Altair looked around, lost in the awe. He saw a deer bounding through the green, followed by two fawns. Birds crossed the sky, and puffy clouds separated the reflection from reality. His heart slowed to a steady, peaceful pace.

“Who does this belong to?”

Gares, Alioth introduced. God of summer.

“It’s beautiful.”

And deadly. This is not a place to linger. Go, they insisted sharply.

He obeyed, and continued through the clovers. He saw the deer slow, trotting for a few more steps before fully halting.

“Look—”

Altair!

He dropped to the dirt just before the deer turned to face him. He watched it through the blades of grass, his heart lodged in his throat.

Several eyes jutted from its small skull, and three tongues hung from its open mouth. Its antlers were pitch black, dripping with crimson. It scanned over the clovers, as if searching for something.

Searching for him, Altair realized.

He didn’t dare speak to Alioth, and they didn’t dare reply. He stared at the fawns as they looked around, their tiny heads swiveling side to side. Their spots weren’t white fur, Altair came to realize, but instead small, glistening rocks embedded within their skin.

The deer turned away from him, and bounded into the trees. Only when they had completely vanished, did he stand. “Wha—”

Guards of Gares… his deerfolk, Aloith informed. They are deceased mortals that found their ways to his realm, ones corrupted by evil. He enslaves their lost souls as his own, and lets them live in his realm… and kill every trespasser. It is not safe here.

“Why?”

Every soul killed gives Gares… power in a sense. Now keep going.

Altair listened, his pace faster than before. He pushed through the clovers, not wanting to waste a moment. He wanted out of the realm.

Then his legs stopped moving. They refused to obey him as he tried to urge himself onward. His arms hung loose at his sides, and his hands trembled. Alioth tried to shove the body forward, but they held no control over it. Altair could feel his pulse through every limb, and his ribs seemed to stab into his lungs with every panicked breath.

One thing came into focus.

Far on the horizon rose a mountain. Waterfalls poured down the jagged rocks, and a distant river glimmered despite no sun hanging in the sky. Little by little though, he pieced together the mountain.

The waterfall poured from a slit throat. The gaps inside weren’t caves, but rather the space beneath the arms that held up a body of stone. The light on the river didn’t come from an absent sun, but rather the glow of dead, golden eyes.

“Is that… Gares?”

No. That is the mausoleum of his dead self.

“One—”

One of the gods I killed, yes. He deserved it just like the rest.

Altair nodded.

You don’t believe me, Alioth hissed.

“I don’t know!” he started. “I don’t know who deserved it or not… what I know is they did—”

Altair clutched his skull as a shrill scream was ripped from his throat. His knees buckled, and he nearly fell to the dark earth. He staggered forward, then reared back, dragging his nails down his cheeks.

The full moon, stoic and cold, stared down at him through the hole in the gazebo. The birdbath held a pitiful collection of water within its broken bowl.

Altair stumbled back, dropping his hands. He shouted in a wave of panic, “Alioth! Alioth!”

The fate locked their hand around his throat, then shoved his back against the pillar. The air was knocked from his lungs, and he began to sink to the frozen ground.

“Do you think they deserved it?” Alioth snarled. “Do you?”

His eyes widened. “Y-Yes…”

A grin flickered over their white lips. “Do you think you deserve to die?”

Altair slowly shook this head, and in a strained voice, begged, “Please… no.”

“You’re right, you don’t,” Alioth hissed. “Because you didn’t corrupt the world you were meant to protect! No, you’re going to fix it! You will fix what your precious gods destroyed!”

“Are you—”

“Am I going to kill them again?” they finished when Altair’s words faded to gasps. “No, no, not if they obey me.”

He clawed at Alioth’s wrists as his eyes started to bulge from his skull. With a huff of annoyance, they shoved away. Altair fell back, suddenly standing in the realm of Gares again.

Keep going, they insisted.

He didn’t protest.

“The blood on the antlers…” Altair began, speaking quietly.

Gares does not tolerate trespassing, Alioth answered in a warning tone.

He followed the treeline, but never did go into the woods. Everytime he looked towards it though, the shadows shifted, twirling like small dancers. He didn’t hear any birds or see the deerfolk he had before.

Come… to… me… a purr suddenly called.

A bright blue flame flared to life, hovering between him and the woods.

“Alio—”

Don’t, they growled.

Come… it is… quicker… through here… the flame whispered.

Altair—

He took a step closer, drawn to the light. Flashes of pinks and purples shot through the blue, and small divots formed the features of a small face.

It is… safe… with me… warm… with me…

Altair! Alioth shouted Alt—

Their voice went silent.

Altair moved towards the flame— and a second flickered to life just within the woods as soon as he reached the first. The shadows swirled around it, greeting the tiny light.

Come along… it giggled. Play…

Go… Alioth urged.

They… always… relent…

Altair lunged forward, but the moment before their hands would close around the wisp, it vanished. He hit the ground with a groan, then quickly shoved himself up. He saw another deeper in the woods, looming between the trees. Its laughter poured through the forest.

This isn’t supposed to happen, Alioth suddenly said. Not again.

“Again?” he questioned, slowing his steps.

Last time…

Altair shook his head and rubbed his palms against his eyes. “Last— How many times before?”

Get out of here.

He turned back the way he came, then stopped.

All around him were those dark woods. No matter which way he faced, it all looked the same. The deep shadows were illuminated only by a circle of blue wisps. Each of them laughed, teasing the boy for being so foolish.

Get. Out.

How… Alioth? How… will you… run… this time?

Altair!

He pushed forward, and the wisps in his way vanished with an echoing laughter that chased after him. Without the light of the blue flames, the darkness felt suffocating. Altair forced himself faster and faster. He stumbled over roots and caught his curled horns on every branch, but nothing stopped him. He sprinted through the trees as panic seized his bones.

If he didn’t make it out soon, he never would.

FIVE - AUTUMN

Altair stumbled out of the forest, making it only a few steps before he collapsed beneath the sunlight. He was gasping for air and could feel his blood returning to his limbs, as if his circulation had been cut off.

“Alioth,” he choked, lifting his head.

He could barely see over the golden blades of grass, and a cool breeze ruffled his hair. There was nothing but that endless field.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Do not follow those… Gares does not like trespassers, Alioth hissed. That is how you get yourself killed.

Altair tipped his head back. “We made it out.”

Alioth scoffed. Barely. That does not mean we made it anywhere safer.

He looked over his shoulder, though he was still kneeled in the grass. He no longer saw the woods they left. “You followed—”

I was screaming for you to stop! You ended up going into those woods on your own!

“I—” He blinked. “I did?”

Just get up. We need to keep going.

Altair pushed himself up and looked around. Once more, the sky was a reflection of the realm above. All he could see were rolling fields of gold, and in the far distance another forest— this one was made up of dying trees; the leaves various shades of reds and oranges, and exposed branches stabbed towards their mirrored selves.

“You never did say… do you get to be alive?” Altair inquired.

He felt something slither beneath his skin and push at the surface. He bent over, gasping for air. A white film covered his eyes, and his heart dropped.

A cold hand wrapped under his jaw to tilt his head up. Alioth looked down at him with a frown.

Altair didn’t look away, just stared. He started to make out every thin, silver scar through their pale skin.

“Stop stalling and move,” they growled. “The faster we get through these damned realms, the faster I get out of your head.”

“What happens then?” Altair questioned. “To me?”

“Our souls split. You have yours, and I have mine.”

“Will I die?”

Alioth laughed; a harsh sound that broke into a fit of coughs. “Not if you do as I say.”

He started forward, and the fate vanished. Altair stumbled over his own feet, and slammed a fist to his chest as a cold rush flooded his body.

Go on, Alioth continued, their voice trapped within his head again.

Altair walked onwards, parallel to the woods. If he ever did go the wrong way, Alioth didn’t say.

The world went on around them. Nothing ever got closer or further, and the ground beneath their feet never changed.

Eventually, he began to slow. There was something off. Around him, rivers of black fog carved through the tall grass, and a low hissing sound floated through the back of his mind. He felt Alioth shift, growing more awake.

Carefully, Altair turned around.

A large beast stood in the grass. Gray stone broke through the dark fur of its back, forming a range of jagged mountains. Altair continued to stare, his heart racing. He didn’t dare move as its head turned towards him.

Six black eyes scanned over the grass, glittering like obsidian. It huffed out another breath, and he could see it condensate in the air. He slowly kneeled, careful not to make a sound.

Rather than two horns, the water buffalo had four, each of them sharp points.

He let out a slow breath before it hitched.

It was staring at him. Just staring at him.

Run, Alioth demanded.

Before he could rise up, it was charging at him.

Altair turned and sprinted through the grass, but the creature quickly gained on him. It unhinged its jaw and let out a roar of contempt for the fleeing prey.

“Don’t let me die! Don’t let me die! Don’t let me die!” Altair shouted as he ran, his legs already beginning to burn.

Then run faster, Altair!

He pushed himself further. The ground seemed to quake with every time the buffalo’s hoof struck the hard dirt.

A shrill scream pierced the silence of the realm. One of its horns shot straight through Altair’s side, lifting the boy off his feet. His arms flung wildly around as he fought for air. Blood flew from his mouth, and his hands pushed against the ends of the bloodied horns.

“Alioth!”

The buffalo screeched in fury as it reared its head back. It snapped to the side, and Altair was flung to the ground. He rolled through the grass, limp like a broken doll. He gasped for air as pain rippled through his body.

Altair shifted onto his back, pressing his hands against the wound. He saw another figure, a silhouette of white with blurred hands wrapped around the horns.

They forced its head back, and its jaw opened with another roar. Teeth lined its mouth in several rows— all of them serrated— designed by its god to tear through meat and crush bone.

Alioth turned its head with a quick jerk, and a sickening pop was interrupted only by another scream. They gritted their teeth, and twisted it once again. Another pop rang out. Its head was limp on its long neck.

Altair stared at the sky. A black speck in the reflection of the realm marked the beast. His stomach churned as something cracked, and the beast squealed.

Alioth held its large head above them. They looked up at it, then drove their own horns into its throat. Their face was pressed into the thick fur, and every breath brought the rancid smell of the beast into their lungs. Hot blood poured down their shoulders, staining their skin with clotted rivers of black.

They pulled back, their nails digging into its skin before wrapping around the creature’s horns again. Alioth yelled as they strained against it, and turned its head to the side once last time. It tried to bite at the fate, struggling as its head was forced upside down. Alioth opened their mouth, as if mocking it.

Then sank their own teeth into its neck.

Another shriek poured from the buffalo as they tore away. Alioth spit out a piece of flesh, staking the beast’s head into the ground by its horns. It kicked against the earth, and clumps of dirt were thrown up.

It should be dead, Altair thought.

Except it wasn’t. The beat was far from the animals people hunted, far from the animals that accidentally stumbled into towns and cities. It was the pet of a god, and it would not die so easily.

Alioth pulled their hands apart, and a single thread appeared between them.

“Look at you,” they whispered in amazement. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, lovely.”

Altair started to shove himself up, gasping as the pain continued to radiate through him.

Alioth stared at the thread.

“Ali—”

As soon as he started to speak, they acted. They looped the long string around the beast’s throat, and pulled on either end to choke the beast.

Before they ended its life though, Alioth bent down. They ran their fingers through its fur; now coated with blood.

“Send Sursa my love,” they requested gently.

Alioth pet the beast one more time as a frown pulled at their thin lips. They wrapped the ends of the threads over their hand, and pulled. It snapped almost instantly, and the beast collapsed, finally dead.

They wandered back to Altair, leaning over him.

“I shouldn't need to come back… not yet. It exhausts us,” they said gently, though there was an underlying annoyance.

“I… help?” he begged.

Alioth rolled their eyes, and set their hand against Altair’s chest. He felt the pain cease as they clenched their teeth and seethed with sudden anguish.

The wound opened up on the fate, and their own blood mixed with the beast’s. Theirs was a vibrant red. It looked fake as it swirled with the black.

“Alio—”

“I will heal,” they growled. “Get up, we’re getting out of here.”

“Alioth—”

Altair froze. He didn’t speak, and neither did they.

Over the fate’s shoulder stood a man, his head cocked to their side and arms folded behind him. His skin was deeply tanned and long, fiery hair poured down his back. His eyes were a strange gold that seemed to burn like torches.

“Sursa…” Alioth gasped without turning.

“You killed my tsevek,” he said gently. “Why?”

“It injured mine,” they replied sharply, facing the deity.

“You?” he laughed. “You have a tsevek?”

“I do.”

He scoffed. “Is he it?”

Altair bowed his head under the gaze of the god.

Alioth simply nodded. “He is. We were simply passing through, we meant no harm to you or your tvesevek.”

“Yet here you stand, stained with its blood. You clearly harmed something, whether you meant to or not does not change the truth… you of all people should know that, Alioth, it was a lesson you enjoyed teaching. Granted, that was… how many centuries ago?”

“Too many to count, Sursa.”

“Mhm,” he hummed. “Now, tell me, why are you… just passing through?”

“I’m trying to go home.”

“Home?” Sursa laughed. “You don’t have that here.”

Alioth shook his head. “That… there’s… I want to go home.”

He blinked, and slowly came to realize something Altair was not privy to.

Sursa stepped back and dipped his head. “I see… what do you intend to do at home, then?”

Altair listened intently. He didn’t know what happened between Alioth and this god, but he knew they had something between them. Rumors were abundant through the tales of religion, and these two were no different.

Every story says Alioth was fascinated with the seasonal gods. Some say he was friends with them, that they worked in harmony to help the mortals through change. Others said they were more intimate with one of the deities— or all of them. The rest determined he hated the seasons, and left them all for dead when the chance came.

“I just want to have a place to go to again,” Alioth admitted quietly, barely loud enough for Altair to hear. “I can’t… I hate being alone like this, Surssa.”

The deity frowned, and pity glowed in their eyes. “I see… but why cross through this realm?”

“I don’t know… I really don’t.”

“You’re a fate, you know everything,” he snarled.

“Not this, Sursa… this is beyond my control.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he answered sharply. Then leaned back with a grin. “But I’ll play along, Alioth.

“That is all I can ask of you, I suppose.”

Sursa huffed out a breath. “I wish you’d ask less— I’d rather not hear your voice at all.”

“You must confess you’ve missed me,” Alioth replied, almost hurt by his words. “Right?”

There was an edge of desperation, a question that meant a thousand more things than their voice revealed.

Sursa shook his head. “I don’t want this, Alioth. You know that.”

“I never hurt you,” they whispered.

“You did. In many ways.’

They opened their mouth, but didn’t speak.

He laughed. “Seriously? You don’t know, do you?”

“It’s been centuries, remember?”

“Humor me. If the choice was yours, is my realm one of the ones you would have chosen?” he asked.

Alioth thought for a moment, then replied, “No.”

Sursa made a soft sound, like he had been wounded. But his voice wasn’t pained as he said, “Good. I don’t want you here. Get out.”

“Which way do we go?”

“Any. They all lead to the same place, don’t they, oh wise fate?”

“I… yes… thank you, Sursa.”

“Don’t thank me, I did nothing for you.”

“I didn’t mean for… for that to happen,” Alioth went on. “And I’m not thanking you for this moment, I’m thanking you for that.”

Altair stared at them. What is that you speak of?

Sursa shook his head and flicked a dismissive wrist. “Go. Leave me be.”

“Yes… rela,” Alioth answered,

A look of disgust contorted the deity’s face. “Don’t.”

He looked at them. Alioth had one hand to their new wound… and the other extended towards Sursa.

They lowered their arm, and nodded.

“Altair?”

He perked up, and walked towards the fate.

“We’re going.”

“Yes, Alioth…”

Sursa watched them long until they vanished from his sight. He never moved or spoke, just watched until he couldn’t see them.

The rest of the realm was silent. It was only after they could no longer feel Sursa’s gaze that Alioth returned to their place within Altair’s mind. Even once they were there, they didn’t speak. Altair tried to ask them questions, but they ignored every spoken and thought word.

Finally, he reached the edge of the realm… and walked into one much worse than the other.

Snow piled all around him, pressing against his knees. Cold wind snapped at his ears and nose, and snow fell from the reflected sky. Spires of ice twisted upwards, mimicking hundreds of trees.

The realm of Pola … the dangerous winter deity.