5 : 361 : 17 : 03 : 12

My Master’s voice pulls me out of a death-like slumber. The grating yelling in the hallway is accompanied by her fist energetically hammering the door of my room.

“Up and about, chaff spawn! You have a visitor! Make it quick!”

“What the hell does she want now…?” I groan in agony, unsure if I want to be alive in such an hour.

I can’t even tell if my eyes are open or closed. It’s darker here than in goblin’s anus. My head feels like some trickster slipped an electric eel in through the ear, and I didn't even go drinking last night. It’s just way too early. By what little light seeps through the curtain weaving, I can tell sunrise is still further away than a solid sequel to Star Wars.

Not a big surprise. Midwinter is nary a week away.

I use the faint, golden line of light under the door as a reference point to drag myself up to sit on the edge of the bed. Yawn. It’s freezing. I hug my shoulders and shiver. I want to burrow back under the feather blanket, but granny’s vocal encouragement compels me to rise.

Why? It can’t be anything too important. It’s Sunday.

Really old people have this bizarre idea that Sunday is somehow holy, which is why granny tries to act nice on Sundays and generally doesn’t ask me to do anything too troublesome. Courteously beating the door instead of barging right in appears to be her way of honoring tradition. But it doesn’t look like getting up is optional.

“Tell me you’re dead and not really that slow! Do you think they let apprentices sleep all day at Kaldession? Guess again! You’d be swimming in the moat about now, if we had a moat, and I didn’t have a saint’s patience! Now get a move on!”

I sigh and start looking for wool socks. They’re somewhere on the floor, if only I could tell where. I find a chemise and pull it on the wrong way. Oh well, not like the front looks any different from the backside. I leave it as it is. What else? Oh, right, you’re supposed to wear underpants too. Granny’s voice cheers me on all the way.

“You have thirty seconds before I come in and give you striped cheeks, you jot of wick!”

“I’m awake!” I yell back, annoyed and dizzy. “For all the gods’ sake, will you stop shouting?”

Is the house on fire? Fuck. Fuck looking for underwear. It’s not like anyone can see my groin under the chemise. I give up trying to tie up my hair too. I throw on a woolly dressing gown and slippers and scramble to the door. Fuck!

“Took your sweet time,” Master Teresina grunts, as I finally stand in the hallway in candlelight, wavering and trembling, and battle to keep my hurting eyes open.

“Good morning to you too, my dear mentor,” I tell her with a pointedly pretentious bow. “What time is it? What country is it? Have they invented Coldplay yet?”

“It’s six in the morning,” granny says. “Alberion, real time. The right time for any decent people to get up.”

“Okay. Good to know. What does that have to do with me?”

“Do you have wax in your ears? I’m fairly sure I said you have a visitor.”

“Huh?”

I thought I heard that funny word too, but a visitor? For me?

“Yes, you. Now get going. You’ve kept her waiting long enough.”

I frown and wobble on to the dining room and downstairs.

“Her…?”

Who? Liselot should know better than to bother me on a Sunday morning. We’ve fought over the subject many times before. As you may guess, Lieselot is an early riser, like everyone in her household, and she used to think Sunday was the best day to mess around. Well, it is, but not from the minute the date changes.

Who else? A fan from the town? A debt collector? Someone from the castle watch? No, granny wouldn’t open the door for any random background characters. She actually hates getting up early too. Who could be important enough to make her forgo her beauty sleep? My reasoning faculties aren’t working at all.

Suppose the only way to find out is to go and see for myself.

Shivering uncontrollably, my teeth chattering, I pull the cloak tighter around my figure, grip my shoulders, head to the front door, and stumble out into the courtyard,

There, standing by the snow-dressed well, is a young lady in a light brown winter coat.

“Ah, good morning, Zero.” Irifan turns around to greet me. “I'm sorry to bother you so early in the morning.”

I can’t believe my eyes. Am I still asleep?

“Irifan?”

In the two years I’ve lived in Orethgon, I’ve never seen the boss outside the castle before. Not even once. I’m told she does visit the town on an occasion, but that usually happens long before I’m conscious. She doesn’t do picnics, or riding trips, or fox hunts, or whatever aristocratic, semi-medieval ladies typically do. And yet, there she is, under the frosty sky, her cheeks healthy red from the winter air, her breath expelled in pale little clouds.

“I...Uh, hi.” I answer the greeting and hurry to fix my disheveled bed hair.

Then I remember my chemise is backwards and quickly stick the wash note under the edge. Then I remember I’m not wearing any underwear and the semi-transparent cloth makes that kind of easy to tell. I pull the robe tighter around myself and stammer, “W-what’s up? Is—is something wrong? Can I help? Is it the enemy? Which way? How many? Do they have cavalry? Leave it to me.”

Not immediately answering, Irifan walks over with a strange smile on her lips and hands me something.

A parcel. A small, rectangular box wrapped in brown paper, a red ribbon around it. Oh my god, what is it? My severance pay?

That’s not it.

“Happy birthday, Zero,” the Duchess tells me with a bit of a bashful look.

I receive the box, dumbstruck.

“Birth…day?”

“That’s right.” Irifan nods. “Well, we don’t know your actual birthday, since you don’t know it either, but today’s the day you joined us. December the 21st. I thought it would be appropriate to celebrate it today. Unless, of course, there’s another day you’d prefer, we can still change it…”

“Oh, no, no, no. Today’s fine. I just...”

—I just never thought the wretched day I was born would be worth celebrating.

If anything, I’d done all I could to forget it happened.

Birthday. Yeah, people have those. I know. And I’m glad to be here in Orethgon. You wouldn’t believe how lucky I feel for having ended up in this Swiss dream. It wasn’t only bad things for me, thankfully. But this and that are separate affairs. I still can’t help but think general existence would flow a lot smoother for everyone I bumped into on the way, if I just—never did.

Okay, I didn’t choose to pop into being when I did. Can’t say I’m excessively guilty about it either. It was simply out of my hands. Nothing much we can do about it after all this time. I can't retroactively unbirth myself, and aborting at this point is typically frowned on.

I've come to accept I'm alive without excessive angst.

But asking me to throw a party for the fact…That’s over the line already. It’s just gross.

“You’re alive, Zero,” Irifan tells me with sudden seriousness, as if she’s developed psychic abilities too, and brings her face closer. “That’s a wonderful thing. In the brief time you’ve been with us, you’ve already brought light and joy to many people’s lives. It’s something worth celebrating, no matter what anyone says. And I sincerely hope you will one day see the same.”

“Okay.” I force a smile and feel just a little easier.

“That’s better,” Irifan says with an approving nod, touches my cheek, and then takes a step to go. “You should enjoy your day. I’ll see you next week.”

“Wha—You’re leaving already?” I stammer in surprise. “You only just got here? You should come in, I’ll make tea. There should be a few scones left too. I baked the other day, since granny—I mean, Master Teresina wants sweets with her tea. I think they turned out pretty well too, this time. I mean, I’m no baker, but I got tips from Mrs Ames, and it's a beginner-friendly recipe, and, uh…”

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I trail off, seeing Irifan’s remorseful expression.

“…Maybe some other time,” she sadly tells me. “I’m sorry I came to wake you so early on your day off, but I still have a lot of things to do today. It could only be now, I’m afraid.”

Work? Well, of course. Evil never sleeps, even on Sundays. Neither do our brave heroes out there in the field.

“Come now, don’t make such a glum face,” Irifan tells me. “This is my path, Zero. And you have your own. I’m sure your friends in town have something special planned for later. You’d better get ready for them.”

“Right…” I force a smile.

How can she still think about others?

Irifan turns and leaves walking across the courtyard, towards the gate.

“Hey!” I call after her.

“Yes?”

She stops and glances over her shoulder.

“…Thank you,” I say and clutch the gift box against my chest. “For coming all this way, and…It means a lot to me. It really, really means a lot to me. It really, really, really means a lot to me!”

Irifan smiles wide, and then disappears through the gate arch.

I stand there for who knows how long, staring at the box with the cute little ribbon.

Did my feelings get across? Did I properly convey my appreciation?

I don’t know. I feel like I didn’t reach her at all.

Why am I the one being celebrated, anyway? Why do I always get cheered up and consoled, despite doing nothing of real value?

It should be the other way round. I don’t even know Irifan’s birthday. What's the best gift I could get her? What would she like most in the world? What would make her burdens even a little easier to bear?

I don’t know. I don’t know.

I wish someone would tell me.

5 : 267 : 14 : 04 : 56

——“Irifan!”

I spring up to sit, my chest squeezed by lonely terror. The wintry courtyard of Master Teresina’s mansion is gone from sight. I sit on slick rocks, staring at a woodland lake, over which hangs a veil of early morning mist. My legs are half dipped in the water, my boots soaked through. No wonder I dreamed about winter, sleeping outside in wet clothes.

Reality returns to me like a cupful of cold noodles on the face.

The shuttle crash. Me, far away from home in a strange land.

And the endless, ancient forest of Wanr Aysoth.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

I climb up to my stiff feet, looking around, and try to get blood flowing.

What the shit am I going to do now?

My buddies are dead and I’m stranded in the middle of nowhere. Everywhere I look, it’s the same view. Tall pines and spruces jut out of a bumpy carpet of green as far as the eye can see. There are no fisher cabins or piers around the lake. No smoke columns on the horizon. No roads, no signboards, no plane trails, or anything to tell where the hell I am. Only this frigging Alaska.

No surprise.

I did see the map. Hundreds of square miles of nothing but blank, white, unexplored unknown. Unknown to humans or emiri. This wood’s populated by innumerable exotic and exceedingly dangerous lifeforms, some of which have intelligence. And by what I’ve seen and heard, they love outsiders as much as they love Aston Villa in Birmingham. Why the fuck am I thinking about soccer at a time like this?

Let’s think math instead.

Considering our speed, heading, and flight duration, I’d say the transport got shot down somewhere around three hundred and fifty miles southeast off the border of Osgonnoth. There's still at least three hundred miles till the colony of Qliphoth, our destination. Rather than trying to go the rest of the way on foot, I should zoom out of this crapland by the shortest route possible. If I head directly westward from this spot, I should eventually come to the mountains bordering district one. They’ll have towns there where I can hitch a ride. I'm still in for a hike of about a hundred and eighty miles, but maybe the least bad of my terrible choices. Sitting put, waiting for rescuers is not one.

Now, which way is west?

I squat and try to recall the basic survival skills my wise masters beat into my head.

“Light paths, align z-axis, align latitude, align longitude,” I chant while waving my fingers in the air.

Thankfully, there’s no one here to see me use incantations. It’s so uncool.

Between my outstretched hands appears a faint, intangible web of light, each hair-thin line corresponding to the named vectors. Photons align not with the magnetosphere but the planet’s gravity well, which makes the Light Compass more precise for navigation than similar spells of other elements. Based on how sunlight is bent as it passes the planet, you can pinpoint the center of gravity, relative to the caster's position. And by those two points, you can then measure the rotational axis, and from there true north and south, et cetera. It simply works.

Great. Now I know which way to go.

The only thing left is to simply go.

I’ll walk slowly, conserve my strength. Let’s say my speed will be three miles per hour. A hundred and fifty divided by three makes fifty hours, a bit over two days. Sure, I won’t be able to keep going all the way without rest. I’ll take cover when it’s night. Tough it out. Let’s be broad and say it’ll take me four days to reach civilization again. Can I survive four days here? What will I eat?

I’m already hungry and have no supplies.

Emiri can survive half a year without food or water. The thought of packing lunch along for a mere four-hour flight has never occurred to any of them. Emergency rations—they don’t do weak shit like that. Nobody deigned to ask what I need either, when they decided to ship me out to this evergreen hell.

I sit down on a nearby rock, gaze over the quiet lake, and take a moment to reflect on how thoroughly a girl can mess up her whole life with only a handful of thoughtless words.

“No, let’s not think about that.”

The trip isn’t going to get any shorter by staring at the road. All I’m doing is burning calories for no gain.

My mind made up, I muster my resolve, stand, and face east to begin my personal Odyssey.

I take a step, take two, and then stop.

“...”

A dirty brown mountain on four feet blocks my path. Round and hairy.

A pair of button eyes stare at me from a heavy, uncannily canine head. But that's not a good boy.

No. By that brief description, you may already guess what the deal is.

Certainly, it’s a bear.

By all means, it's a bear.

Across the narrow gravel shore, at the edge of the wood, stands the biggest goddamn bear I’ve ever seen in my life.

Well, I’ve only seen one before, outside picture books. It was shown to me by Master Gunlau on a certain jolly mountain hike I’ll never forget. But the bear we saw then was Winnie the Pooh compared to this fellow. All bears that live near civilization are domesticated to a degree, adapted to human behavior. What I’m looking at is a real, archetypal bear that has never been spoiled by a trash can buffet. A raw survivor. It’s like a cousin of that abomination that killed Silver Fang’s dad and gave nightmares to generations of children. The king of this hill.

It could pulverize me with one casual swing of its vast mitt.

What did Master Gunlau tell me about bears again?

I swallow the panic rushing up my throat and recall the lectures. You mustn’t look into its eyes, it’ll take that as a challenge. You mustn’t turn your back either, or try to run. These guys can go forty miles per hour, it’ll catch you. It's great at climbing trees too, and a good swimmer. Shit, is there anything bears can’t do?

You’ll need to back up, slowly. Keep your head down, show it you’re not a threat, just minding your own business…

I can’t back up, with the lake right behind me, so I start sideways instead.

At the same time, the bear nudges threateningly forward.

“Don’t move,” its growls at me and stands up on two feet, displaying its full height of closer to three meters.

My jaw drops.

I forget myself in disbelief, and do the very thing I was told not to do; I lock gazes with the beast.

“Any sudden moves and I will tear your throat out,” the bear articulates with commendable clarity.

I definitely didn’t imagine that.

The bear is moving its mouth, making words. It’s got a low, resonant, booming voice, exactly like you’d expect from a bear. Kind of like a younger James Earl Jones. And I can only respond to its threat the same way any sensible person would in my shoes, by screaming at the top of my lungs,

“HOLY SHIT, IT’S A TALKING BEAR!”

I’ve seen a lot of crazy shit in my short life thus far, but this has them all beat, for sure.

“I prefer the term, ‘ursian’, personally,” the bear remarks, dropping back on fours.

“I have no idea what that is,” I confess.

“Well, it’s...It means bear.”

“And why is a bear talking? Why am I talking to a bear? Why are we having this conversation? I’m really freaking out right now!”

“Why, is there a rule that you can’t even talk to us now?” the bear argues, growing grumpier. “Are we only the ‘enemy’ to you, huh!? To be killed on sight, no mercy? Is that what they told you, when they sent you to destroy our wood, you little elf prince!”

I don’t like the way it’s showing off its wide maw.

“Wow! Let’s not jump into things!” I wave my hands to calm it. “I’m no elf, buddy! Much less a prince. You were looking at my chest when you said that, weren’t you? Uh-oh, did you just assume my gender? Well, you got it all wrong! I’m only a temporary hire, not here to destroy anything! I’m also unarmed, as you can see, 100% harmless and family-friendly, and don’t even taste very good!”

“I don’t believe you,” the bear growls. “Elves are all liars and traitors, and so are you, if you are with them, whatever you are! You’re coming with me now! Not because your life means anything to me, but because you’re going to tell us what your vile masters are up to this time! Come on!”

“…”

Dear diary, you’re not going to believe this, but a talking bear just took me prisoner of war.

Right when I thought this mess couldn’t get any worse.