Luther von Hohenheim had been the priest in charge of Edlersing village for almost sixty years. In that time, he had witnessed countless injuries and illnesses, tending to the wounded and the sick with unwavering resolve. The most drastic injury he had ever encountered was nearly two decades ago when a young hunter had been mauled by a mountain lion. The man’s torso had been torn to ribbons yet somehow, he had survived the attack.

But now, standing over Calder’s broken body, Luther found himself questioning if anything he had seen before could compare.

The boy—no, the young man—was barely recognizable beneath the bandages that now covered every inch of his body. The process of wrapping those wounds had been harrowing, a gruesome task that tested even Luther’s seasoned composure. It had taken hours of meticulous work, his hands steady despite the trembling in his heart. The blood had soaked through layer after layer of cloth, the scent metallic and heavy, clinging to the air like a curse.

Carrying him to the chapel had been no easy feat. Calder’s mangled body was far heavier than it had any right to be, every movement eliciting groans of pain from his torn flesh. The villagers who assisted could barely hold their composure. Many had vomited outright upon seeing the extent of his injuries—skin flayed to ribbons, jagged bones protruding, the faintest bubbling of blood at his lips. A few had fainted, their courage crumbling beneath the sheer horror of it all.

Even now, as Luther carefully peeled away the soaked bandages to change them, he wondered how this young man was even alive. His hands moved methodically, but his mind reeled. The wounds were beyond mortal endurance—gashes that should have bled him dry, fractures that should have rendered him unconscious long ago. The sight of his patient’s torn and battered body seemed more fitting for a battlefield corpse than a breathing, albeit fragile, man.

The process was painstaking. The blood-soaked cloth clung stubbornly to the wounds, and each removal revealed raw flesh, still oozing sluggishly despite Luther’s best efforts to staunch the flow. He grimaced as he applied fresh salves, the scent of the herbs mingling with the coppery tang of blood.

“By Dialos’s grace...” Luther murmured under his breath, shaking his head as he secured another fresh layer of bandages. At this point, it truly was up to the lord of the cycle if this young man would live…

***

The water lapped quietly on the shore as Calder stood at the edge of a vast river, its waters stretching endlessly in either direction. The current moved steadily, the surface reflecting a soft, otherworldly glow that seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat. The sky above was neither day nor night, an endless expanse of dim light without a sun, and behind him, the plains stretched into infinity—lush, vibrant green with no signs of life save the faint rustling of unseen winds.

Before him, across the river, stood a gathering of people. At first, they were little more than indistinct shapes, blurred and distant, but as Calder’s gaze adjusted, their forms grew sharper. Men and women of all ages, dressed in the clothing of many eras, stood together, their faces bright with anticipation. Their features were unfamiliar and yet achingly familiar, as if carved from the same essence that flowed through him.

They were his ancestors.

The realization sent a wave of warmth through Calder’s chest. He saw them beckon to him, their hands raised in greeting, their voices faint but filled with joy. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but the invitation was clear. Among them, standing tall and proud, was his father. The sight of him stole the breath from Calder’s lungs. His father looked exactly as he remembered—strong, resolute, with that faint smile that always seemed to say everything would be fine.

Calder took a step forward, his boots sinking slightly into the soft, damp earth at the river’s edge. His father raised a hand, gesturing for him to cross, and Calder’s heart swelled with emotion. This was it—the great halls his father and his people had spoken of so often, the place where his ancestors waited to welcome him. After everything, after the fight, after the pain, he had earned this.

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He knelt by the water’s edge, cupping a hand to feel the current. The river was cold—bitingly so—but not unpleasant. It was alive with energy as if it carried with it the very essence of the world. But as Calder prepared to step into the water, something deep within him hesitated. An unspoken apprehension gripped him, a faint whisper at the edge of his thoughts.

Why did he feel this way? He had fought the dire wolf, stared death in the face, and survived long enough to make it here. He had lived a good life, hadn’t he? He had been a good friend, a decent man. Surely he had earned his place. And yet, the unease lingered, gnawing at the edges of his mind.

Calder glanced back at the endless plain behind him. It was empty, devoid of any sign of life. Compared to the joyous crowd waiting on the far shore, the plain felt hollow and lifeless. The pull of the ancestors was stronger and louder, and Calder resolved to move forward. He took a deep breath and stepped into the river.

The cold hit him like a shock, but he pushed forward, wading deeper. The water rose quickly, first to his knees, then his waist, then his chest. Each step was a struggle, the current pressing against him, threatening to pull him under. The ancestors’ voices grew louder, urging him on, their hands reaching out as if to pull him closer.

Calder swam, his strokes strong but laborious. The river’s freezing embrace seeped into his bones, making every movement feel slow, heavy. His ancestors cheered him on, their voices a chorus of encouragement. “You can do it!” his father’s voice rang out, clear and steady, cutting through the din. Calder gritted his teeth, his limbs burning with the effort, but the sound of his father’s voice filled him with resolve.

He was halfway across when it happened.

Something cold and unyielding clamped around his left leg. Calder gasped, thrashing instinctively, but the grip didn’t loosen. He kicked hard, his arms flailing to keep himself above the surface, but the river seemed to rise against him, its current dragging him downward. His ancestors’ cheers turned to cries of alarm, their voices rising in urgency.

“Swim!” his father’s voice boomed, louder now, tinged with desperation. “Calder, swim!”

Calder clawed at the water, but more unseen hands latched onto him, skeletal and unrelenting. They dragged him downward, their grip like iron, pulling him away from the surface. His head slipped beneath the water, and he opened his mouth to scream, only to have the freezing river fill his lungs.

His ancestors screamed, their faces etched with horror as Calder was pulled deeper. He reached out to them, his fingers grasping for the shore that seemed impossibly far away. His father’s face was the last thing he saw before the water swallowed him whole.

Beneath the surface, the world grew darker. The hands dragged him deeper into the abyss, their bony fingers clawing at his flesh. Calder kicked and thrashed, his lungs burning, but the water was relentless. The further he sank, the darker it became, until the faint glow of the river’s surface was little more than a memory.

The hands vanished soon enough as Calder floated, disoriented, surrounded by a suffocating blackness. The crushing weight of the water disappeared, replaced by an eerie stillness. He reached out, his movements slow and dreamlike, but there was nothing to touch, no ground to anchor him.

He was…alone.

“Where am I?” Calder’s voice echoed, but there was no answer. He twisted in the void, searching for any sign of direction, but the darkness was infinite. Panic clawed at his chest as he struggled to make sense of what was happening.

Then, a light appeared.

It was small, barely more than a pinprick in the distance, but it shone with a steady brilliance. Calder’s gaze locked onto it, and as he watched, more lights began to appear, spreading across the void like stars in a night sky. The sensation of falling ceased, replaced by a weightless drift as the lights surrounded him.

Calder landed softly, his feet touching water that rippled but didn’t sink. He stood atop the surface, the lights reflecting around him in a dizzying array. The air felt thick, humming with an energy he couldn’t name. It was then that she appeared.

Rising from the water, a colossal figure towered above him, her presence so vast it seemed to blot out what little he could see of the “sky”. Her hair was a cascade of jet black, the tiny lights embedded within it shimmering like stars. Her form was impossibly graceful, yet terrifyingly massive, her movements slow yet fast at the same time.

Calder tried to make out her face, but there was none. Where her features should have been was a void, an emptiness that seemed to stare back at him. He froze, his breath caught in his throat, as two enormous eyes appeared within the void, locking onto him with a silent, unyielding gaze.

Every instinct screamed at him to run, but his body wouldn’t move. The woman bent down, her impossibly large hand reaching for him. Calder flinched as her fingers wrapped around his tiny form, lifting him effortlessly from the water.

The giant woman brought him closer to her void-like face, her eyes boring into him with an intensity that stripped away everything else. Calder felt exposed, his thoughts laid bare under her silent scrutiny. There was no malice, no compassion—only an emptiness that chilled him to his core.

Without a word, she extended a single finger and pressed it gently against his forehead.

The cold that surged through him was unlike anything he had ever known. It wasn’t the biting chill of the river or the frost of winter—it was deeper, more primal, a cold that reached into his very soul. Calder’s body convulsed, his limbs stiffening as the frost consumed him from within.

Then she dropped him.

Calder fell, his frozen body plummeting through the watery surface below. The giant woman’s void-like eyes remained fixed on him, unblinking, as he descended into the darkness. The last thing he saw was the faint shimmer of the lights in her hair before the blackness swallowed him whole.