Chapter Fifty-Five:

“Stumbling Towards Fate”

Roland woke to a cold that had settled deep in his bones, unmoving and relentless.

The fire had died in the night, and without it, winter had crept in, settling deep into the stone walls. His breath hung in front of him in a thin mist, the only movement in the still, frozen space. His hands flexed beneath the covers, stiff with the chill, the warmth from sleep fading too quickly.

Something was wrong.

He pushed himself upright, glancing toward the tall windows. Beyond the iron latticework, the world had transformed.

Snow.

Where autumn had lingered the night before, now there was only stark white. The trees stood bare, skeletal against the pale sky, the ground buried beneath a thick layer of fresh snow.

Roland stared, unblinking. It wasn’t right. It shouldn’t be snowing.

The Fire Sages had spoken of the nature unraveling, of imbalance, but he hadn’t expected to wake up to the proof of it so soon.

A sharp gust of wind howled through the cracks in the window frame, sending a deeper chill through him. He braced against it. He wasn’t about to freeze.

Roland swung his legs over the side of the bed, pressing his bare feet to the cold floor. The fireplace sat dead across the room, nothing but smoldering embers and a thin curl of smoke left from the night before. His first instinct was to reach for kindling, for flint and steel, but then he hesitated.

He didn’t need them anymore.

Slowly, he raised a hand toward the hearth, exhaling as he focused. The power inside him still felt foreign, unfamiliar, but it was there, waiting. The ember within him stirred, a whisper of heat working through his veins. He reached for it, called it forward.

A spark. Then fire in the palm of his hand.

He tossed it down upon the fresh logs, it began swallowing the cold as its flames spread. It was small, but enough.

Roland let out a breath, feeling the warmth push back against the creeping chill.

He had woken to snow, to a realm changing in ways he couldn’t yet understand.

But at least now he could make fire.

And he would need it.

Roland stepped outside into a realm he barely recognized.

What had been Emberwood Village, vibrant in its endless autumn hues, alive with the ever-present glow of hearthfires, was now buried beneath a thick sheet of white.

Now, the trees stood bare, their branches etched with ice, their once-fiery colors erased beneath winter’s sudden grip.

His boots crunched against the fresh snow as he made his way down the steps, the cold biting through his jacket. He’d strapped his sword across his back, the weight of it now familiar.

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His midnight-blue coat, claimed the day he became Roland, remained wrapped tightly around him, supple leather edged in gold embroidery, veins of magic running through it. Across the back, burned in gold, was his name, RolandOGilead.

The village was awake despite the cold.

Children were already making the most of the fresh powder, laughing as they flung handfuls of soft snow at one another. Some had begun rolling mounds into misshapen snow figures, their mittened hands working with frantic energy.

Not far from them, Tobias stood with Rachel, David, and Keira, their breath rising in thin clouds as they spoke in hushed voices. A few other Players lingered nearby, faces tense as they took in the transformed landscape.

Among the Emberwood villagers, Roland spotted at least two Fire Sages, Elyndra and Renvar, both watching the snowfall with wary expressions. Elyndra, the eldest of the Fire Sages, had wrapped herself in heavy furs, her once-fiery hair dusted with frost. Renvar, younger and broader in build, stood with arms crossed, his usual fiery presence dimmed by the unnatural chill.

Roland made his way toward them, his breath steady, his hands flexing at his sides. He didn’t need to ask what they were talking about.

He knew this was wrong.

And he had a feeling he was going to have to fix it.

Roland approached the gathering with an easy stride, his hands adjusting the strap of his sword where it sat securely across his back. The cold bit at his skin, but he had already adapted to it, the brisk air nothing compared to the trials he had endured since arriving in Eldoria.

He stopped beside the Fire Sages, dipping his head in greeting before offering a smirk. "Sage Elyndra, Sage Renvar, quite the brisk morning we're having, huh?"

Elyndra let out a breath, her gaze heavy as she studied him. "It would be so beautiful, if it weren’t so concerning. This is no ordinary snowfall, Roland. This is something else entirely."

Renvar set his hands on his hips, his eyes scanning the unnatural frost-covered landscape. "The fire has always ruled Emberwood. Now it is failing. It happened too fast for us to understand, and we have reason to believe the cause lies beyond a sacred place."

"A sacred place?" Roland asked, his smirk fading into confusion.

Elyndra nodded, glancing toward the horizon, where the frozen forest stretched endlessly. "The flames were always restless, but never violent. Now, they lash out. Something is twisting them."

"And if the fire there is unraveling," Renvar added, "then the balance of this land is falling apart faster than we could ever imagine."

Keira and Rachel had drawn closer, both listening intently. Keira rubbed her arms for warmth, her breath misting in the air. "So we need to go there and fix it. That’s what you’re saying."

Rachel adjusted the gloves on her hands, her brow furrowed. "Assuming we even can. We don’t know what’s causing it. If the flames have turned hostile, we’ll be walking straight into the inferno."

"An inferno in the middle of a frozen wasteland," Roland mused. "Sounds about right."

Elyndra’s expression remained grim. "It is more than that. The swamp was never meant to be crossed. Its flames were always restless, but never malevolent. Something is pushing them to attack. If we are to save Aetheria, we must find out why."

Roland exhaled, glancing at the others. The weight of what lay ahead was clear. This wasn’t just about the unnatural snowfall, it was about whatever was unraveling the very core of this land.

He turned back to the sages, nodding once. "Then we’d better start preparing. Because if we’re going into the swamp, we need to be ready for whatever’s waiting to greet us."

Elyndra exchanged a glance with Renvar, the weight of Roland's words settling over them before she turned back to him. "Before you enter the Ashen Mire, you must seek out the sorcerer and his daughter. They live in a hut at the swamp’s edge. The father is blind, but he sees more than most. If anyone knows what has changed in the Mire, it will be them."

Roland exchanged glances with Keira and Rachel before smirking. "So I guess you’ll be joining me then?"

Keira shrugged, her breath misting in the cold air. "You bet."

Rachel adjusted her gloves, nodding. "Wouldn’t miss it."

Before Roland could respond, the creak of an old wooden door echoed through the still morning air. A figure wandered absently out of one of the stone buildings, hands occupied with what looked like a piece of bread. Chris took a slow bite, his gaze distant, half-focused on something in the snow beneath his feet.

Keira turned, calling over to him. "Hey Chris, just who we were looking for."

Chris barely registered her words before glancing up, eyes widening in mild confusion. "Who, me?" he mumbled around the food still in his mouth, crumbs falling as he chewed.

Roland shook his head, exhaling a short laugh. He had no idea just how true Keira’s words would turn out to be.

None of them did.

The snow continued to fall, blanketing the world in quiet, as Chris unknowingly stumbled into his fate.