I used to paint. Using buckets of blood I took from the sleeping Ice Kings, I’d splash it across the endless snow, creating crimson masterpieces. All to stave off insanity and boredom. My father made a mistake. The blood contained enough elemental power to create formations. He banished me to winter, but it didn’t have to be this realm’s winter. Maybe when I’m gone, the four Ice Kings will destroy this useless world that abandoned me.
~Cailleach, the Veiled Hag of Winter
North of Oiche, there was once a towering mountain. Its peak far in the clouds—worshiped by primitive tribes as if it were a god itself. As the story goes, the four Ice Kings descended from the north, unwilling to remain forever trapped in their frozen wasteland. Cailleach, the Veiled Hag of Winter, was interred with them because the gods didn’t know how to destroy the Ice Kings. Only the Veiled Hag could contain them, and so the other gods incarcerated her with the Kings.
The Veiled Hag had disappeared for countless years, forsaking her duty. The Druids hadn’t arrived on the northern continent yet, so the primitive tribes had no protection. The Ice Kings enslaved or killed most of the continent’s inhabitants during their southern migration.
A mysterious hero arrived, battling the Ice Kings for precisely one year. The only thing known about him was that he wielded a blade supposedly as heavy as the mountain itself. It was him that cut off the mountain’s top, exposing a flat, smooth surface at least ten thousand kilometers wide.
The top of the mountain was never located, and no one had questioned it. It wasn’t unusual for battles of that scale to pulverize large swathes of land. All anyone cared about was sealing the Ice Kings once more.
Ages passed. The flat surface of the halved mountain grew rough and weathered. Dust and debris accumulated, and life took root—mostly small-scale plants and grasses. Before long, a massive forest had taken over the top of the mountain—except for the centermost part. Nothing grew there. A natural ditch had formed roughly fifty kilometers across, and inside that circle, the land rose a tiny bit every few years. In the center of this dead zone was a mysterious cylindrical stone. This rose much faster than the surrounding area and was believed to be the heart of the gravitational anomaly.
Droiadh arrived not long after, but long before Mugna was a seedling. Seeing the henge forming naturally, they used the sacred oaks and created three rings of interconnected archways, with the innermost circle only ten meters from the mysterious stone. The middle ring was fifty meters from the inner ring and the outer ring over a hundred meters away from the middle one.
None of them had realized that the mysterious stone was the heart of the mountain, not until after they’d covered it in Celtic Knot Formations. The Droiadh had long sensed a gravity and spatial anomaly and suspected that there was another dimension hidden there, a place the mountain had once protected.
After forming the spatial tunnel, they realized that this dimension was the mountain’s Soulscape. A Soulsccape was a place that all cultivators eventually established, an inner world that was part of their Source’s power. It meant that the mountain had gained consciousness—it was something few people would ever witness, and in all Druid history, there were less than ten ever discovered.
Regardless of how it came to have awareness, the top half of the mountain was knocked inside its Soulscape. It was unknown if the battle caused it or if the mountain itself did it.
At this point, the history books failed Crow. Ice covered the entire mountain, but nothing explained how or why. The grove that once thrived, the henge—all of it covered in frigid ice. Even the slope leading up to the flat mountain top was covered in ice. If it wasn’t for the rough surface and gradual slope, Crow wasn’t even sure how they’d scale it.
Crow nearly stopped walking when he crested the top. Seeing the frozen trees first hand was a bit mind-blowing. They called this ring of trees that surrounded the heart of the mountain, the Sinister Snow Grove. Its aura contained both Frigid and a vibrant Wood Mana, but this place was a Forbidden Land. Forbidden Lands existed throughout the tower and the nine continents, but it was a generic label meaning danger. The majority of those that entered one never returned.
Sinister Snow Grove surrounded the Darach Henge, but no one knew who or what turned the once vibrant forest into what it was now. Crow thought the place was unique and beautiful, even if the branches clacking together sounded like bones striking one another. Not even the heat and high sun of summer could melt the ice, nor had any attempts to recover the forest met with success.
Even the henge’s wooden archways weren’t exempt from the frigid ice, but it didn’t interfere with their overall purpose. Nor did it prevent the formations carved into the Heart of the Mountain from working.
It had become a perfectly preserved wintry land. Crow stared at the beautiful landscape as the entire procession approached. Even at his current location, he could see the trees’ blue-green leaves glittering in the sunlight.
At the front, everyone had stopped, not entering the forest. Everyone following behind slowly did the same and looked up to see one of the Druid Council’s seven Archdruids floating in the sky.
“You may call me Elder Orla,” the Elder said, her voice reaching every single person, which Crow figured was around fifteen thousand, but only around ten thousand were here for the Hunt. “If you have never been here, pay attention as I’ll only say this once. Sinister Snow Grove is extremely dangerous. If and part of those trees, including its leaves, cuts you… say your goodbyes to your family quickly. None of you youngsters have enough Source energy to fight it off long enough for us to save you. Stay on the path and pay attention, and you’ll be perfectly safe.”
“Elder Orla?” A woman about Crow’s age asked politely. “What happens if we get scratched?”
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“Frigid Mana will immediately invade your body. It feeds on heat, so it’ll spread quickly throughout your body until you are as frozen as those trees. Even if you expel the mana, it will leave you with Ice Poison. Any of you with an affinity with Ice Mana, dispel any idiotic notions of cultivating this mana. Even if you had your Shield, it would probably still kill you. This path we are on is the only known safe path through the forest. You want to go off on your own, I won’t stop you, but no one will come for you either. That includes the clan elders—even their chances of surviving are ten percent at best. I’ve warned you.” Elder Orla had a grim look on her face. “Now, we’ll take a quick break. Once we enter the grove, we cannot stop. We have council elders scattered throughout the procession, and I ask you not to bother them. They will be part of a formation that will protect the entire column by keeping the Frigid Mana back.
Ten minutes later, they entered the forest. Crow and the Maddox clan were closer to the front of the procession, so it didn’t take long to cross that threshold. Even with the formation protecting him, he could feel the bitter cold trying to invade his bones. He circulated his Source, feeling his body warming instantly.
“Crow,” Gavin said from beside him while activating a formation to silence their conversation. “Be careful once we reach the Darach Henge, the Hunt is a team effort, and Mugna wanted me to warn you that inside that space, you aren’t under his boughs—the only protection you have is yourself. You are weaker than the others, at least your Source is, so you run if necessary. Survive until the event ends, and the world will automatically expel you.”
“Yes, teacher.”
“If you come across your cousins, be sure to look after them,” Gavin said after he lifted the spell that silenced the area around the two. “Aine, Brian, Otto, and even Song Xue will be there.”
“They—their source?”
“Is it odd? They are all older than you by at least a year. Song Xue awakened shortly after the Flower Festival, some with Otto—huh, interesting. Wonder why I never linked their awakening to you and that event.”
“Where is Otto?”
“Luthais is bringing him. He technically isn’t clan—don’t get angry.” Gavin warned. “Your ancestors have made a lot of concessions for that boy, but blood is blood. This is tradition.”
“I’m not angry, I understand.”
“Oh, well… good.” Gavin shook his head in exasperation. Even after all these months, he never quite figured the boy out.
“Hey, cousin!” Aine said. Her freckled face, wide-set brown eyes, small nose, big smile, and angled smooth jaw gave her an exotic look, but she still looked every bit a northerner. She’d pulled her long reddish-brown hair up, exposing her slender neck and ears that stuck out like a mouse. The leather armor she wore couldn’t hide her lithe body, and as tight-fitting as it was, it couldn’t hide her smallish breasts. Crow knew she wasn’t a top beauty, but she would turn heads and had a feline-like allure. “I heard you woke your Source a few years ago. How did that happen?”
This might be one of Aine’s few flaws. She wasn’t dumb, but she had the temerity to ask certain questions at inappropriate times—or she didn’t believe any topic was taboo. Others would find it offensive, but Crow didn’t mind. She was direct, without guile, and he couldn’t fault that.
“Haha, cousin, you never change,” Crow laughed, something he’d done less of in recent months. “It’s a long story, but Dryads attacked me—”
“Tsk, listen to your lies,” Munro Duncan spat from behind him. “Yes, now let’s see you sneak attack me.”
Crow smiled and looked at Aine, “Hey cousin, remember that question I asked you when we were kids? I think we have our answer.”
“Wh-what? What question?” Aine asked, looking between Crow and Munro with a confused look on her pretty face.
“If it a clown farts, it definitely doesn’t smell funny…” Crow deadpanned and waved his hand in front of his face.
Aine’s mouth dropped open.
“Pffft, ha!” She burst out laughing and slapped Crow on the shoulder. “You are so bad.”
“Y-y-you!” Munro roared, and everyone turned to see what was happening. Seeing the Maddox clan’s younger generation laughing and Munro’s cherry-red face, they passed strange looks among each other.
“What is happening here?” A Druid Council Elder approached.
Crow shrugged. “Nothing much. We were discussing whether or not pigs could talk, and it turns out they can!” He didn’t even hide the fact that he was staring right at Munro, who nearly fainted from anger. Quite a few people laughed this time. Those who had seen Munro beaten until his face was as swollen as a pig couldn’t help it.
“I’ll kill you!”
“Enough! You’ve made a fool of yourself enough already.” An elder of the Duncan clan spoke out, knowing very well that Munro started it and that Crow never directly accused Munro of anything. He knew the boy’s ability to twist things around and wasn’t about to get caught up arguing with the younger generation.
The council elder stared at Crow, and he knew the person was of the Rulaney clan—no doubt in his mind.
“Boy, watch you better watch—”
“What are you accusing me of, Elder?” Crow asked, putting as much contempt into Elder as he could. “You know, my father was in a hurry when he left. I wonder if he told anyone why he killed most of the Rulaney clan’s elders and ancestors. Wonder if anyone here still remembers Mica Rulaney?”
“Crow, stop,” Gavin warned.
Crow glanced over, biting his tongue. The threat still hung in the air, and many people were whispering now. The Elder’s face had gone pale, and all he could do was point at Crow before turning around and leaving. Now that her name was circulating, it wouldn’t be long before others realized what they’d done. His father said Crow could handle the Rulaney clan as he saw fit, so first, he’d undermine any authority they had.
Everyone kept moving, the disturbance barely disrupting the flow. It amazed Crow how many people had opened their Source in the last year.
“Anyone can attend,” Gavin said after seeing Crow look back at the sheer amount of people still climbing the slope to the top of the mountain. “The only requirements are that they’ve opened their Source and do not have a Shield. The Shield trial only happens every two years, and we time our Trial of Tur Briste to happen shortly after it ends. It gives you two years inside the tower to acclimate. It is even better if a Sect or Academy swoops in to take you as a disciple. We encourage you to accept as they’ll have more power and resources for you.” Gavin explained, and it wasn’t just Crow who was listening. Other people had perked up upon hearing this information.
“So the Shield trial is going on right now?” Crow asked.
“It is. The trial remains open from the Autumn Equinox to the Winter Solstice, so Mabon to Yule. During Winterfinding, a week before the Day of the Dead, we will test your aptitude. At the end of the Yule Festival will be the trial in which outsiders will come and witness our younger generation’s talents—typically, a dozen of the top talents will become a disciple of these powerful entities. The rest of you will enter the portal and join our sect inside the tower.”
“We have a sect? What is it called?” Aine asked.
“Sacred Oak Sect. Now concentrate on the Hunt.”
Crow tried to calculate the dates. The Hunt lasted for forty-five days, which left about a month and a half to two months before the testing. After that, there were about three months until the end of Yule. In half a year, he’d enter the tower—a little over two years before the next Shield trial opened.
A shiver went down his spine, which left him bewildered for some time after.