Dear Saarni,
Do you remember that annoying snake from years ago? That jerk who was always talking behind our backs, spreading rumors? We held a proper party when he moved to another city. Such a good riddance. But guess what? I found him during my travels! Can you believe it? What are the odds! I was just minding my own business, trying to enjoy my vacation, and I bumped into him in the nearby neighborhood. Who knows what he's scheming this time. Apparently, none of the locals like him, and honestly, I can't blame them.
It got me thinking—what if you came to visit? I'm not heading home for a few months, and I miss you. Plus, it would be a lot of fun to show that idiot what a big mistake he made by making us his enemies. (What do you mean I’m bitter?)
Say hi to Mom, Dad, and Pitu for me.
Best regards,
Eirik
He tied the letter to the messenger hawk's talons and sent it off toward the capital of Kaldrheim. He had wanted to write to the other members of his family as well, but after seeing how much the ice crack had grown, he could no longer justify taking time off to do whatever he pleased.
Following Virelia's orders, Eirik had asked his sister to come to Everfrost and immediately afterward marched over to the village elder’s house. He had to skip Ulrik’s training, something he’d definitely be hearing about for the rest of his life. The silver lining was that, given the circumstances, it didn’t seem like their "rest of the life" would be all that long.
"Don't you youngsters ever sleep?" The village elder muttered as Eirik appeared at his door once again before the rooster's crow.
He chuckled, though the humor was absent from his voice. "Good sir, you hardly seem like someone who gets much sleep yourself."
Once given permission, Eirik stepped inside and continued, "Have my advice helped in any way?"
"They have," the elder replied, blowing a ring of smoke into Eirik's face. "Sometimes I regain a bit of my self-awareness, but not when the nightmares are at their worst. And even when I get control back, they fight back. It’s not fun, but at least I don’t wake up drenched in cold sweat anymore."
The smell of tobacco made Eirik wince, but he politely ignored it. He was glad to hear the news. It seemed the longer the nightmares had plagued someone, the more stubborn and resistant they became. It was a great sign that the elder was already making progress. Villagers who had only recently been haunted by bad dreams had an easier time shaking them off.
Some children had even regained peaceful sleep, but a new, annoying development had emerged: the gods fell silent whenever anyone asked them about nightmares. They either completely ignored anything related to corruption, and a few people had confided in Eirik, saying that the gods had stopped reaching out to them altogether, especially if they'd prayed their questions aloud before bed.
And Eirik, of all people, knew what it felt like to be abandoned by the gods.
"What about my journal?" the elder asked, gesturing for Eirik to sit. Moments later, Eirik found himself back on the same worn leather couch where he’d first had a proper conversation with the man. It felt like an eternity had passed since then.
“It helped me figure out a few things,” Eirik admitted, “but not everything. Actually, I’m curious about Brumar’s history.”
“History?” the elder echoed. “You’ve come to the right place. Ask your questions, son.”
“I heard about an incident that happened a long time ago—something about a group of villagers sentenced to public execution.”
The elder’s expression darkened. “Ah, yes. I know the case well. The Dawn, that’s what we call it. Not many know about it, but we don’t exactly hide it either. We don’t want to be like the gods, erasing our mistakes from the world’s map to protect our reputation.”
The Dawn. Virelia had mentioned that name. Eirik had meant to ask the ice spirit about it, but he hadn’t found it yet. Besides, it was better to have some background knowledge before that conversation.
"Where did you even hear about it?"
The elder’s question startled Eirik. He sank deeper into the couch, scrambling to come up with a plausible lie. Seven hours ago, he might have mentioned the ice spirit he’d encountered in the Everfrost forest. But that would make him sound completely unhinged. And there was no way he could start rambling about the goddess who had enchanted the entire village and hinted at his ability to see something even the gods couldn’t.
“From nightmares,” he said at last. “Some of the villagers have seen flashes of what happened.”
His answer seemed to satisfy the elder’s curiosity.
According to legend, the gods had discovered an empty realm over a thousand years ago, each bestowing a gift upon it. But as Virelia said, everything they did, even the emotions they felt, was power. Their love and passion ignited the spark of life—something called humanity. When the gods wielded their magic, fragments of their souls were left behind, eventually forming their less magnificent counterparts.
At least, that’s what they were taught. As a dreamweaver, Eirik was required to understand the world’s history, and considering the nightmarish corruption born from the gods’ emotions, it only reinforced the story.
The soul was the essence of every living being, the thread that connected all life. Everyone possessed one. But why was he the only one who could see them?
“Please, tell me everything you know,” Eirik pleaded.
"Very well." The old man stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, taking his time, deliberately stretching out the silence. Finally, he began, "Two hundred years ago, Everfrost endured the worst cold and the longest darkness in its history. The eternal night lasted nearly six months until finally, one morning, the sun finally rose. That same morning, the villagers hanged six people."
"I gathered they were accused of some crime," Eirik said.
The elder nodded. "They were charged with conspiracy. People believed this group had somehow brought evil to our lands. It was around then when Vorsythus appeared from the sea, terrorizing the entire Kaldhreim coastline—not just us. It struck Halsport as well, though you won’t find that mentioned in any schoolbooks."
"How is that even possible?" Eirik scoffed in disbelief. "Only gods can move between realms or send anything through the Veil. Humans can’t interfere with that."
"I can’t say. In the village court, we have records and documents of every crime and criminal that’s passed through here. But none of them ever explained the grounds for their execution."
Eirik let out a long sigh. He had made some progress but found himself at a dead end once again. All he’d heard so far were confirmations of what he’d already suspected. And he doubted Frosty would offer him anything more useful—unless he somehow managed to trigger its memories.
His eyes lit up. "Do you remember their names?"
"Not exactly, but I do know where they were buried."
The cemetery was bleak. In Halsport, the deceased were usually cremated, but Brumar had designated a secluded area beyond the walls, hidden deep within the forest, for burials.
A solemn stillness filled the air, as if even the relentless northern winds granted the dead their peace. From a distance, Eirik could hear the faint sounds of the waking village—laughter echoing faintly through the trees.
He walked along the well-trodden paths, glancing at the graves he passed. Many were old, frozen over, and blanketed in snow, long abandoned with no one left to tend to them.
The spirit was there already. Perhaps it had overheard Eirik’s conversation with the elder, or maybe the lingering memories had drawn it in.
Frosty wept by the grave, curled up in front of it. Its headstone was simpler than anyone else’s, isolated with five others, separated from the rest of the area. If Eirik hadn’t seen Frosty’s white flames, he might not have even noticed it.
"Not the best place for a meeting, but I suppose this will do." Eirik stopped beside the spirit, listening for a moment to its sobs.He had wanted to comfort it, to wrap his arms around its shoulders. But touching a mere fragment of a soul was difficult, and he didn’t have the words it needed.
He hadn’t wanted to see it at all. Even though Eirik knew he should have faced Frosty, he wanted nothing more than to avoid it entirely. He didn’t want to confront the thing that reminded him of his abnormality—his flaws.
He didn’t belong. Eirik could almost feel his grandmother’s cold gaze again, see the way his father would turn his back whenever he entered the room. He could hear his father praying in the urn room, whispering to the departed, saying that it should have been Eirik who died.
Father always wished for grandmother to return. Saarni was right. He had never moved on from what was lost. Maybe, in time, their father would become a spirit wandering the earth, unable to move forward.
“Frosty?” he asked softly.
The light emanating from the spirit reflected on the worn surface of the gravestone. The name was hard to make out, but eventually, he managed to read it.
Frosty had been a woman, it seemed. And her name was truly beautiful.
“I heard you speaking with that woman, and the old man,” the spirit said, her voice cracking like ice.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
“Then you must know I’ve been searching for you for some time,” Eirik replied.
“No, you haven’t.”
Eirik suppressed a grimace. “You’re not wrong, but I was hoping you wouldn’t realize it.”
The spirit had been following him every step of the way, hearing everything he said and witnessing everything he did. An uncomfortable truth. But it also meant she could slip away from his sight whenever she wanted. Even his mysterious power wasn’t flawless.
Frosty didn’t respond to his comment. Instead, she continued, “I remember more now. I remember who I was.”
Her form had become clearer, and Eirik could now make out parts of her body—short, curly hair glowing like an eternal flame of light. Frosty would never reclaim her physical body; it had decayed under this gravestone more than two centuries ago. Yet she was clearly attempting to shape herself, succeeding better this time. Eirik guessed her growing clarity came from the return of her strength, now tied to the pieces of her identity she had begun to recall.
“Do you remember anything about The Dawn?” he asked.
She sneered. “Oh, I remember all too well. I remember the noose tightening around my neck, forcing me to meet the eyes of the villagers. The ones I had grown up with, gone to school with at Miss Elvyn’s, played with throughout my childhood. But now, they looked at me with nothing but contempt and hatred.”
Eirik gazed at the spirit with a heavy heart. The cold radiating from her was far more intense than before, twisted by rage and pain now that she had finally remembered the reason for her sorrow. Yet, he no longer felt the same sympathy for her. Frosty had likely been a criminal in some way or another. As cruel as her fate had been, perhaps she had deserved it.
“They were the first rays of sunlight I had seen in half a year,” the spirit said wistfully, her voice taking on a more feminine tone. Bit by bit, it seemed she was piecing herself back together as her memories returned. “It peeked out from behind the sea. I had a clear view then; the village wasn’t yet guarded by stone walls. The light painted the horizon yellow, with pink hues—my favorite color. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.”
Her voice grew heavier. “And then I heard it. The chairs were being kicked out from beneath my friends, one by one. I heard them gasp for air. That was the moment I understood—the world isn’t as pure as it seems.”
For too many days Eirik had listened to one horrifying tale after another, and each one had managed to leave its mark on him. He’d forced himself to hold it together, to stay strong when he wasn’t alone. But now, his expression didn’t waver. The flicker of empathy he had felt was smothered by a foreboding sensation as the cold around him deepened. It crept along his spine, cutting through his fur coat and woolen clothes.
The spirit had been human. For the first time, he truly grasped it—Frosty wasn’t just a weeping, wailing creature. She was a ghost of the past.
“Frosty,” he whispered. Eirik avoided saying her true name, fearing how she might react to it. “Why were you executed?”
“I told you already, didn’t I?” The spirit’s voice was sharp, tense, and slowly, she rose to her feet. She had grown, now resembling more of a full grown woman. “We were deceived.”
Deceived. Eirik hoped it was true. That she hadn’t done anything terrible purely of her own will. Or maybe it would be better for his heart if she had. Then it would feel less painful to acknowledge that his empathy had run dry, overwhelmed by fear.
The pressure in his chest tightened, urging him to leave. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Uncertainly, he asked, “A god asked you to do something for them. What was it?"
"There were seven of us at first," Frosty replied. "One of us had to die so that we could get close to the Veil. I remember her well; we used to date when we were teens. She volunteered. With the god's guidance, we bound her to a vow, one that could not be broken, not even by death. When the ritual began… she changed her mind. But by then, we couldn’t turn back."
Eirik took a step back. They had sacrificed someone, binding her to an unbreakable vow. It could only be done by manipulating the soul itself, forcing it to obey one's will. Humans could not do this without the help of the gods, as souls were forces that came from them.
Anxiety was no longer the only thing urging him to run. Now, his reason was also screaming at him.
"Why?" Eirik asked, his voice barely audible.
"We had to disturb the Veil, open it and let something into the human realm that the gods themselves couldn't bring here. But it didn't work, and we didn’t know why. The god returned to our dreams, telling us we had to keep trying. That it would be for the best for everyone, so that we wouldn't be so... weak anymore. After that, we stopped sacrificing anyone from our own group. We moved to the villagers, as the sacrifices had to be pure of mind."
Anger flared inside him. "You killed innocent villagers, and you’re excusing it by saying you were guided by a god!?"
“It was for the best of everyone!”
The spirit’s scream was chilling, as if a thousand icicles had pierced Eirik, just for a moment. He clenched his fists, trying to stop them from shaking. His breath was dragging behind, and Eirik could feel it again—the same fear that had left him paralyzed when the avalanche had approached.
“It would have been for everyone’s best,” Frosty repeated, her voice breaking with tears. She turned toward Eirik. “Mortals are too weak. We should be the gods' counterparts, but where are our powers? We die every day—of sickness, accidents, old age. He said he could change everything. Make us better. But first, he had to make changes…”
“What the hell are you talking about!?” Eirik could feel his veins pulsing in his neck. His whole body was in flight or fight mode, but for some reason, his legs refused to move. Again.
“One of the sacrifices succeeded,” the spirit continued, “But we had to do more. The binding vow was much harder to enforce on those who weren’t willingly involved. We got caught, and… well, you know the rest. After death, I wanted to do it myself, but that damned guardian didn’t even let me close to their realm.”
They had brought evil into the lands. The timing, however, didn’t add up. Eirik knew that Vorsythus had entered the mortal realm because Thyrr had disappeared. But Frosty had earlier mentioned that the Veil had been closed right before her eyes, and she hadn’t crossed into the afterlife after her death. That would mean Thyrr was still active at that time. They had done something else, at least initially.
“What do you mean one of the sacrifices succeeded? What happened?”
“A rift in the Veil. The woven was tasked to tear it apart, but nothing extraordinary happened. Our actions were almost useless, because the god of paths protected the passage. But…”
“But?”
“Now he’s gone.” Something in Frosty’s voice changed. “I’ve learned a lot by watching you. The guardian between our realms is no longer here. I could complete my task now.”
“You don’t mean—”
She cut him off, as if speaking only to herself now. “I don’t have a body. No one can see me. I can’t do anything. But maybe if…”
Her face twitched, and Eirik could see a sly little smile on the spirit’s face before it was swallowed by the white flames. And then, it vanished.
But maybe if. Maybe if. Maybe if. Maybe if what!?
Eirik could finally move. He broke into a run, unsure of where to go. He simply turned toward the village, trying to keep up with the spirit, but there was no way he could follow the nonexistent traces.
Frosty didn’t hate the traitorous god for what he had asked them to do. She felt deceived by the fact that she hadn’t been allowed into the afterlife, left to rot on the surface of the earth. She wanted to fix things, to reach eternal rest. To change the world – whatever that meant.
Eirik hadn’t run this fast in a long time. The wind sliced against his face, his muscles pushing him to move faster. It wasn’t long before he made it back to the village, but his trail ended at the gates.
Everything seemed normal. The villagers were smiling and laughing, spending time together, working diligently on their tasks. No one felt the same chilling cold Eirik felt in his soul. No one sensed that something was wrong.
Not knowing what else to do, Eirik set off to find Virelia. She rarely spent time fulfilling soldier duties, instead wandering around Brumar, needing neither rest nor food. He guessed the goddess would be at the training grounds. She often came to watch their practice. It wasn’t that far into the morning yet, so if he was lucky, Virelia and Ulrik were still there. It was his only option.
The training grounds weren’t far, but they were in a secluded area where only soldiers usually gathered for drills. Eirik’s heart pounded, and he felt out of breath, but he couldn’t slow down yet. He didn’t know how much time he had left. Better to assume none.
“Ulrik! Virelia!” he shouted upon seeing the two in the center of the field. They looked exhausted, as if they had been fighting, but Virelia wasn’t holding any weapon.
They both turned to look at him.
“You!” Ulrik growled. “How dare you skip our training? Do you know what—”
“Shut the fuck up for once and listen!”
Ulrik furrowed his brows but didn’t argue. He sensed Eirik’s urgency and distress, and even in Virelia’s gaze, there was a hint of worry as he finally reached them.
Eirik pressed his hands to his knees, gasping for air, as he struggled to force words out of his mouth. “Frosty... The spirit of ice, she... she’s gone mad! She was talking about some kind of saving humanity, and making human sacrifices, and she... she said she wants to finish the task...”
Virelia’s eyes widened. “Where is she now?”
Eirik looked at her desperately. The goddess knew the spirit's past, or at least part of it. But given how horrified she looked, she probably hadn’t expected this kind of outcome.
“I don’t know,” Eirik gasped. “She just disappeared. She complained about how, as a spirit, she couldn’t do anything because no one could see her, and she couldn’t remain in a physical form, and then she left.”
Ulrik crossed his arms. “Don’t tell me you skipped training because alcohol tasted better.”
“This is no joke!” Eirik shouted. “You complained about how I didn’t believe you. How I didn’t take you seriously. So I’m asking you, please, be a better person than I was.”
Impossibility was hard to accept. Eirik knew that. But there was no time to argue about what was true and what wasn't.
Fortunately, Virelia believed him. “Souls are part of the gods’ power. That means, in theory, they can infiltrate weak minds, like nightmares, or like the gods in the form of dreams.”
Ulrik looked at the woman, confused, while glancing at Eirik. He was completely lost about what had happened, but he wasn’t an idiot. He was placing the pieces together in his mind.
Eirik did his best not to break down. “But where could the spirit go? It—”
“Ylva.” Ulrik’s voice carried weight, a mix of fear and anger.
For a moment, all three of them just stared at each other in silence, the realization sinking in.
"Okay, you, meathead," Virelia said, turning to Ulrik. "Whatever you do next, don't throw a tantrum."
Then, the goddess snapped her fingers, and the world around them warped. Eirik had seen the same thing in his dreams, when Virelia had manipulated his surroundings, but the sensation was entirely different now. His stomach churned, and he felt so dizzy that he had to close his eyes. For a moment, he was completely weightless, not knowing what was happening or where he even was, until he felt the floor beneath his feet. It happened so quickly that Eirik lost his balance, stumbling until he crashed into Ulrik.
“What the actual—” Ulrik mumbled, his hand pressed to his head, as he too experienced the same dizzying sensation.
“I’ll answer your questions later,” Virelia replied, “But for now, where is your sister?”
Eirik recognized the room immediately. It was the foyer, the same one he had passed through when he first met Sindre and Ulrik’s sister. He knew exactly where to go.
The house was eerily silent. Eirik tried to stay positive, clinging to the fragments of hope he had left. Together, they rushed toward the back bedroom, following his lead. The door was closed, but as Eirik grasped the handle, his heart skipped a beat. It was freezing cold.
With urgency and panic, he yanked it open.
Ylva sat on the edge of her bed, staring down at her hands. Her necklace lay on the floor, the thread snapped, the pearls scattered in disarray across the room.
“Ylva?” Ulrik stammered, stepping past Eirik to approach his sister.
She lifted her gaze. Her eyes, once a warm, deep brown like chocolate—captivating in their sweetness—now were not her own. They glowed with an amber hue, cold and distant. This was not Ylva. Not anymore.
A sly smile spread across the woman's lips as she spoke, “I’ve longed for my own body… Two hundred years, I’ve craved feeling hunger and fatigue again, the softness of a bed.”
Ulrik hesitated. Eirik placed a hand on his shoulder, uncertain whether he was trying to comfort him or hold him back from going any further.
Ylva stood up, her voice not belonging to herself. “At last, I’ve reclaimed my life.”