Here he was, in a forest dark. Trees overhead collapsed out and far, like stretching fingers that fanned and twisted and interlocking, locking out the terrible, black sky, long and infinite above. Stepping carefully about the ground, his virulent hazel eyes grazing the wilted grass for the stray entrapment.
Hans heard of this forest, Spøkelsenes Land, the Land of Ghosts, as they'd come to name it. Of course, he could see where they'd gotten their inspiration: horrid squeals of rotting wood definitely made for a formidable point of interest when it came down to giving somewhere so unsavory a name. It certainly got the message across, and if the distant cries of some unsettled animal or beast wasn't enough, there was a distinct...air, fraught with strange auras that he couldn't describe. Pausing for a moment, he scanned around him, eying the forest's perverse shadows, and with their shape, it was almost as if they'd been reaching for him, and with a start, his wide, green-gold eyes watching as they crept closer, still, to his feet.
Now, it wasn't just rotting wood or the odd woodland creatures that he had to worry about. Quickly, he outpaced the vine-like apparitions, bearing in his hands a map from his back pocket as he rushed along. He'd heard the stories, the long tales told by the many peasants that had lived in Southern Isles long before even his birth, of the forest of creeping shadows, whining banshees that crept like grieving specters, waiting in the wings for an unsuspecting traveler that they could make the subjects of their songs, their sorrowful bellows that marked the end of their lives. Make no mention of the other...beings, hazy and strange to the mortal eye, wafting like smoky reminders of lost souls amongst these endless wood cages.
He could recall it, what the lowborn had been spewing from their drunken lips, having overheard a boisterous lot just days before his journey here.
"You know of The Old Wood?" One of them spat out once they'd taken a fine swig of their mead, buds of the golden nectar drenching their beard and dotting their rosy-red cheeks, intense and hot in the faces reflected in the young men in the speaker's stead. He was old, almost too old to seem real as his trailing, long white hair reached down to his ratty clothes, steely and woolen against his wily frame. Around him, there were men akin to boys, each with drinks in-hand, leaning fruitlessly closer to the man as if they might be able to hear him better over the noise of the pub. Coming closer, the young prince found himself intrigued, nonetheless, in the outpourings of the old man, and he came closer, still. None of them seemed to notice him, or really seemed to mind if they had, each far more interested in their drinks and stories than some deposed prince in their stead.
"You mean that dark place? I hear some call it...what was it? Something like, uh, Spøkeli...Spøkeless...yeah, that was right, Spøkeless, it was!" Another slurred far louder than he needed to, and Hans had the inclination that he probably couldn't hear himself, eying him with disgust as he drunk deeply of his own dirty mug, but one of the others shook their head with agitation, clapping the man on the back of the head.
"No, you sod! It's Spøklemi! Spøklemi!" He shouted in kind, and the former grunted dangerous at him, rubbing the back of his head at the angered hand that had made the offending abrasion. However, both found the old man rolling his eyes, drinking of his mug before scoffing at them.
"No, you lot. The Old Wood, Spøkelsenes Land." The man voiced lowly, drawing the group and Hans in closer as they hung off of his words.
'Spøkelsenes Land...Spøkelsenes Land...' The prince thought to himself, coming to attention when he went to reach into his coat pocket, pulling from it a solemn, simple note.
Come to me in the place where spirits cry.
Holding the small paper in his fingers, he tried to think of it, what it might have meant when the name came again, this time from one of the other drunkards about the tiny table that they'd come to share.
"Oh, wait, yeah! Yeah, that was it. That was the place! Spøka- Spøkelsenes, I mean, That, uh, dark forest place, yeah? Nasty place." One of them said, trying to recover some semblance of dignity they had seeing as it was the same from before that had been hit on the head, voice high, shrill, and irritating, but it was enough to spur the man again.
"Yes. The Crying Glen, Listless Shade; it goes by many, many names, see." He uttered in a low voice, and for a second, there was a meeting of grey to woodland green, their eyes clashing quickly and disbanding just as fast. The scant interaction left Hans wanting to tear his eyes away but they lingered, as if urging the old man to continue, beckoning with silent questions. Taking his hint, the man drunk of him mug, finishing the virulent substance that had once remained inside before setting the wooden cup upon the table.
"Bears, wild dogs, those can be avoided, killed if you've gotta get get your hands dirty. Goblins? You can take them if your sturdy enough, but we're not talking about any of them. No, this is different." Came his start, the men about him leaning forward, closer than what Hans thought they might be able to manage, each looking enthralled in the man's tales.
Hans didn't want any of that nonsense.
Even as a child, he didn't care much for the ghouls and fantasy nonsense that plagued the earnest children's stories his wet nurses would tell him at rest. No, he wanted something more, something...grounded. He'd leave those infernal beasts to the lot that wanted to seek them out...but he had other plans in mind.
Yet, still, the older man continued, spouting his conspiratorial words.
"No, there be spirits, rampant and wild in those woods. Screaming ones, bestial ones that cry and moan for the children that they lost, or their own lost souls, driven mad by the dark." A woman, holding in her waiting hands a tray of more mugs, likely filled to the brim with mead and ale, came by, likely attracted by the absence of a drink in hand. Waiting patiently as his spotted, wrinkled hand grasped at one of the wooden cups, he took a few coins from his pockets, handing them to her in kind. Nodding to him, she was on her way and, with a swig to his mug, again drenching his wiry beard in beads of gold. However, at his silence, group seemed to grow in their suspicions and doubt, likely the smartest thing the prince had seen them do in the short time that he'd been in this hellhole.
"Spirits. Alright, I can get on with trolls and...and things like that, but ghosts?" A young man, maybe about Hans' age, countered in disbelief, chuckling off the notion. His scruffy, auburn hair was dull, shaking with the denying nod of his head. The others seemed to follow, taking heed to the man's doubt, their dull expressions matching the former's. Curiously, the older man didn't appear fazed by this, chuckling softly to himself.
"I know. I didn't believe it myself when I went in, either...all those years ago." There was a tangible silence before the older man's words hit them, and Hans felt himself lunge forward, closing the distance with the man in one, assertive movement. The group all jumped in unison at his surprise entry (he figured they forgot that he was there), all with the exception of the older man, one that smiled crudely, mashed, worn teeth gleaming a dull yellow in the glow of the pub.
"Ah, so finally got your attention, huh, boy? Figured that might wake you up." Grunting at the prince's expression, Hans bristled.
Who did he think he was, calling him "boy"? Didn't he know who he was?
However, the others at the table didn't take notice of the agitation that writhed whole and full on his features, taken aback by his presence, and at their behest, he remarked them shortly, irritated that they'd pulled his attention away.
"Gods, Prince Hans?! Goodness, we didn't notice you there, I mean, we just didn't expect to see you here! What an honor it is!" A stout, round man, breath foul and rank, wafted horridly to Hans' nose, and the prince wasn't shy about his disgust.
"Ah, well, the pleasure is all mine, truly." Came his curt response, and just as he was about to turn back to the storyteller, one of them, that same, filthy dog that had spoken to him so closely just a moment ago, gripped his arm. There was a split second in his mind that he felt it timely and just to correct this mutiny with a fervent hand, and in the back of his mind, Hans could imagine himself having this filth punished for even daring to share the same air as him, let alone touch him, but he refrained, parsing a kindly smile that felt strained and force against his taut features.
"Gods, to just be this close to you...what brings you here, prince?" The man sputtered in earnest, watching the young man with interest as Hans excused the question.
"Ah, personal matters as it were. I was just interested to hear what this gentleman had to say about this...what did you say? Spøkelsenes Land? Is that right?" He offered tersely, and the older man nodded, unmoved by the cutting eyes of the other.
"Yes. What of it?" The older man answered, taking a deep swig of his drink, tone flippant and eased. Gritting his teeth at the man's continued indifference, he took a seat, decidedly as far away from the others at the table as possible, seating himself directly across from the man. Around them, a few of the other patrons found themselves enthralled by the notion of a royal in their midst, the occasional stare, perhaps even point, in their direction was coupled by curious whispers, but Hans paid them no mind.
They weren't important.
Straightening his posture, as thought to make himself seem taller, more threatening, he pushed on, steeling his voice.
"I also happened to overhear that you may have entered that forest once upon a time. Is that true?"The prince questioned, and the older man shot him a strange look, choosing instead to sigh and place his mug upon the table once more.
"There wasn't a may. I did, when I was still in business of...well, that part doesn't matter. I've been there, once is enough for me." Curious, the man grinned, again, his teeth holey and spaced, but there wasn't a kindness in it.
It sought to unnerve the prince.
"Why? Got business there?" He asked, and Hans bristled once more.
'To think that this peasant was impudent enough to believe that he's in any position to ask me questions.' Hans thought coldly, scoffing.
This rat really needed to learn his place.
"Perhaps I do, but that hasn't anything to do with you." He answered with spat malice, the others at the table taken aback by his tone, but they said nothing, choosing instead to take their drinks in kind. But again, the old man was unfazed, giving the prince an amused look.
"Oh, yeah? I guess you're right. The business of royals isn't any business of mine...but I imagine you want something, don't you? Can't imagine you're here to listen to an old man's tales, are you?" Despite himself, the older man didn't look to discomforted by the prince's looks.
Hans hated this type, the ones that were neither impressed nor disquieted by...anything. In a way, the young man figured this nameless elder had seen it all...or something close to that. Every sunset, each horizon, in-numerous battles that saw him and others fight...this wasn't the source of admiration for Hans, though.
It was these types, the impudent, bold ones, that made his blood boil.
What he would do to wipe that toothless grin off of the liver-spotted face.
The prince relished for that moment.
But for now, this agitating old coot had something that he needed, and he'd be willing to put aside his pride for even a moment's time to get it.
"No. I'm glad you understand that, at least." From his small, leather satchel, he pulled free a rolled parchment, loosing its single, tied ribbon to unravel the thick map that had been kept safe and tucked within. The group, ones that Hans had paid little heed, and frankly, ignored, leaned in with interest.
The old man, still appearing disinterested, only swept his eyes over it, though Hans could tell that he at least had his attention. Upon the map, there rested an image of the kingdom of Southern Isles, its territories, outskirts; everything that made their home just that...home. However, the prince's attention wasn't on any of that.
None of it was his, after all.
No, his focus was low, set on the lonesome, black splotch at the far right corner of the map, bold, white script naming it aptly.
The black forest.
Gesturing to it, he eyed the man expectantly as he spoke.
"Knowing that you've gone there, I want to know where the heart is. Show me where it is here. Something that could help me find it." Hans all but ordered, reaching into his bag to bring out a bit of ink and quill, pushing the well and tool over to the older man with one, fluid motion, and with a crossing of his arms, he waited for the man to move. For an odd breath, a shared moment, there was nothing. No movement, no words.
Just...silence.
It was only after nearly a minute the older man, his tone no longer light and airy as it was before, spoke, placing his drink upon the table.
"You lot. I need a minute with the prince." There was, again, a moment of repose before any of them spoke, the older man's worlds only then falling upon their ears.
"Oh, you mean leave?! But we were going to - " With a wave of his hand, Hans quickly dismissed them, not bothering to even acknowledge them with a look.
"Yes, go."He ordered simply, unaware of their incredulous, hurt looks. Grumbling amongst themselves, each stood, mugs in-hand, parting from the table one after the other before, eventually, only Hans and the older man remained. Seating himself after coming a bit closer to the older man, but still only arms length away. There were no words exchanged between the two before Hans spoke, his tone short and impatient.
"Well? Do what I asked, not unless you have more you wish to say." At his voice, the older man sighed, and with just a breath, that youth sheen that once glimmered in his eye had gone. There was a certain...withering, a folding of his posture and weariness of his features that made that talkative elder seem as old as this pub itself. Hans, admittedly, was put off by it, not that he would have admitted it to the lowborn.
"Tell me, Prince. What business do you have in that forest?" Came his quiet question, the old man folding his hands carefully over his drink as he waited for Hans' answer. Rolling his eyes, the youth didn't try to conceal his annoyance, huffing as an expression of it.
"Wasn't it you that said that the business of royals didn't concern you? What right do you think you have even considering questioning me, wretch?" His patience wearing thin, he forsook any falsities in kindness and benevolence he'd been feigning before.
He was really beginning to get on his nerves.
At his words, the older man didn't falter, loosing a humorless laugh.
"I suppose I don't really have a right, I know that to be true, but whether I tell you how to get there very much hinges on what you say next." Succinct, the older man eyed the prince, steel eyes half-lidded and tired despite the noise around them. Hans, this time finding himself amused, let out a crude chuckle.
"Oh yeah, you get to bargain with me, to? I can at least respect that you're bold. But I fear my patience for this little game is wearing thin. I suggest you speak of where it is lest I make things much harder for you." There was no effort on either of their parts to conceal their immovable wills, though the old man's was far more frail, a shaking sigh breathy and short on his tired lungs. Taking the quill and ink well into his hands, the older man, strangely hesitant despite his snaking tongue only moments ago when the drunkards had been there. In his mind, Hans found himself particularly humored by the idea of a man at his advanced age being invigorated by a couple of imps at some common pub to mouth off to a prince. There was a particular irony in all of his talk from before been silenced with just a wave of his hand and the prince's very own stubbornness.
It reminded him that this old man was just that: an old man, soft, weak, and frail.
Dipping the tip in the ink, the older man began to speak as he drew.
"The Old Wood is bound by rivers. Laced with dark water, there are nine leading to the heart, but you only need one. Follow one and you will find the eye, the heart. You'll know when you get there when the water stops flowing." There was a line set on the parchment, ones that Hans figured were just for that, the rivers that would lead him in. Figuring that would be enough, he snatched the quill from him.
"See? That wasn't too hard, was it?" He spat, turning his eyes intently to the map, noting each entry to the center. To have what he was looking for so close, or at least the key to doing so right here before him...it was hard to contain himself as he regarded the older man stiffly, turning his nose up at the man.
He refused to thank anyone for putting him through this much trouble, much less some filthy peasant like him.
But the older man didn't mention it, Hans' lack of gratitude, too lost in his own thoughts to give the young prince any parting words as he packed his things, rolling the map back up and tying it with the same ribbon from before and placing his quill and ink back inside of his bag. His eagerness to finally depart from this musty, filthy place was hardly contained when he threw his bag over his shoulder, and without even another word, he set out to leave when the old man spoke again.
It was the same, that sorrowful look that irritated him to no end.
But there was something else, an ominous undertone that caught his attention.
Staring for a long moment, the old man spoke, voice low and flat.
"Be wary, Prince Hans. There are some things that man were not meant to tamper with." Only minding the prince for a moment longer, his silver eyes fell away, as if granting Hans permission to leave. His words rung in his head, but were quieted by his will, the young man again scoffing before turning and leaving, watchful, curious eyes mindful to his presence.
There was nothing that old know-nothing could tell him to deter him.
There was far too much at stake for him to let him do so.
Deeper and deeper, the forest seemed to become darker, impossibly so as he could already hardly make out the map before his very hands. Running along the path, he paused again, running his eyes over the scrawling the old man had left behind. Here, in the shadows, it was hard to tell but...he should have been near one already -
"Wait, what is that?" Straining, he could hear something. Around him, he was thankful, if only for that time, that there was a strange stillness that surrounded him. One breath, then two passed, when he heard something, a trickling.
Running.
Streaming.
Could it be the -
"The river. Well, one of them. I just need to figure out which direction it's in. Taking one last look at the map, he cursed, sticking it back into his coat pocket, wishing greatly that could have lit the lantern that hung discreetly at his waist.
But he was no fool.
Of the stories of the dark forest, there was good reason for it remaining so.
Naturally, the dark hated light. It would devour it, swallow it whole.
And whomever was the one holding it, too. What that meant left many to wonder, and Hans was amongst that crowd, the ones that had no desire to find out as so many had before. Of course, it meant it would be much harder to find his way, but to remain alive, the prince figured it a small price to pay.
"Which...way..." Stepping forward a bit, he could see them again, fingers outstretched and yearning in the dark.
That was right, he'd nearly forgotten.
He had to keep moving.
Once again, he made his move, missing them by a wide margin as he trekked on, listening closely to water, trembling past somewhere beyond his view, but it wasn't long before he felt the sound grow closer, swishing beds of flowing onyx rushing along the forest's floor.
'It sounds like I'm close.' Hans reasoned, relieved now more than then that he was closer to bringing this trip to an end.
Bringing danger upon himself when he was this close to finally setting things right?
The thought made him shudder as he zeroed in on the sound, and, before long, Hans could see it, rushing black paths scurrying and running, cutting void-like lines in the already-dark wood. From what he'd been expecting, though, he didn't exactly think that it would have been big enough to part a small valley here, too, but it had. Chancing it, the prince peered down into the inky soup below, and quickly pulled himself back, its endless depths a symptom of a terror he didn't think he understood.
But he was satisfied leaving it there.
He didn't need to understand this place, its strangeness.
He only needed what it would give him.
Parting from the river's edge, he began on his way, using the trees lining the river to keep from straying too far and falling in. On the way, he felt his excitement grow, his heart growing to a rushing patter when the water began to slow.
He was so close now.
Stepping around a few more trees, Hans came to an impasse. Shrubs, underbrush, and bristling spines coated what seemed to mark the end of the river's run, twisted and thick in much the same fashion as the tree branches were above. It was as though they were there to protect it, the heart of this place, and Hans knew better than to try and part them by hand.
In a split-second, it occurred to him to use his sword, refusing to allow some brambles to stand between him and his destiny.
It was his.
Hit
It belonged to him.
Slash
IT WAS OWED TO HIM.
Cut
Again and again, he pruned, slicing seamlessly through the layers of hazardous nature to find his way through when, finally, he could see light, blistering cold on his skin as it glittered onto the trees and shadows. This seemed to anger them, and in a flash, they moved, snaking across the ground like serpents unkempt. Eyes widening at their impending assault, Hans turned back, attempting to cut away at the foliage faster, but the shadows, almost as quickly as the running river before, came upon him, and just as quickly, they were around his leg, crushing and cold around his boot before they began to crawl up his leg.
"Shit! Get off of me, get off!" He bellowed, doing what he could to yank his leg back from the efforts of the forest, but that wasn't all.
Around him, he could hear them, moaning and grumbling just out of view in the obsidian dark. Paling, he could see them.
Eyes in the dark, watching him.
They were coming.
Slashing again and again, the light became brighter, spilling like water over the withered, grey grass, and the spirits became louder...angrier. His hazel eyes wavered with fear.
The whole wasn't big enough yet, he needed more time -
"Damn it! Here!" Unhooking his lantern, he took a match from his bag and struck it, throwing in the small flame and lighting it. It sparked to life, luminous and warm to the touch.
The perfect distraction.
Swinging his arm back, Hans threw it with as much force as he could muster, the lantern cracking with a satisfying snap before the spirits, agitated by its presence, followed it, fighting to find a way to open it and devour its light. Even the shadows that gripped his ankle seemed taken by it, loosening their grip ever so slightly before joining the others in their frantic efforts.
'That won't hold them for long. I've gotta work at this while I can!' The prince redirected his attention, terribly aware of the screeching cries just some odd meters away. Cutting again and again, the hole began to widen, just enough where he could manage to reach his arm inside, but not where he could fit through.
More.
He had to cut more.
But behind him, he heard glass shatter, deafening as the creatures scrambled to silence its delicate glow, guttural snarls and whines horrid on the ears.
More.
He had to make it, he had to go faster.
Again and again, he cut.
Once.
The lantern's flame was extinguished.
Twice.
The spirits turned, facing the light again.
Thrice.
They were screaming.
They were coming.
They were behind him.
They were -
"Come on! Quickly now!" A hand, delicate but firm grasped at his arm, yanking him forward into the sizable gap in the brambles. He'd just narrowly missed tearing his face on one of the thorns that grazed his cheek, but he didn't, falling and planting his face upon the softened, dew-covered grass just as the spirits made it to the hole. His fear overcame him as he scurried away, pawing at the ground with all of his might once they'd appeared there, fully prepared for the onslaught when...nothing came.
"Huh?" He managed to get out, watching them from afar.
They were screaming, but not in their righteous anger.
In pain.
He could see it, searing them in its cold light, scaring them away until only the echoes of their terrible cries remained, and then...nothing.
Silence returned.
And he welcomed it.
Grasping his chest, the prince took a moment to collect himself when a voice behind him called his attention, ghostly and soft.
"Are you alright? Noticed you were having quite a bit of trouble out there. Thought I might help you." Hans turned around, his face contorted with anger at the visage of a small woman behind him. Before him, she stood, delicate features framed with the blinding light as she reached out, looking past him and to the whole he'd left behind. Something, like tendrils rising and slithering, the hole began to close, the vines and brambles sealing it shut like a wound. It was only a moment later that it was closed again, as if it had never been cut at all, locking away any remnant of the dark forest behind.
Standing and correcting his clothes and hair, the prince looked to her with a glare, cutting his eyes to her pale ghostly ones.
"Oh, I think I would have been far better if you thought about helping me way sooner, maybe before they were a hair away from tearing me to pieces, hm?" He questioned rudely, making an effort to close the distance between them, his sword still drawn and primed with fury. However, the young woman grinned, unbothered by his subtle threat.
"You're fine, right? Then it's okay, see? Besides, you've come this far. Would killing me get you what you want?" She questioned back slyly, and the prince halted, grinding his teeth at his words.
"Hmph." With a look of dismay, he sheathed his weapon.
She wasn't worth the effort anyway.
At his submission, the young woman glimmered with amusement.
"Thought so." The nameless woman chided playfully, turning from the young man and walking away from the wall of brambles. Following suit, Hans was taken by the sight of what lied within.
There was indeed a lake, massive and clear, impressions of strange, luminescent fish swimming within. They grazed the surface, dotting it with kisses as they rushed to catch the food that sunk beneath the surface of the water. The little droplets of foot dropped down from above, like petals from the largest tree he'd ever seen.
Pale, white, and bathed in holy light, there was something akin to a trunk that stemmed from a small island in the middle of the lake itself. The river that had led him here stemmed through, parting the land and glittering with light as it, too, let into the massive lake; within, there rested smaller islands, strange, stone arches standing atop each of the nine that were there. Lavender pulses danced along the trunk, glowing with vitality with curves and lines that flowed along its shape, parting into the many branches that fluttered high above their heads, the canopy an impossible distance overhead. In fact, the prince noticed with a start, he could see the sky, set ablaze with tiny stars that budded like flowers within a dark sky.
Smiling at him, the woman giggled at his expression.
"I know. Beautiful right?" She asked sweetly, a certain wistfulness to her voice. Giving her a slight look, he didn't answer.
He wasn't here to sight see. He had something he wanted.
"Where is it?" The prince, cutting right to the chase, shook her from her soft look, the young woman taken aback.
"Hmm? A direct one, huh? Never was patient." She exclaimed, rolling her pale, lavender eyes in kind. Grunting, he didn't find himself in the mood for anymore of these riddles and games.
He'd arrived.
He was owed something.
Sighing, she gestured for him to follow her, and he did just that, keeping close to the short woman as they came to a small pond. Around them, buds of light drifted on the soft breezes above, some appearing like little insects that buzzed and bobbed on the currents. They seemed to center around this little place, lily pads and white flowers laid in a thin veil atop the water. Stepping to it, the young woman dipped her foot in, then her other, pulling up her long dress with one hand as she bent down, reaching below the pads and flowers to the glowing lights beneath, humming as she did so.
After just a minute, she stood again, her wet hand tightened into a fist as she left the water. Impatient, Hans held out his hands, gesturing for her to give it to him when she gave him a dull look.
"Wow. I mean, I love the one that are more assertive, but can't a lady say a speech first?! By the Gods!" She shouted, pulling back her hand with a cross look that the prince only matched with aggression.
He didn't care to hear a speech, he just wanted it.
Now.
But she didn't seem to be budging, even going as far as to back away when he didn't relent, much to his annoyance. His blood boiled, and with it, his urge to -
'You know what? Just let this one go. The bitch looks ready to lose it if I don't her say her piece.' Came a thought, his attempt at frustration. With a hiss, he placed his hands back at his sides, allowing her to relax just a bit.
"Fine. Just get it over with." Waving his hand dismissively, the prince felt her beam, even when his gaze fell somewhere else.
"Thank you! I've been practicing this forever. Now..." Around them, the light seemed to grow, the wind bending and whipping around them as the woman, donning a serious expression, began to speak.
"Ek present til þú þessi divine gift, visager ór jrinnörð tré gerumk manifest! sjá til þat at þú nýtatt þessi fyrir góð, fyrir hvat passageinn ór níuinn realms munu deem fit ok réttr. Ek grant þú tearr ór Yggdrasill, konungsson ór southerninn isles. Nýtatt þat vel ok með honor." Opening her fist, there was just a single stone, iridescent and bright in her palm as she bent down, kneeling to present him with the stone. Hans, looking down at her hands, reached forward tentatively, grasping it harshly between his fingertips before laying it down in his palm. It was cold like ice, glittering softly and smooth, yet no less beautiful; the woman came to her feet, watching as the prince examined it, a slightly smug expression upon her face.
"See? Now that was good, right? That's sixty years worth of effort, but it was absolutely worth it." Sighing contently, she noticed that Hans didn't answer.
He couldn't.
His heart was pounding, thrumming violently in his chest as his excitement grew.
'This is it. This...this is going to fix everything.' Smiling, he turned to her.
He just needed to know how it worked.
"You, how do I use it?" He practically demanded, and the small woman sputtered, slight agitation evident in her voice.
"Okay, to begin, I am not 'you'. My name is Ygg. Secondly, you could try asking a little nicely sometimes! It wouldn't kill you to, you know?" Coming forward, she mostly ignored his embittered look, focusing of the Tear. Breathing out slowly, the young woman's hands began to glow, soft and white on her palms as they met his own. There was a sensation of cold, greater now, that began to wash over him. Looking up at him, Han's watched her pale eyes go white, washed and burning like her palms as she stared into his own.
"Think of where you want to go. Let the sounds, the smells, the very air tell you where it take you. Feel it, think it...see it. The Tear will will burn when you have found what your heart desires. It will take you there." She affirmed, closing her eyes just as Han's had closed his.
Hans thought, his mind flooded with images, with thoughts, emotions, sensations.
He could hear ice floes cracking, humming old songs in the cold of the fjord. It clanged like stones beneath his feet, solid, immovable, violent, as it claimed more and more of the waters of the kingdom.
In his palm, the stone began to grow warm, residual heat penetrating his skin with a pleasant aura.
He could smell nothing, the air too still, frigid, to do so. There was a perverse sense of timelessness as the wind ceased to blow.
It was getting hotter, and hotter still, but still, he didn't open his eyes, mind having traveled elsewhere, to somewhere that no longer was.
His skin prickled with discomfort from the freezing air, bathing him in chills as he ran across the steepes of ice and frost.
He perked, the Tear lifting from his palm. It was shining, transcendent brilliance in his wake.
It hurt to breath, crystalline shards of snow piercing his lungs.
It began to shake, terrible tremors making the very air vibrate.
In his mind's eye, there were ships, perhaps hundreds melded with the cold, frozen and trapped into prisons of snow. Their crews...dead.
His hand twitched as the Tear began to burn, vibrating with an intensity that stirred him even from his thoughts. Eying it, Ygg remained still, cracking open her eyes to meet his.
There was silence as they met.
But Ygg was the first to speak.
"You've found where you want to go. Grab the Tear and crush it. You will be sent back, safe and sound." The young woman stated simply, giving him a kind smile as the man eyed it.
It was time.
He could go back.
Hovering his hand before it, waited for a moment before a slight smile played at his lips, and he took it, his fist collapsing over it with a satisfying crunch.
He could finally set things straight.