Of the men who inhabit the strange lands south of the Great Ice Plain, I was told there are three varieties: the maddened cannibals whose heads are cut in the shape of their hallowed obelisk, the wandering ghost-men who eat nothing and yet still live, and the men of Calrathia, sat huddled in their great domes which are vast enough to encompass cities.

I, the Astronomer Sirius, had only heard tall-tales and faded stories of such things. And not long into my journey, it seemed I would die before encountering any of them.

The white wolf’s jaws splayed wide atop me, snapping with hungry impatience. Saliva and blood and, I believe, tattered flesh from my leg dribbled out of its sharp teeth. I had my hand gripped around its neck, keeping the wolf’s snout from tearing into my shoulder. Its front paw clawed at my blue mantle, ripping long tracts through the battered cloak. The wolf’s other foreleg was thankfully missing, being a stump from some old, forgotten injury.

Glancing to my side, I saw that my sword had fallen out of reach—not that I could’ve used it in such close quarters. The distraction almost cost me my life as the wolf snapped again, this time grazing against my face. Its foul breath made me choke as my arm threatened to buckle under the weight.

I barely had the strength to hold off the beast, let alone throw it aside into the snowy brush. Quickly, I realized this was a losing battle. The wolf had lunged perfectly, using his weight to tire me as he must’ve done with other large game. I could see I was fighting a grizzled veteran who had seen many battles, and I was his easy prey.

Seeing no other option, I gave up trying to hold the beast at bay. Instead, I pulled it close and rammed my free arm into the wolf’s throat. The animal sputtered, surprised at this new development. Its hungry eyes grew frustrated as it tried to bite down. Its teeth sunk into my arm readily enough, but I would not budge.

If I felt any pain, I cannot recall any now. Even the skeptics, who seem to find every cause and reason to moan about life, often rediscover their enthusiasm at the executioner’s block. The body understands death is unnatural, even should the mind be convinced otherwise. One finds they will go to extraordinary lengths to live, and so I summoned new strength to struggle on.

We wrestled in the red snow. I pivoted away from its forepaw, but the animal still found some purchase, awkwardly scratching me as it attempted to draw back. I did not slacken my grip. One arm held the beast too close to use its claws, and the other slowly choking it. The wolf’s movements became increasingly desperate as it realized it could not escape its current predicament. The once hungry eye darted around frantically as if trying to find an escape.

It did not matter. I shoved my arm further down its throat, even as the wolf’s teeth gouged my limb. A weary and gasping minute passed. The beast was malnourished and missing a leg. Had it been a healthy animal at the peak of its strength, I surely would have been bested. However, that was not the case. I strangled the wolf until its movements became weakened and finally limp. The warrior’s eye rested weightily upon me, and it accepted its defeat. Still, I did not let go until I felt the beast’s racing heart fall silent.

My strength finally failed. The warm corpse of the wolf slid off beside me. Blood oozed out of my wounds onto the ground, and I looked up into the treetops of the dark forest. The snow-laden branches were so thick that I could no longer make out the emerald shimmer in the night sky. Even the pearl-faced moon was nearly swallowed up.

How I wished to be home again, studying the glass scrolls under Master Rigel. How I desired to again swim in the river Thalia and feel the warmth of Zodiak’s furnace sun upon my face. How I so desperately longed for my brothers, whose names have turned bitter in my mouth and whose faces I shall never see again.

I pushed myself up and examined my injuries. The wolf had bitten deeply into my left leg when it had first attacked, and the ripped trousers were now soaked crimson. Similarly, my mangled arm was not doing much better. Taking some bandages from my satchel, I tightly wrapped them around my wounds. As my other wounds were more superficial, I elected to address them later.

As I recovered in the splotched snow, the cold began to sink its icy fingers into me. I knew that I could not stay for very much longer. I had intended to cross this forest before nightfall, but the terrain became progressively more difficult. Large craters carved deep into the rocky earth, and more than once, I had to take long detours or climb steep rock faces.

During the day, the land seemed almost serene in its stark beauty. During the night, it had turned into a silent, brooding forest. It was not safe to make a camp, and I feared a fire would draw more attention than it would ward.

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My only hope was the Walled City of Terminus on the other side of the forest. Stumbling to my feet, I gathered my meager possessions. I slid my humble sword back into its leather sheath, and I spared one last look at the warrior I had slain.

The white wolf’s face was calm, almost like it was sleeping. It was a well-earned rest. The creature was old and maimed, its hide covered in scars, and it was missing an ear. Perhaps many would call such a creature ugly. However, I saw nothing but nobility in the wolf’s beaten frame. The warrior had given his best, and to die in battle was a better end than most—far better—than cowardly crawling into some hole to die. He had lived his life well spent. And had the ground not been frozen solid, I would’ve buried him. Instead, all I could offer up was some snow sprinkled on his furred side.

I took my leave and continued forward. I trudged up a forested ridge line to chance a better view of the surrounding area. However, the thicket pressed in. My sword caught on branches that reached out like skeletal hands to deter my progress. The cold now gripped my bones, sapping what strength I had left. It was more than the sorry state of my clothes. I wondered just how much blood I lost back there.

Thrashing my way out into a small clearing, I found a large, gnarled tree by a small stream. The roots drank deeply from the water, and amongst them was a small alcove. It was little more than a narrow crook to rest, but my feet weighed as lead. My back ached, and I was so exhausted. I had expected death to come by violence, but here I felt a new terror. I heard a sweet voice from those dark roots, one that whispered to me to rest there.

A grave fit for a king. I struggled with a pained laugh. I had journeyed from the Skyward City, home of the Astronomers. I had vaulted with the Anemoi, going a great distance. I had seen the twin ruined towers of Calis and Calix before crossing into this cursed forest. And here I was, finally tempted to die.

I reached into my satchel and brought out the object of my mission. In my hands was a tome gilded with silver and gold. The title Historiae Astrologus was emblazoned on the cover of the spiraled illustration. The illuminated manuscript was no less decorated on the parchment. It contained the history of my profession, and it was my burden to take it to Calrathia or to die trying.

The book felt heavy in my hands, and although I dearly wanted to open it, I did not wish to accidentally stain the fine paper with my blood. I held it for a minute, remembering Master Rigel’s charge. My name had been struck from every letter, every record, every book—save for this one, which had been written when I was just a child.

Other hands would have to carry it now. The sweet lullaby was pulling my eyelids closed. It was as lovely as any nymph’s, singing of warmth and rest and peace. I placed the book back into my satchel and trudged towards my death. Too much had been asked of me. It was too much to ask of any man. But I was grateful that I had made it this far.

Sleep pulled its dark curtain over me. I stumbled over a root, but as I took the final step to that twisted coffin, a beam of pristine moonlight cut through the night, and I noticed something out of the corner of my eye.

Footprints!

The spell was broken. I quickly hobbled over to the tracks. It had not snowed for some time, and from what little I could gather, they appeared fresh. Two sets of tracks were going along the bank of the stream before continuing on the other side. They traveled for a distance, and then I could see where they went no longer. I was tempted to call out, but I was still wary of alerting more beasts to my presence. My only choice was to follow and hope whoever made these tracks would come to my aid.

Wounded as I was, my heavy feet became light as feathers. Hope blazed within me, and hope carried me through that dark path. And even if I were fated to die at the end of this trail, my heart still leaped in my chest, and I gave thankful prayers to the Woman of the Morning Star, forever the patron of the School of the Astronomers. Such a gift even the smallest sliver of hope is.

As I limped through the dark wood, I came to another clearing. This time, I arrived at the foot of a small hill that overlooked much of the surrounding wood. A metal door was embedded in that rocky uprising, and I excitedly ran toward it. I knew that bunkers and tunnels crisscrossed this region from a time long before these lands were known for their endless winter. Of those days, men recall that the lands had not yet been divided between the ocean, and that great scaly beasts still roamed the wilds.

Despite my great hopes, there was little sign of life behind the hatch. A thick, dirty block of glass refused to reveal the shelter’s secrets. At the sides complicated locks bolted the door shut, and in the center was a rusted locking wheel. I scrambled to open it, but the mechanism refused to budge. I realized that the door must somehow be secured from the inside. Seeing no choice, I banged on the metal hatch set in the hillside.

I waited for a minute before I banged again. I howled. I cried. Though men seldom admit grief, I shall not spare my dignity in this account. Despite my temptation at the gnarled tree, now I didn’t want to die, and I wasn’t ready to die. This hatch was my only salvation, and I wept at its foot, praying someone would answer.

I fell sideways into the snow. My strength had all but left me. In the distance, I heard the howl of a wolf. I fancied it was the ghost of the warrior I had slain. Up and up, it went into the sky until I could hear it no more.

Light! Searing light! I had to look away as a great shining beam sprung from recesses of darkness. I laid there in the snow as I saw a silhouette looking through the glass. There was a rumbling on the other side of the door. Slowly, the locks began to click open. There was a rush of warm air, and a figure stepped out.

As my eyes adjusted, I saw a thick mask covering most of the head. Two empty holes looked back at me, and near the mouth, two bulbous protrusions wheezed.