Frostnova grimaced as the wind blew a stray strand of hair into her eyes, lightly brushing it from her face. As she stepped forwards onto the ice, the wind raced to meet her, even waves of snow blowing across the ice as she walked forwards. Ahead of her, Patriot kept a steady pace, the Wendigo seemingly unaffected by the elements. Perhaps she could summon some form of shield – no, that would be a waste of Arts. Frostnova angled herself behind Patriot, feeling the scattered snow stop striking her face. Lazy, yes, but also optimal; or at least, that was what she told herself.

"Do we have any semblance of a plan?" Andrey asked. "I'd much rather not be trapped in an altar for eternity."

"Once the altar captures you… defeat your alternate self." Frostnova chastised herself for not considering this earlier; "listen to Patriot" may have worked up to now, but Patriot had a vested interest in killing Andrey. "I'll try to convince Patriot to allow me to contact you."

"So there's a half chance I get stuck in a stone for a thousand years." Andrey flatly observed. "Patriot is unlikely to let me out. Nor am I likely to defeat a man possessing all my memories and skills."

"If he knew so much, you would be dead." Frostnova replied. "And if we delay this, you die anyways."

"Just two weeks ago, I was trying to help you cook. Now I'm trying to survive myself." Andrey snarked. "I feel as if I've committed some grave sin."

"You'll be fine." Frostnova tried to reassure him, only for it to come out almost like a proclamation.

"No, I won't."

Sometimes, it was hard to remember the past. Andrey knew that – his amnesia having quite literally made it impossible. It felt so distant now, those days all he did was avoid angering Frostnova. Now – well, he could die. Apparently. It was all so theoretical, just a cessation of thought. He almost felt like he could just continue on doing what he was doing now, and nothing would change, forever.

Theory, and reality. He could die – but he failed to comprehend what it truly meant.

…perhaps he could have that existential crisis later. What could he do, now, to improve his chances? Not much. It was predetermined that he would have his soul captured by the altar. Well, unless he killed Frostnova, but that was out of the question. So he would have to defeat himself, in an unknown battlefield, with no experience to speak of.

It'd likely be like Frostnova's mindscape, in a sense, or perhaps just an empty, black expanse. Entering her mind, he looked around at the all-too-familiar translucent peaks. What could he do… Somehow, it would still be some physical battle. His right hand grasped the slippery ice adorning the sides of the spire, and absentmindedly he leaned his weight on it – left hand stretching further up as he began an impromptu climb.

…well, that could help. And if anything, it would help pass the time, and distract him from his impending doom.

Frostnova followed behind Patriot as they slowly walked through the winds. They must have looked interesting to the birds, she idly thought; her small, insignificant form trailing behind Patriot, almost like a feather caught in the wind. She closed her eyes for a moment and imagined the scene; she must have looked like nothing but a white blur from above.

Not that there were any birds around. Frostnova winced as a stray cluster of snow struck her in the face, the snowflakes bouncing off her skin like so many grains of sand. Not the most pleasant experience, the snowflakes stubbornly refusing to melt as her Arts kept them frozen. She dusted herself off the best she could as she kept walking, making sure to stay behind Patriot.

The night was fast approaching, the snowflakes flying through the air quickly disappearing in the darkness. Nonetheless, Patriot kept moving, only to halt suddenly, pointing down at the ice beneath their feet.

"Ice, unstable." Patriot casted his Arts, his halberd glowing red as he chanted; the world around them suddenly illuminated again. Frostnova came to his side, looking down at the ice – and seeing a massive fracture in the ice beneath them. It glowed with an ethereal red as the light reflected off it, the ice seemingly like a piece of broken glass, snugly fit together yet broken at the slightest touch.

"Tents, risky. We continue. Only a, day left." They would be walking through the night, it seemed. Not the best of choices, but Frostnova trusted Patriot's judgement.

Patriot walked forwards, lone torchbearer in the endless darkness, as Frostnova kept close behind. The red light of his cast fleeting shadows in the ice as the snow blew by, like an endless dance of blury shadows in the night. From above, they must have looked like a deep red star on an empty black canvas, alone in the dark night.

"Just a day left." The words still echoed in Andrey's ears. A day, until he had to face what he was certain was his death, or at least eternal imprisonment. His breaths almost sounded deafening in his ears, and for a moment he almost thought he was hyperventilating –

…panicking wasn't going to help. From his vantage point on the tallest tower of ice, he looked upon the dark shadows beyond, wondering what the battlefield could be like, if there was anything he could use. Nothing, beyond his current plan of "run and hope something happens," which was risky at best.

Jumping off the spire, he winced in imagined pain as he bounced off a razor-sharp spike of ice, before landing in the cushiony snow. Even now, he couldn't reconcile his intuition with reality. Quickly, almost as if he would forget them if he tarried for too long, he traced his options in the snow, stepping back after a moment to admire his writing.

Quite simply, they boiled down to "run and hide," "give up and beg for mercy," "fight back," or "threaten to kill self." He could only come up with so much given the utter lack of information he currently had. If only it was Frostnova fighting, so he could calmly analyze and give advice – but no, this was his fight.

As much as he disliked it. Well, agonizing over his meagre knowledge would only give him a marginally superior answer at best, so he supposed he could save the time and energy. Casting his Arts, he felt the artificial energies run through him, quickly putting him to sleep.

The winds cleared up as the sun rose over the horizon once more, revealing a faint red light further north, shining dimly in the dawn sky – almost invisible in the palette of colors behind it. The altar, Frostnova guessed; they were finally there. Appearances could be deceiving, however. And if Patriot's words were anything to go by, it would take until the late afternoon for the altar to finally be more than just a faint light in the distance.

They trudged forwards on the ice, Frostnova scanning the ground before them – finding a spiderweb of cracks under the ice. They would have to proceed carefully, though Patriot was far more likely to break the ice then she was. Patriot kept marching forwards, Frostnova following him close behind. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last she felt a sense of ease from the mighty bulwark of steel and muscle protecting her, nor would it be the last time the two of them walked together like this; silently, peacefully traversing Terra. She wondered how Andrey was holding up, so close to his first true battle.

"Andrey?"

"Mhm?" a slow reply, her ever-present friend seemingly lost for a moment. "What is it?"

"Are you ready?"

"No, definitely not." Andrey flatly said.

"Nobody is ready for the blood staining the battlefield, and the comrades you will lose. 'Ready' is always a lie." Frostnova adopted a deep tone as she spoke, remembering when she had been told the same.

"I can't see how that's relevant in the current situation. A quote, from someone?"

"Patriot." She replied. "Before his Oripathy, he was quite eloquent."

"Huh."

Frostnova supposed she could tell some stories, to pass the time. She trusted Andrey to keep them secret, and it wasn't as if he could go around telling her life story to all the Yetis anyways. Either way, the Yetis knew much of it already. "Back then, Patriot was…"

Night came surprisingly quickly in a blur of comfortable silence, interspersed with the occasional story. The two of them only remembered the "battle" ahead once the massive shard of Originium atop the altar came into view, an array of tiny shards floating within it, suspended within beams of red light. That alone was testament to the massive power the altar held, the Originium fragments not wavering at even the strongest wind as they approached.

Keenly scanning the building, Frostnova made out the finer details of the structure, the building a massive, hollow square pyramid, edges built of hardened steel and faces empty to allow access to the fragments housed within. Atop the pyramid lay the Originium crystal she had seen earlier, the altar built atop a sturdy island of cold, blackened stone. It reminded her of the Ursus military, in a sense, but the sharp, geometrical edges almost made it feel unworldly, like a worn artifact from times long gone.

Perhaps it was. The pure-blooded Wendigos had been in their death throes for many, many centuries, and such a masterpiece must have taken an entire city's worth of power to construct, let alone research.

They passed the stone surrounding the altar, and marched up the massive steps of solid steel. So close, Frostnova could study the steps in detail, watching the interlocking pieces of steel that had formed this altar, still rust-free after so many years. Yet she also saw the many pockmarks across the hard metal, Originium shards embedded in the steel or simply laying around at random, Frostnova absentmindedly kicking one away as they passed. Catastrophes had dealt their fair share of damage to the altar over the years, every surface scarred and impaled with miniature Originium shards.

Ascending the steps, Frostnova gazed at the floating crystals of Originium as she passed, following Patriot as they approached the core of the altar.

Patriot placed a crystal of Originium within the altar, watching the crystal – barely the size of Frostnova's hand – ascend, before pointing towards the center, where an arcane symbol of ages past lay, etched into the steel.

Frostnova stepped forwards, and Patriot began.

He drew a miniature knife, taking off his armored glove and slitting open his hand, the Wendigo's blood dripping onto the etchings below, slowly creeping through the rune.

Then Patriot began to chant. As his blood touched the center of the rune, it suddenly spread out, glowing a shadowed red as the liquid – was it even a liquid anymore? – rushed through the steel, forming a cage around Frostnova as the energy within rapidly charged towards her.

She ascended with it.

Pain replaced her thoughts, her body feeling as if it was being torn into a thousand pieces by the energies, her mind barely able to keep herself functioning as her eyes fluttered closed.

The last thing she heard was Patriot's chanting as she blacked out, the Wendigo's voice echoing through the altar and out to the empty icefields, seemingly encompassing her entire world.

AN: Andrey stresses out over himself, Patriot stresses out over Andrey, and I stress out over my poor time management skills. Summer's essentially over, and now I have more stuff to do, so I might have to reduce the speed of uploads a bit. It'll probably be reduced from the current one chapter per three days to anywhere between three and seven (that is, whenever I finish a chapter). Sorry for that, and I hope you still enjoyed the late chapter!