"Get ready to march lads! We'll arrive in Frelasien within five days."

The commander in charge calls out. A stout old man wearing a full set of steel armor stands on the front of the massive rows of soldiers. He waves his sword in the air.

An army of fifty thousand strong soldiers of wide variety stands in attention within the cold boundaries of Rhodovierre. Fafnir looks at them in awe from a distance. He travels using the wild lands' trail, a forest covered in freezing, pure, white snow. 

"Frelasien? Where is that?"

The shouts were loud enough to reach his position. The name Frelasien doesn't particularly ring anything. Thinking that it might be a minor country, he moves on as if hearing nothing. 

"I can't do anything about that right now, nor will I do something about it."

Fafnir's expression changes into a serious one. He breathes in deeply, taking in the cold air so that he could be accustomed to it. His intent is to find someone with the knowledge to his desired location, even if it means wandering this place for his life. 

The young man continues his trudge through the snow and the harsh new environment he has to deal with, holding his sword, still sheathed- tightly.

It is still midday, the weather remains calm as the slow descent of the sun begins, and the wild lands of the night begin to emerge, transforming the scenery in one cycle of day. 

Avoiding the cities, Fafnir heads for the hidden villages of the frontiersmen farther up north where the conditions of the weather are nothing compared to his earlier encounter with it. Only the brave dare live up in the mountains where wild animals roam freely, and civilization is nowhere to be seen.

Though the sun shines overhead, there is no feeling of warmth nor the slightest sliver of heat being emitted from it. Now discarding the idea of using his flames to shroud him, to give him ample warmth to last through this. 

"I will not depend too much on my power. I will grow as myself as well."

He swore to himself on the way. At first, his intention was to wander aimlessly, hoping for something to eventually come to him, but instead he wished to find it himself. 

Stubborn became his very embodiment when it came to using his power. It became rare for him to use it even in dire situations that he had gone through in the near past.

That very day when he left Zarakiol became a thorn in his mind. His own weakness reoccurring every single night, cursing him for his inability to save the lives of others when he had enough strength to do so. 

Fafnir clenches his fists as hard as he could, gritting his teeth as he remembers those already vivid moments, now coming back to him in droves. 

"This time I will seek power myself."

His resolve kept him going. Thinking that he became weak because he always depended on someone to help him. Now he discards all that to see where, and how far his new virtues will take him. 

He then reaches a small village after traveling north for thirty minutes. Smoke came fuming out from stone build cottages, lantern lit windows cast off brightness into the slowly descending darkness that is night.

The blizzard slowly builds up into a snowstorm, making it tempting to sleep inside a comfortable cottage by the fireplace, just like the ones beyond those wooden doors.

For a small village like this to be in the frontier is amazing in its own right. Everything is well built, the wooden walls look sturdy. It's enough to keep any intruder away with enough effort.

"Halt! Do not make any sudden movements."

A man wearing thick fur clothing, sporting a long dark hair warns him. He points his bow at him with great control despite the weather that should be obscuring him. Fafnir does as he is told, but he himself knows that they cannot harm him no matter what they do.

Then opens the wooden gates. About six people armed with spears and leather coated wooden shield arrive, surrounding Fafnir. One more exits, but is unarmed. What looks to be an elderly man wears thicker clothing than the rest. He walks forward accompanied by a cane.

"My name is Kalas, and I am the elder of this village. State your business here stranger."

The man who introduces himself as Kalas seems rather calm for an elder to brave the outside weather. Before replying, Fafnir assesses the armed men surrounding him with spears. 

With a gesture, they bring down they arms, the men retreat closer to Kalas, tightly guarding him. It seems that the old elder noticed Fafnir's gaze, knowing that he felt rather uncomfortable with this kind of setting. 

"I am searching for the millennial crypt."

Fafnir's words make the villagers including the elder stunned. They look at him as if they've seen a ghost, the soldiers bearing arms lower their weapons, and their eyes widen in fear. 

They then take up arms once again, now wary of my intentions. It seems that they do not like hearing about the millennial crypt, Fafnir assumes.

"Come. We shall talk more about this inside. The weather is about to turn for the worse, and you made it just in time."

The elder turns his back to his guest, whispering to the man by his side. Standing with an unimpressed face, Fafnir overhears the elder's words. 'tell the guards to be more alert for tonight. Keep the rest of our people away from the hall while I talk to him.'

Fafnir hears it loud and clear meters away from him. His expression hasn't changed from when he first arrived to the borders of Rhodovierre. Still possessing malice in his very soul, and a stern face to go with it. He then follows Kalas into the village, the wooden doors closing behind him.

The two of them sit inside the stone build cottage. The inside is fairly warm and comforting, everything else well made in order to withstand the snow and the other difficult conditions this place has to offer might be their purpose.

A lit up fireplace, bright lamps, and a hot cup of warm brewed tea are the main sources of heat within the room. They both stare at each other intently, only one side beginning to show weakness. 

"I believe that I have not had your name yet. Would you mind introducing yourself?"

Fafnir straightens his posture, making himself look more presentable and mature. He speaks with a low controlled voice not exactly fitting for his image, but it succeeds in making him look intimidating. 

"Apologies. My name is Fafnir, and I come from the south seeking something of importance to me."

"So you say that you are searching for the millennial crypt correct?"

"Yes. I believe that you hold the answer, or a hint leading me close to it."

His voice was condescending, but has a clear wight to it. Every word seems to make the elder budge in a way, each change in expression gives Fafnir his answers, unraveling more and more about a hidden secret. 

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"And how do you know that we hold the key to your quest?"

The elder assumes a serious tone in his voice, the conversation slowly becoming heated between them.

"There is no use lying about it anymore. Your expressions down to every movement your body makes. It tells me a lot about a person. Now you, elder Kalas, are hiding something from me. I ask that you disclose it to me."

Fafnir stands, bowing to the elder, his body arches a straight horizontal shape. His eyes are closed, though sure about his assumption that the elder knows something, the only thing he cannot control is the answer. not unless he is willing to force it out of him.

After a long while of staring and glaring at each other, Kalas makes his decision.

"I cannot part with the knowledge about the millennial crypt. It is too dangerous for anyone to handle. No mortal here on this soil is worthy for that, even us. Its secrets should be left alone for all eternity. 

Oddly enough, the answer does not shake Fafnir in the slightest. Instead, he raises his head. But as they are having the discussion. One of the villagers barge in unexpectedly, panting profusely. 

"Elder come quick! They have come again."

Without hesitation, the elder rises. he takes his cane and proceeds to the door post haste. 

"Wait here." 

He commands Fafnir, his voice is strong, but calm. There he leaves, closing the door, keeping the heat in. 

From the inside, Fafnir sees villager after villager coming out of their houses, armed with weapons of many assortments. Even some women are present, wearing what seems to be leather and fur coats, and are armed with bows and arrows.

His curiosity is piqued nonetheless. He tries to see, but the thickness of the snowstorm makes it difficult under normal circumstances. 

Instead, Fafnir uses his gift of clear, all seeing eyes to peer through the dark. Also equipped with his enhanced hearing, two of his senses are at their peak, giving Fafnir the advantage at night. He then heads out of the door, staying within close proximity of it. But it is more than enough, he hears their conversation. 

"Stubborn as always elder. Why don't you part with the knowledge about the crypt. Otherwise there will be consequences, even more severe than the last. You know how terrible that one was don't you?"

A strong aura of intimidation and cowardice comes from the instigator. His image is clear under the night. He is cloaked, carrying an old book and a staff. He who seems to be of an old age as well, accompanied by his own men, but more well-armed than the ones in this village.

The tall lanky old man outside the gates waves his staff in the air before the villagers, yelling a threat of some sort.

"I shall never concede the knowledge to you. Pahldor, you are not worthy, you were never worthy of it. Only ruin would come from your reception of the knowledge that the crypt possesses."

"... Very well then. I shall force it out from you. I shall have to remind you of course that I have one of your people with me. A very beautiful woman to say the least. Pity that she had to stay with you and your dull village." 

The old man named Pahldor leaves, his army covers him from behind, threatening them if they take even a step towards him. They leave after a few minutes. 

Fafnir then makes haste to go back into the cottage of the elder, satisfied with what he had learned. 

The elder Kalas then appears once again. He exhales deeply, catching his breath, trying to avoid notice. But all this is in vain when he already knows. 

"It seems that you're in a rut elder."

"It is none of your business outsider. Like I said, I shall not relinquish the location and the knowledge that the crypt possesses."

Kalas crosses both arms, closing his eyes is a resilient defense. He doesn't seem to budge at all even if he is an old man already, Fafnir thinks to himself.

"Then I shall prove to you that I am worthy." 

Kalas opens his eyes, staring at Fafnir intently as if provoked. 

"What do you mean by that outsider?" 

He raises his voice, but not out of pure anger, but that of solid curiosity. 

"How about I end the threat to your people? It seems that you need the help, or are you going to be stubborn on this one as well."

Kalas freezes, caught off guard after hearing Fafnir's correct assumption of denying him of his request. His conscience argues with him, one side saying to accept it, and one side clearly disagreeing.

"Hmph! You can't possibly be able to do something like that. It's near impossible. And how do you know about that anyway?"

"I will do all I can to prove my worth. That is my reason elder. Now, will you let me?"

Fafnir stands, he bears down on the elder, not giving him any time to think about it clearly. But he does not concede. Instead, he tries to make his doubts go away with questions. 

"Don't you know who those were? That old man named Pahldor was a former Arch-mage of this land in the days of old. His guards were the greatest of their ranks at that time, each becoming a legend of their own lives. He has many in his garrison. How do you think to match against that?"

Kalas's tone drops when he begins to talk about Phaldor. It seems that they have been raiding this village at their leisure. 

"Then how have you survived their attacks? It seems futile and impossible from a village like this, not that well armed and all of that."

"I've managed to protect this village on my own using magic. I stole this cane from Pahldor when I had the chance. Along with that was a book about sorcery, about making a strong barrier around it. Without this staff, and this book. Our village might have been gone long ago."

Kalas leans forward, his shoulders droop. His age is already catching up to him, but it seems that he remains strong despite the strain on his body.

"Let me worry about that. Arch-mage or not, it doesn't matter to me. No one will get in the way of my pursuit, and my one and only goal."

Fafnir extends his hands towards the exhausted elder, still leaning forward to catch his breath. The elder looks at it like a boon from the gods. Then, he clasps Fafnir's hands with both of his, bowing to him as he shifts his position to kneel. 

"Please, save our village, and my people. They don't deserve to live a life of eternal strife. I cannot be stubborn anymore when help comes to our door."

Small droplets of tears begin to fall on Fafnir's hands. His head begins to tremble, showing the weakness in his age. The young man kneels to level Kalas. 

"Raise your head, elder. Believe in me."