much from the man, finding the truth of what is.

"What Chasm have you passed?" Sven asked, looking on.

"Sven!" Ingrid gasped.

Alma nearly jumped at the words.

The man shrugged, "I don't think I need to say?"

Though it felt like the man didn't want to.

"Then, would be willing to offer your hand to our cause." Sven professed, his heart wholly with him. "To free our people from the tyrant of Dragor's blade?"

Ingrid didn't have a word for his confidence, such boldness... He looked very striking right now.

But Adam shook his head, "That I cannot do." And their hopes wilted. "I have my own battles, to have myself out in the open so soon is not something I want, nor should you want. Because if you think things are bad for you now," his expression turned flat. "You don't want my help."

Well... It was worth the question. Despite not having council--

She felt Sutar flare from the next cabin.

Adam frowned. "Can't it ever be quiet around here?"

The door burst open, splinters flew, Ulf grit in determination, blade drawn-- a gust of wind blew, and the unyielding giant cracked the floor with his head.

"Faðir!" Ingrid shot up with Alma and Sven. Her love was terrified.

"Relax, please." With a wave Ulf's body was lifted and placed in a chair by the fire. Another and the pieces of wood lifted, pieced together the next motion, and then fused, tightened. The frame thinner, smoother, but how?

Ingrid stood still, stunned. Sven's eyes went wide. While Alma's turned to sparkle at the impossible.

The man turned to them, almost sheepishly asked. "So, dinner?"

# # #

Dinner was served; a tough and weary exchange. Some kind of stew, thick with the smell of meat and herbs sprouting with Ice mana. Paired with some rounds of Samosa, it made a pleasant retreat from the years of nutrient paste.

He would have liked to enjoy it more, but despite the silence, and the family whole, the grandparents didn't care much for his words. They hesitantly took the drink, but anything more?

Their poorly hidden frowns were enough to tell. Maybe on purpose?

"Are you really leaving?" Alma stopped twirling her spoon. Barely a dent in her food, her seventh drink half empty. She held back; eyes shimmering, chin creased.

He felt a vein strain. Control... Emotions were welling up. Nausea setting aside his dinner. He could hold it.

"Alma," Ingrid's hand found her shoulder. "He has his own trails to follow, it would not be kind for him to stay here."

"But why?! This is stupid! Why can't he stay?!" Alma whined, her eyes red.

"Alma..." Her voice trailed, trying to find the words. Shooting a glance at Adam.

Just what was he supposed to do?

"It's not fair!" Alma shot up. Her grandparents flinched. She hid her tears, taking the book, and ran, slamming her door.

He heard a distant scream, muffled by a blanket? A pillow? He didn't linger, suppressing a groan from the unease. His stomach turn, as the bright little girl learned the meaning of spite.

The table sat frozen.

But the giant was quick to glare.

He was not in the mood, "Don't."

Ulf only leered harder, "Your presence is a toxin."

"Why? Cause of that, hardly." Adam scoffed.

"None of this would have happened if you just minded yourself and left us in peace." Ulf retorted.

Adam huffed a laugh.

"You--" Ulf rose.

"ULF!" Liv's Intent pressed on the man. His eye's darted to his wife. "That's enough."

Their absence of words and mana were a mystery to Adam. But in those seconds; their gazes locked by one another, he at least knew, an argument was had, and the next, it ended.

Ulf grumbled, glaring down at his bowl. While Liv's eyes twinkled with victory.

Iov, still the wonder. Out of all the people from the four great continents, Iov remained an enigma to his mind. There was just... something about it, a way, the experience, of life, condensing down to instinct that made the unspoken come alive. Bonded across different territories within, sharing this form of keen awareness. Their ways of mana much more entwined, deeper than he could hope to untangle. Suspicions aside, whether one could hone this instinct was another matter, but for this family, they certainly had it.

The Spirit.

"We're sorry," Liv spoke.

"Hmmm?" Adam broke the thought. "Oh, it's fine..." Returning to muse.

They weren't weak, per-say... so-so, their coordination could bridge the gap given the opportunity. They were lacking a bit of direction, but that shouldn't have been an issue. For such a family, how great was this threat? And, why?

"This Dragor, man. What could you tell me about him?"

"Well-- I-- Where do you we start?" Liv looked around the room, asking her family.

Adam felt a wave of weariness. I guess to the heart of it then.

"What does he want with Alma?" The battle field returned, the family brimming with mana; cold and bitter, chilled the roaring fire, frost crept along the edges of the table as their stew froze over.

Ingrid took a breath, "Our Alma has a chance..."

"Ingrid..." Ulf spoke, his wife hand whittled away his objection.

"She bears the signs of our oldest tale." Ingrid regained her composure. "The Touch of Winter. She who is favored by the frost would become its stewart. Gifted the body of ice. Forever cold. Their presence a constant storm. To one day they would not fear the fire descending from the sky, but reach the spirits, leaving a trail of snow in the wake of their last trail... so the tale goes."

Adam massaged a headache coming along, "A Constitution... so, young..." The implications crossed a myriad of vile paths. "And, he wants Alma for?"

Ingrid bared her teeth, "To marry."

"Fuck." Of the many foul thoughts, perhaps it was the least. "The world is still a pile of shit."

There was a great breath, a relieved look in the family, but there wasn't much solace. What words would help? His console? A stranger's words? He didn't wish to speak on the matter as he felt the corners of his mind retreating, the view of the world turning distant.

They lingered around awaiting, but no answer came. Ingrid took their bowls, hesitant on taking his, but with a great deal of effort, he gave with a smile. But this was no place to weigh such thoughts.

His motion was abrupt as all eyes turned, "I'm going for a walk. I shall return within a day."

This time, no one made a move to stop him.

He closed the door, and walked on the snow. Not a trace of his passing was left, as he set his sights down deep into the howls of the Valley.

# # #

A Constitution at five... Out of the millions, perhaps billions of lives. It was a tribal girl, and her family of wanderers that were forced to bear the consequences.

He did not need to know Dragor. His birth? Ascent? Triumphs? Lineage? Company, nor promises. Because it was all the same, the results-- forcing ruin, making their own turn on one another, just for the sake of another breath for themselves, their friends, their children...

The fortunate ones met the edge of a cold blade. The others... mana ground down their bodies, reaching to break their mind and sapped the last dregs of life from their cries.

What was left? A pile of soaked rags, and but a man locked in the shadows. Too weak to act, too weak to do anything...

He felt his blood rush. His weight faltering against the snow. A hollow chill in corners of his mind. The Void... it's scars still bore; the highs and lows, lingering beyond it's time, further to the early days. Running around the continents. Sometimes he wished to forget, but the gifts of the Core Realm went against him.

He remembered anyway.

Five. In his long life, he met only five children confirmed to have a Constitution before their Rebirth. By luck for one, and a brush with death for another, they were saved, but the others... they were empty promises.

"Crap," the thick snow came up to his ankles.

A step brought him out of it. Massaging his brow, an exasperated sigh flushed the memories.

The world was calm again.

He opened his [Inventory], taking out his smart phone. The reinforced glass simmering in the moonlight, the white snow scape blended with the pristine metal casing.

It's been a long time. He held down the power button, and his breath.

Countless days and sleepless nights, mana-- ever the wonder, really sped up mundane research. Along with some added benefits; why, he could have dropped this from a mountaintop, down a jagged ravine, and it would still be fine... Maybe some scratches, but it was fine.

A diamond came to shone bright, as three rings encircled, pulsing bright. It still worked! Still the old loading screen, much to his dismay; he could draw, but artistry? That was a good waste of a month...

The signal connected; his network was still running. Spotty connection, but it was enough. Yet there was nothing. No notifications; no system malfunctions or maintenance required. Nothing needed his hand... He let the tension bleed to thick mist.

If all seemed well, did he really need to send a message saying that he would be late?

Ah, screw it. What was a day? He put the phone away. Taking out his Manafying Vexicon once more; the dark cub pulsed to life.

Adam tunned the mana in his eyes, guaging the right frequency, till a dark screen of white lettering came to.

Let's see here. The range was set, parameters aligned. All it need was a push.

Adam summoned his mana; igniting the multitude of Catalytic Mana Nodes. The cube rang, humming, a fifth of his reserves vanished with a wave of mana. The numbers accelerated. Calculating. Before the black screen gave him all he needed, and more...

'Primary Mana Distribution: Ice, Water, Nature, Stone, Lunar, Earth, Magma.' The general survey noted.

Lunar... His eyes widened, turning toward the direction of the cabins. White hair-- no, Silver...

It was common enough, a Constitution showing signs; pitch black eyes, blooming muscles threatening to break the skin, saliva dripping with potent poison... but, he had never seen one so, subtle. He would almost say hidden.

For Lunar mana to be in abundance... Adam could count on one hand where he had know it to be.

Was it the girl? Or was this land already attuned to it's nature? Was that why they were here? Adam thought, his old discarded thoughts coming forward. The Will of Mana, a vexing concept; was it always set in stone, or could it change? Did it ever?

A journey of lifetimes, and still, there was no answer. It didn't matter. He glanced at the rising moon, and the distant stars beyond.

Soon, he thought. There wasn't a need to care for such answers. Not anymore.

He filtered the readings, and found a suitable target.

A slight brush set off a chain; his carved pathways churning with mana. A single step cratered the snow, overtaking a pine, he jumped from it's peak, shaking the years of white and frost, leaving a proud green in the wake of snow.

Adam adjusted the Cube's mapping, show a hint of the world underneath. Not all-- some unknown interference, but enough.

The path was just ahead-- he jumped off another peak to his descent, and shot towards the clearing.

He slammed down; a whirlwind kicked up the fresh flakes.

It wasn't enough? Again-- The ground echoed a crack and the clearing fell through. Oh, good. He smirked. Taking out a crystal ball from his [Inventory], pouring mana and tying it with a thin string composed of Fire Law.

The ground gave way; down into the pit.

He could've survived the fall-- but his knees! He wasn't a Body Practitioner.

A small propeller of mana made whole from his raised hand. Spinning with the furry of a storm. Slowing his descent, until a gentle touch down.

Take a moment to see; a whole new world.

Fractiline Ice drooped the walls and stalactites, refracting light, and igniting the rainbow within the cavern. Sharp lines of stone almost seemed to cut through the fine mist of vapor, blocking the encroaching ice.

He could not feel it, but there was history here. A meticulous battle for control. Of who? Perhaps no one knew.

Adam quickly took some pictures. Before relenting, his target was nearby.

A myriad of tunnels connected this place, and a short one brought him to the ends of a hole. The front of a man-sized mole sticking out.

It's silver fur shimmered in the light. Adam took it by the scruff and threw the body into the main tunnel.

His steps lacked silence as he walked closer, letting the tremors pass. The wriggling of the fur would have been unnoticeable in the dark, but it could not hide from his mana sense.

He stepped forward, leaning in. Teeth burst from the skin, wriggling of flesh and blood.

Adam snatched the worm. It squirmed, shrieking, secreting thick coats of mucus to free itself. Luckily enough this thing was weak... weaker than him at least.

He squeezed, and with a final cry it's vessels burst. Spewing poison and blood from it's round mouth.

Adam grimaced, wiping away the vile remnants. Guaging his bounty, then to the corpse it made it's feast.

He shrugged. Why not?

A wave brought the dead to his [Inventory], with one task left to finish. He opened his [Notes] with a sense of forlorn. A pen and paper in his hand as he returned to the beautiful cavern. He couldn't help but frown.

He missed the Library.

# # #

Ingrid felt the touch of another day's dawn, absent of the joy that was yesterday's.

Alma wasn't speaking with them. She stuck out her tongue and ran to the shade of the great pines. Head tucked between her knees, hidden from the sky.

Ingrid felt her heart strain. Gazing to the far off mountain peaks. Their height stood waiting against dark clouds rolling in from the frontier.

It wouldn't be long, she could feel it, deep within her bones. A storm was coming.

Ingrid walked over and settled with Alma. A hand brought them closer. Her little one didn't try to fight, the tears in her eyes long gone, the faint shimmer of snow on her coat; in desperate need of more care.

"Alma," she whispered. Her head rested on hers. "Would you like to help me clean the next kill?"

"Won't Amma be mad?" Her little one's head rose with weary eyes.

Ingrid smiled, "You let me worry about that. Okay?"

She opened her arms for her daughter.

Alma jumped into warm embrace, a small sniff escaped. "Okay..."

They stayed together, the snow beneath them melting from the faint heat, gone from the world. Their love unending, forever entwined; heart and soul. No matter what came, Alma would live and smile, Ingrid promised. Because that's what mothers are for.

"That's sweet." A voice said-- both of them whipped their head to the side. Ingrid's eyes went wide, she didn't feel anything. "You got a second to gather everyone?"

Ingrid stared.

"I can. I can!" Alma jumped from her lap.

Adam smiled, rubbing her head. Messing up her hair, she giggled as she ran to get the others.

"Are you departing? Ingrid stood once more.

"Not yet," rubbing his eyes. "There's still a few things to give."

Confused. She could almost hear the unease, but stayed her questions.

They returned, choosing to walk. Seeing the family gathered near the front of their cabins.

Ingrid stood with them. Sven took her hand, their free hand on Alma's shoulder.

"Thank you for having me. And, for the misunderstanding..." With a wave, the snow picked up. They flinched, a silver beast lay before them. "I thought to prepare some gifts."

"What is it?!" Alma said, trying as she might, failing to wrestle out of her father's grasp.

To her Ingrid had no answer... "Maðir?" But her mother locked in a trance, the weight of her foot steps crunched the snow. Telling all she needed.

"Can it be?" Liv spoke, her hand coming to caress the fur. Turning over the Beast. "A Silvin Mole?"

Ulf stood straighter, "Impossible-- they should be a third this size!"

"The young and sick, the weak and brittle." Liv replied, a smile coming to her. "Those are the only ones that would ever touch the surface."

The last one appeared about a century ago. Found by a rider, and given to the new Chief as a succession mantle. Adorned with the voice of the Spirits. It was a treasure of their tribe.

Liv looked to Adam, "Is this real?"

"As real as anything can, but that's not the prize." Reaching behind the Beast, revealing a long, slimy snake? Only it wasn't so much.

Liv gasped, realizing the teeth of the beast. "What-- is that?!"

Adam shrugged, "Some kind of parasite? It ate the mole from the inside out." Ingrid felt her stomach drop. "But don't worry, as long as you have a thick coat of mana on your person, the poison won't reach you."

"Mana?" Sven asked.

"Ah-- Sorry, Sutar." Adam replied, his hand gaining a sharp sheen of Sutar. "But let's get this out of the way."

His hands were too quick to follow, discarding the blood and gore. Revealing three crystals colored with the sky. A faint flow of mana escaping from the cores, before Adam closed his hands, Ingrid felt a yearning.

"That thing was in the Foundation Realm?!" Ulf shattered the awe. Sven's hand grew tighter.

"Just about--" He stored away the trophy. "It only just stabilized so the shards are a bit muddled."

Sven gulped, "And where was this creature?"

"The first layer of the tunnels, really got a lucky break with this guy." Adam replied.

Sweat beat down her brow, glad to head the warnings of her grandmother. Frightened by what still could lurk beneath them.

"Well, I better get to work." He left behind the cabins, till they could not see him anymore.

She felt a tug on her arm, Alma's eyes twinkling like stars. Ingrid sighed, but gave a weary smile, tradition would be broken.

Ingrid let go and knelt with her mother. Their eyes met, the wonder quickly gone and a furious conversation took place. Sutar flared, searching for each other, hearing Ulf, Sven, even Alma stepping back, but Ingrid would not relent. Not for the potential of her daughter, and the life of Liv's granddaughter.

Feelings, will, understanding, Liv looked to Alma and beyond the years to come.

"Alright," Liv whispered, a faint smile coming through. "Alma, would you like the first cut?"

Alma froze, before the brightest joy shown on her. She squealed and tackled her grandmother, "Really?!-- I promise to do it the best!"

Liv hugged her granddaughter, chuckling. "I have no doubt you will."

A breath left from Ulf and Sven, a smile of their own as they looked to Alma dashing around the mole. Liv storing the worm in her own [Inventory].

Ulf carried the mole on his back, towards the pavilion; greeted to a sighed of piled stones, ice, and snow at the bottom of the ridged. They felt the shifting of the earth, unsure of what to make of it, but after all the man has done, they laid their worries to rest.

Ingrid took the sharpest knife they had, and gently placed it within her daughter's hand. Guiding her along. "Now Alma, cut along here."

Alma nodded, listening to the tellings of her family. Sharing the knife with each other, they sliced through the wider, tougher, sections, returning it to their young snow bud as they made the final pass.

They smiled and praised.

It was not the way of Isgard, but did it matter? Their tribe could wait. For the moment was theirs; and nothing would change the notion.

# # #

The sun was setting, the frontier storms kissed the mountain peaks, dashing them with fresh snow.

Ingrid cooked a meal in their wait, a creak at the door stilled the room.

"Come on." Adam waved, tired. And so they went around their homes, the rubble cleared, marked with a small path to a wide set of double doors indented into the ridge.

They followed through without a word, coming to a wide space, illuminated by crystals high above. From the front to the back, it must have been fifty paces wide and twenty tall.

"Don't blink, or just might miss it." With a snap of his fingers, the room filled with color. Countless shapes and symbols overlapped, revolving in ways unknown.

When the light settled, the room felt different. As each breath gave more life to their movements.

"The Sutar... is more?" Ingrid spoke her thoughts.

"Good catch." Adam said. "The formation should settle at around an influx of forty percent if all things work well."

"This--" Sven's eyes went wide. "You made a Sutar Hoard Pattern?!"

Adam shrugged.

"Such things... I never thought to be in the presence of..." Sven whispered. Alma ran around.

Only the Council and the Clans were said to have the knowledge. But for them, here? Ingrid felt faint, wondering whether this was all a dream.

"Give it some time, will need a day to finish the the final calibrations." Adam said, guiding them out. Faðir looked pained to leave the room, but Maðir dragged him along.

Outside, they went to the light. Further than they were often comfortable under the open sky, but today. They saw the beauty of the valley, revealing in dreams of the future.

"Those... patterns... will only last for the next twenty years. So use your time wisely, once it's done-- it's done. Don't try to tinker or it might implode the hill." His face flat, serious.

"We understand..." She wavered. "Thank you--"

"One more thing," Adam interrupted her, gifting her a book. Its cover pressed with a snowflake. "I've taken some time to mark down some note for the practice of Ice mana-- Sutar, sorry. It should allow for more control and make the transition to reach the Foundation Realm much easier."

Her heart skipped a beat, she almost couldn't believe his words. None of them really did.

"Alma however..." Ingrid returned. "I do not truly know what kind of physique she'll form, but for what it's worth, it's probably something with the moon." Another book was offered, the moon and ice adorned its face. "If her Rebirth is tied to Lunar mana, this guide should help her tinker with the general energy flows. I can't claim all the answers, somethings might even be wrong, but it's there, in case you are looking for them yourself."

Ingrid cradled the books.

"And lastly, for the girl of the hour. Alma!" Adam called to her, coming with a bounce. He knelt down to match her height. "What is your favorite weapon?"

Alma's eyes brightened, she looked over to her father.

"A spear." She said. Her grandparents' heads fell. Sven was proud. As Ingird felt a smile.

"Well then this'll be easy." Adam pulled out a boar spear; a metallic point and blunt end was familiar, colored in the shinning white. The shaft, however, was made of bone, of a creature she did not know. "This next part might be a bit scary, but dab your finger on the point."

Ingrid blinked-- Alma pricked her finger. She didn't scream, as the faint blood touched the metal.

Ingrid watched, as they all watched, the spear shrunk down for Alma's size.

"There," Adam gifting it to her. "As you grow it will grow with you, but if there comes a day where you need a new spear-- don't be afraid to get another one. Okay?"

Alma absently nodded, staring at the spear within her palms.

Ingrid was on her immediately. Sven and Faðir stared at the weapon.

"Good luck, Alma." The wind picked up as Adam began to rise from the snow, Ingrid's mouth went agape. The family looked on, starstruck.

"Amma, how is he flying?" Alma's voice came over them.

Adam chuckled.

A shrill wind followed as the man flew high, farther than her eyes could define. She watched as there was a shift in color, a deep black sheen reflected before a blur set to the frontier.

Ingrid stared as the speck was lost to the distant storm. Not knowing what to say, silence bore the land. But in the deep reaches of her soul she felt a rising hope, that tomorrow would not be a sacrifice. For the day to come where the Bone Throne would fall, and the butcher to be slain was not a mere dream.

With the luck of the Spirits, they were given a chance to bear their daughters future. And with it, nothing would stand before their return.

Prey no longer. The Wolborn would rise once more, and towards the newfound trails.

The hunt began, and so the Northern wind blew.