Issria river north of Taria, tenth day of winter, 789 Imperial calendar.

Odd is the wheel of fortune. One moment you live against all odds the next you come knocking on death’s doors in a way you thought impossible. Such were Farrow’s thoughts as he hanged onto the boat’s side staring into the eyes of a man holding a knife to his throat. A man he would trust with his life a mere moment ago.

“Is it done?”

The old servant spoke with cold blooded hatred as his trembling blade nicked Farrow’s skin.

“Yes.”

The pain, the sorrow, the release of an unimaginable weight that tortured this old man. All of it fell from his shoulders, softening his heart. But even through tears, his iron grip he held over Farrow’s life did not lessen. One more splinter remained stuck in the old man’s heart.

“You... “

The knife pressed harder, its blade tasting Farrow’s blood. It cut his skin but stopped before it could threaten Farrow’s life. As their boat carried by a rushing current passed the final river bend hidden within the monstrous forest, the old man pulled back his hand. Even though his anger demanded he finish this final monster, the one responsible for this entire tragedy, he did not. He spared the one that brought misery upon countless others.

Fighting with his rage, the old servant released his grip and let the knife drop. He spared the last remaining monster that destroyed his world.

Hanging over the broadside Farrow watched as the man fell on his knees and wept. Hiding his face in his palms, he sobbed like a little child.

Forcing his frigid body onto the deck, the alchemist picked up the discarded knife and stood over the bawling man.

“I’d give away my life for them if only that could bring them back. All of them. I had not slept a night without regretting what I’ve done.”

He put the knife back into the servant’s hand and once more opened his mouth, but his words got stuck as he looked into the old man’s eyes.

Your choice not mine, he thought and went to his cabin where he stripped and slid into his bunk. While the river current brought them safely thus far, someone will have to steer the boat if they ever hope to arrive at the next town.

Farrow closed his eyes. He did not care for any of that. He destroyed his monster. Now, let the gods sort the rest out.

Hadure, port city on Issria river, twenty fifth day of winter, 789 Imperial calendar.

That he lived to see the light of another day surprised him no less than the letter he found knifed to the wall above his head.

You have become the death of many, not mine but the hands of time shall deal your punishment.

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A remnant left by one he though his only ally. Not anymore. The old man brought them to safety of the nearest harbor outside of capital’s influence then left without a word. What became of him afterwards, Farrow did not know and vowed for it to remain so. Rested, he found within himself enough magic to man his boat and left the port. Enchanted cargo hold brimmed with enough supplies to last two people half a year or more. Alone, he could sail down to the sea then round the cape and if he fancied, away from the human controlled territory. A choice he shall make one day. The alchemist pondered as the main sail rose and billow out in the wind.

After he infused the boat’s enchants with his mana, it kept its course roughly in the river’s center and away from all shallows. Good. At this speed he’ll reach the open sea in less than a month. From there... There will be time for that. Right now, he must get out of the empire before the news of their eternal empress demise spread to its borders.

Sitting at the helm, Farrow placed his palm onto the deck and reached deep into the wood, awaking enchants placed onto his boat’s hull by master shipwrights. His measly magic could not measure to that of a sea mage, but it was enough for a partial activation. His handsome little ship groaned then raised a foot or two above its old waterline, picking up at least five knots of speed.

Exhausted with that little stunt, he laid down on the white lacquered deck and chased clouds with his eyes. Those were calm, puffy white clouds yet to him all looked like monsters chasing after him and his boat. In the end it was sleep and not some cloudy monsters that claimed him. His tired mind brought down his heavy eyelids and snuffed his consciousness.

Somewhere on Issria river, third day of second moon of winter, 789 Imperial calendar.

Sleep, eat, mind the boat’s enchants then sleep again. Alarian’s days passed by with him twisting the knob of his wooden calendar, making it click-clack as the number flipped. That was the highlight of his day.

Every morning he flipped his calendar, ate breakfast, inspected the spell running his boat adding his magic where needed and after all that he sat at the helm and wrapped in thick, snow fox fur, he watched the river for ice.

Upstream, near the capital, Issria seldom froze. Its current too strong to allow any ice to form. Here where the waters slowed and spread that risk grew much higher. So, Farrow sat there and kept watch. Visible only as a bundle of fur and purple eyes, he looked for any signs of forming ice. As useless activity as any he could indulge himself in. His boat could avoid smaller, floating chunks of ice just as it did with other boats he sometimes passed or even drop its anchor and stop if the obstacle proved to be too grand to avoid.

Such display of intellect by an inanimate object. Its workings fascinated him. He understood the theory behind it, the way the magic had to be bend and entwined into a complex, branching array of choices and actions but since it required power beyond what he possessed, he never put much thought into it beyond a simple curiosity. A mistake he perhaps should rectify.

Sudden jerk pulled him out of his thoughts as his boat sharply banked left avoiding collision then began slowing. It prompted him to run up to the bow and strain his eyes as he searched for the cause of this sudden course change. Floe. He entered a floe field.

For the first time in a long while fear gripped him. He cannot get stuck here. Not this close to a city. Not where he could still see behind him the smoke rising above countless chimneys.

He fetched the longest pole he had on deck and began pushing the ice away, widening his path. He became so absorbed in this task that he screamed and tossed his pole in surprise when something grabbed onto it. Had it not been tied to the deck the mystery would be lost to the frozen waters. As it was, Farrow came to his senses and reeled in his catch.

A pale hand wrapped around the shaft in a death grip first broke the surface and soon was followed by an equally pale and shivering body. A woman’s body. A naked body.

Keeping his distance, Alarian watched as she coughed out a bucketload of water and blood when she hit the deck then curled into a shivering ball. He cast a glance at the ice floe in the water below. How long would he last in there? In this cold? Not too long.

Whatever the hell crawled onto his deck, that was not human.