The snow fell around Grud, quickly obscuring his footprints and making it more difficult to find his bearings. Luckily the Uruyuld Mountain shouted its challenge openly to all those below. For Grud to find his destination he just needed to look at the tallest point and keep walking in that direction. So he continued on his path.

Many people had told Grud that being so stubborn would be his death, but many people were cowards. Grud paid them no heed. Instead, the Ork trudged ever forwards, one step at a time.

Those same people would call Grud simple, to insult him. They would laugh and point as he walked by like he was some grand joke to gawk at. Little did they know that Grud actually enjoyed being called simple. The simple things were usually best after all, be it the warmth of a hearth after a day in the cold, or a plate of hot food after missing a meal.

Yes, simple was the best, and Grud was going to be the best of them. That’s what today was about. Proving himself, and coming back to the village with a drake egg unlike any other.

Many minutes of trudging later, Grud reached a crest in the range. Not the highest point, not by any stretch, but it was still a spot worth noting. It was the highest point allowed by the elders for egg searching or arak’vayan. They deemed that going past this point risked the Emui’Darak’s attention and fury.

Of course, noting this spot didn’t mean waiting around as Grud pushed through the crest and onto the next with no hesitation, knowing that he would be reported if the other half dozen fresh men, who were here to announce their independence and bravery with a drake egg of their own.

The drake eggs were the cast offs, however. The drake eggs others would bring back likely had been frozen for hundreds of years

Grud respected them enough to spare them dishonor by association. They wouldn’t be looking for him, but Grud wouldn’t give fate a chance to intervene against him. No he would simply go unnoticed as he trudged his way into the dragon’s lair, and to accomplish that he would need his magic.

After all, going unnoticed was Grud’s specialty, the one thing he was truly the best at. No one ever noticed him his whole life, until the World Well had noticed that was what he was best at. Being unnoticeable.

It had stung, until Grud realized he would just have to work with what he was given. In a way, it was just like everything else he had tolerated up until this point. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t surpass the best of his age by working from the front. He needed to hang around as they blazed the path, and follow quietly until he could leap forwards into the lead.

And today was the day, so Grud quickly wove his Ice Formation over his body, the Cold Cloak. Ice Affinity mana flowed over his body like a storm, and suddenly Grud no longer appeared as a young Ork, wrapped in warm furs and climbing harnesses and gear. Instead, anyone watching him would simply have seen a particularly thick gust of wind and snow, moving steadily across the snowscape.

It didn’t do anything to blunt the cold and it got harder and harder to breathe as the temperature and oxygen dropped in relation to the altitude, but the Cold Cloak was easy enough to maintain in his Form Space that Grud didn’t need to focus on it. He just kept moving forwards, because the hurt he was experiencing now wasn’t worse than what he was accustomed to. The aching was familiar, and the sting of his silent companion helped keep Grud’s wits sharp.

Moving forwards on the mountain was always hard, after all. It was always a challenge to the strong, to push up the slopes and make it to the top where Emui’Darak, the Mountainmother, would wait. A seconds distraction could be death

Supposedly there was some ancient contract between his people and the queen of the peak, but Grud had seen drakes, and they were just big lizards. They could follow directions and use mana, but only through training, and only with the one they bonded to when they hatched. They didn’t notice Grud either.

The elders must be senile if they thought just because the Mountainmother was bigger and stronger she was any smarter. Grud doubted she would notice him either. In fact, he was banking on it. And if the Emui’Darak did, well then… Grud would likely be dead. But before that, he had to make it to the top of the Uruyuld.

In front of Grud, a sheer face of ice stood towering over him and in his way. He was paying for his simplicity, but Grud had known he would. Of course, he would have to pay, because he always did.

There was no point in avoiding it, so the young Ork had simply factored it into his plans. Readying his climbing gear, Grud paid his dues.

Grud placed piton after piton into the ice, making sure movements and steady progress. Instead of using his cold weak fingers, Grud focused on his palms and wrists for leverage, and was pushing himself up at a good pace. He was sure someone like Jarl could have scaled it in half the time. It didn’t matter. Jarl would never consider going beyond what the Elders said.

Grud had, so he would go at the pace he was able to. He tried to exclude the outside world as he reached for more handholds, but halfway up the iceface a strong gust whistled down the mountain just as Grud extended his left arm.

The force blasted the Ork’s side from the cliff, and Grud lost his left foothold as well. Grud compensated and moved all of his weight over to his right foot as he desperately held onto the final piton against the relentless wind.

Then, as suddenly as it started the wind died down, and Grud went to resecure his handholds. Just as he reached across the sheerface, the piton under his right foot collapsed. Making a desperate lurch, Grud snagged the other piton and held himself suspended with just his upper body.

The weight of his six stride frame pulled on him, trying to bring the young Ork to an early grave. Instead, Grud pulled himself up again, and found the piton for his left leg. A quick sigh of relief came from his lips, then a small prayer.

“Ancestors watch over me.” Grud quietly intoned while taking a second to collect himself.

However, instead of waiting for strength that would not be returning, Grud dragged himself to his feet and continued on. He was panting through his tusks and sweating despite the cold as he managed to pull himself the last of the way up the iceface.

By now, Grud was far enough up the slopes that he could hear a distant ruckus, barely audible after being muffled by the snow. It was a good sign that Grud was close, and he let excitement aid his speed as he kept ascending.

It was still at least another bell before Grud made it to the top of the crest, of endless treacherously deep snow banks and smaller sheer faces to shimmy up while still saving his gear in case another cliff appeared. Of course it was hard. Hard was good, because it meant the task was possible.

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Grud could do possible.

* * * * *

The young Ork reached under the peak trying to climb further, only to immediately get battered back almost to the edge by the sounds of fighting ahead. The snow and open air must have been dampening the noise more than Grud had accounted for, as something was fighting right in front of him. Fighting this close to the peak was sure to attract the Mountainmother.

Unless, of course…

Knowing he shouldn’t, Grud braced himself and peaked over the edge once more. Down below, the entire valley was covered in easily over 250 yards of white scaled beast, long and graceful with her enormous wings tucked in. The Mountainmother was here in all her resplendence, but Grud wasn’t sure he could call what she was doing fighting.

The Great Dragon was writhing around the valley circling around its center. Light reflected off the white dragon and the white snow, making a brilliant river of diamonds. It was such a surreal sight that Grud almost didn’t realize what the true cause of the noise was, because even though the Mountainmother was enormous, her passage was unnaturally silent.

Instead, the noise was coming from a much smaller creature that was frantically ricocheting around the middle of the curled up form of the white giant. It was the one raising a ruckus and attacking the Mountainmother, battering against her sides with a reckless abandon. It was savage and relentless as it bounded from attack to attack, clawing and biting with no regards to composure, making it hard for Grud to discern its form, but it must have been a drake.

However, what was clear was that painfully few of the creatures' attacks were landing. As it went to reach out with its claws, Grud felt the wind gust and push the creature back from the Mountainmother.

For long minutes Grud clung to the edge and watched the creatures' desperate struggle for survival. It thrashed and whipped its body, but it never managed to scratch the Mountainmother. Instead, all it accomplished was wearing out the attacking creature, as its movements began to slow.

Then, the Mountainmother shook her head, and with what sounded like a sigh, she casually batted the other creature to the ground with her tail. Its frantic defense shattered in an instant, the creature lay in a crater of snow, unmoving. Only then could Grud see what it truly was, and when he did a small gasp escaped his lips.

The Mountainmother hadn’t been fighting a drake. No, it had been fighting a young dragon.

Grud ducked his head down for several minutes, waiting for the living disaster to retreat to her den. Huge wing beats signaled her retreat, and Grud peaked his head over the crest once again. Through the snow storm, he saw a great shadow growing ever smaller, and so Grud thought the valley would be safe to explore. Well, safe enough. There was still a dragon around, after all.

Boosting himself, Grud scaled the crest and began carefully descending deeper into the valley, questing towards the downed body in the snow. As it took him minutes to transverse the distance, Grud gained an even greater respect for the Mountain Mother’s preposterous size. That she was larger than the valley boggled the young orc’s mind in a way that he struggled to believe even after witnessing the sight.

Then, there was a new sight to take in.

Grud was probably the only living member of his clan to see a dragon from such a close distance without it moving and fighting. It was majestic, white-scaled and lithe, with long and powerful appendages. Large leathery wings were tucked around its sides, but its chest still rose and fell so Grud knew it still lived. It was simply unconscious as Wayne stood over it.

Dragons had been one of the most consistent struggles the Orks of Trada’Mund had faced. Every generation or two, another of the brood would reach adulthood, and terrorize the rest of the mountain range. The sight of a dragon was an omen of hardship, and death.

Currently, there had been a dragon roving the northern slopes for the last decade, and now there was a second who would soon mature. Two dragons at once would be catastrophic for the Tribes.

Only after watching its rhythmic breathing for a time, did Grud realize that he was upset. He just didn’t know why.

Orks who brought back a dragon head were promoted to Clan Despato. From the blood staining the snow around the dragon's body, it may be the easiest kill ever on a dragon. Grud may not even have to do anything but watch. Any orc was supposed to sacrifice their life to slay a dragon.

But still, he was upset.

He hadn’t come here to kill a dragon, but to prove himself and find a partner to fight with, to watch his back.

“This isn’t right…”

“Oh, and you could do better for him then, Grud?” A chilling voice whispered in Grud’s ear.

He spun around, but saw no one. A cold laugh rang out over the valley, and the snow rippled eerily along with it.

“How interesting I didn’t notice you climb my summit. What peculiar magic you possess. Still, have the arak’vayan not taught you what fate awaits you among the clouds?”

Grud felt his tusks quivering in the wind. Against all of his training, his Cold Cloak, and his preparation, Grud had done the unthinkable. He had called the Mountain Mother’s attention to him, and now Grud would die.

So he may as well speak his mind before the end. Straightening up, the young orc tried to meet his death with dignity.

“Someone as… proud as him shouldn’t have such a tragic fate, before he can even grow up. So yes, I do think I could do better. I would at least try.”

“Mmm, yes, well, at least try to survive this. Then, if you do, I give you permission to raise Dura’Mon to the best of your abilities.”

Then, the world went white. The storm surrounding Grud intensified beyond an incredible degree, everything being encompassed by the falling snow. He felt the flurry rain down on his skin, pressing against him, pushing against his strength.

The cold began to seep further into his body, Grud’s layers of furs and the Cold Cloak doing nothing to insulate him against a wind like this. It cut deep, and then wrapped him in an overbearing hold.

Grud thought he felt something else though, something past the snow and cold. An intent powerful enough to force the snow into action. Even now, he faintly felt it manipulating the storm, just as Grud felt something else distinctly.

The cold did not want to hurt Grud. It was simply being made to do it. The pain was building, but it was a comfort to know his oldest friend had not abandoned him. It helped Grud to endure.

It was cold. The cold was his friend. His friend would do its best to keep him safe. Grud extended all these feelings outwards like a hand to grasp. A smile took his face when his friend grasped back.

He felt the mana around him shift, and then it started working with him.

Suddenly, Grud was pulled through the storm into a stumbling step on freshly fallen snow. The storm had miraculously faded, and sunlight shone down through the clouds of his panted breath to reveal the similarly breathing body of Dura’Mon laying there.

“Impressive, Grud of Clan Rec’Lyn. Most impressive. I look forward to seeing you again in the future.”

Then the intent faded from the air, and the tension released from Grud’s shoulders. At least until he realized he would need to find a way to transport a fully hatched young dragon down the mountainside.

Grud sighed and got to work.

* * * * *

Luminos watched the lizard in the hills finally make her move. It was too little, too late, as the God retreated to his Domain. His preparations had been completed years ago, and today they would come to fruition.

He absently plucked thoughts from his priest's minds, making sure the ceremony was ready to proceed smoothly. Orwell was usually competent, but the man’s inability to adapt to new challenges showed his limits. Still, it seemed the Grand Priest had everything in place on this occasion.

If the God could smile, he would.

Instead, he shifted his view of the physical world to his soon-to-be Champion. The girl was so small, but she would suffice. With perfectly bronzed skin, and hair just a shade lighter, she gave off the impression of a rich beam of sunlight. Of course, the pure golden irises that adorned her face only completed the look.

Ainne. The God declared her name, and his intention, to the realm.

She would be his Champion, his avatar on the physical plane, and eventually his puppet Empress. She was the beautiful finale after years of careful plotting and planning. Yes, she was the prize, and everything else was just the unwanted remnants.

* * * * *

As the pieces were finally arrayed in their starting positions, the King of Nothing gave a wistful smile. Picking up the bishop and looking out over the Expanse, he muttered to himself from beneath his thick robes.

“I suppose it’s time.”

Leaving the board behind, he set out on his own path.