We are back folks and I am pleased to see that this story has reached the big 90 in follows, and the favorites aren't too far behind. Thank you all for giving this story your eyeball's attention and I promise you won't be disappointed with what I have in store.
One thing I failed to mention last chapter. Remember how I said we'd be leaving Yakarich? Well, that's still happening but for all intents and purposes, this is still part of the "Yakarich arc" because it's dealing with the immediate aftermath of the events that took place - within reason, anyways. Just bear with me if it looks like we're going into another arc; it's still the same arc, don't worry. All of this has a purpose.
This one is a bit shorter than the last two but that's mostly because I didn't want to drag things along too much.
Note at the end, let's begin.
Read, review, enjoy (another long chapter)
Honkai Star Rail is property of Hoyoverse. I own nothing.
"dialogue"
"call"
system
:text:
"altered"
"mental conversation"
"flashback"
SOUND EFFECT
/dream/
The Eternal Freeze had since swallowed the planet whole, a vast expanse of snow and ice stretching endlessly in every direction.
Yet, here and there, defiant fragments of a forgotten world jutted out of the white wasteland.
Crumbled huts leaned against the wind like weary sentinels, their timber skeletons long bleached by frost and time. Twisted metal wrecks dotted the landscape—once vehicles or machinery, now hollowed-out relics stripped bare by scavengers or perhaps by the merciless passage of centuries.
Caelus trudged past without a second glance.
His breath emerged in heavy, ragged clouds, dissipating quickly in the biting air. Every step was a labor, his boots crunching through ice-crusted snow that swallowed his ankles and pulled at his resolve. The cold gnawed at his bones like an itch he couldn't scratch, but he accepted it with weary resignation —just another constant, like the wind that wailed in the distance, its voice a mournful echo of a world long thought dead.
Everything blurred together now: the pale, lifeless horizon, the skeletal remains of what had likely been a thriving civilization in the past, accompanied by the endless march of his own shadow across the frozen ground.
The young trailblazer barely noticed the way his cloak whipped around him, snapping like a banner in the gusts.
His focus was singular, his mind locked on a single thought: Belobog. Nothing else mattered except reaching that distant haven… if it could even be called that anymore.
There was no way to tell just how different it was from the one he knew.
More wreckage lined the gouged remains of roads, and one charred husk of a transport lay half-buried in a drift, its side panels warped and twisted as though they had screamed in their final moments. Beside it, a scattering of frostbitten bones peeked through the snow—human or animal, he couldn't tell and didn't care to know. Off to the side, a derelict cabin sagged under the weight of decades of snow, its windows broken, the dark interior staring back at him like empty eye sockets. The wind surged, cutting through his layers and tearing at the scarf wrapped tightly around his face.
Caelus paused for a moment, bracing himself against the cold. He leaned heavily on one of the wrecks, emitting cloudy puffs of air.
His breath slowed as he scanned the horizon, a newly formed habit he'd been forced to acquire since landing here.
Not a sign of life moved but for the snowflakes swirling in chaotic patterns, dancing a delicate ballet right before his eyes.
"It had to be this way, right?"
His own words felt foreign in the oppressive silence, swallowed almost instantly by the frozen void. He pushed off from the old vehicle, his fingers stiff and numb, and pushed forward. Each step felt heavier, as if the very ground conspired to lead him to the very same resting place of countless others.
Borini's –
Caelus winced, sucking in a shaky breath as the thought threatened to split him open at the mere thought of his friend.
Those maps had been his lifeline but he'd found out the hard way how outdated and fragile they were.
But they also were all he had since his phone had died, and with it, the last thread tethering him to home. It hadn't made sense at first why the device had refused to power on.
Hours of futile tinkering and cursing later, he'd found the answer in the jagged scratch marks along the casing—souvenirs from his brawl with Grim Fang. The memory of that fight was still raw, a vivid tapestry of claws, blood, and desperation.
Now all he was left with were old charts and his wits, and neither felt enough.
The skills he'd picked up back in Yakarich kept him alive so far, though it had been far from simple in practice.
The sparse, frostbitten landscape yielded little game for hunting, but he'd managed to bag a few frost hares here and there, nowhere near enough to keep him fed but enough to stave off starvation.
Finding shelter, however, was a cruel joke out here he'd learned.
He still needed sleep, even if the Stellaron burning within him kept the frost at bay. He had tried to hunker down in some of the dilapidated buildings at first, but decided against it due to how precarious they appeared. Most nights that unfortunately left him curling against some jagged rock formation or burrowing into the meager warmth of a snowdrift, his body aching and his spirit hollow.
It had been like this for what felt like felt like years; nothing but cold silence and decay, a testament to a force that had effortlessly erased Yakarich from existence.
Yakarich. The name hit him like a fist to the gut, and he faltered mid-step, his shoulders sagging under the weight of memory.
He could still hear the laughter of children chasing each other through the village square, the sharp ring of a smith's hammer, the way the air smelled of wood smoke and pine.
All of it was gone now, devoured by the Fragmentum's relentless advance, leaving only echoes to torment him.
Now it was nothing more than an unmarked grave just like these old ruins were.
His breaths came shallow and quick, and he fought the urge to scream into the void.
It wouldn't bring them back, he knew; nothing could.
"This land's as dead as they are," he muttered brokenly, his voice cracking as he pushed forward, clutching his staff like a lifeline. "And anything that is still moving out here… sure as hell isn't friendly."
The wind howled in agreement, cutting through his cloak and scarf as if mocking his resilience.
He forced himself to keep walking, one boot in front of the other, his legs trembling with exhaustion. The outcropping he'd slept against the night before loomed in his mind—craggy, frostbitten, and utterly indifferent to his existence.
It wasn't much different from the world itself.
That said, its previous occupants, a blisterfang pack had been none too kind to give it up when he stumbled across it.
Not that he could bring himself to care at this point; he slaughtered them all, because it was them that Yakarich had been ravaged to begin with.
"That's a lie, and you know it." The words slipped from Caelus's lips, bitter and hollow, lost to the endless wind. He sighed, his breath a fleeting cloud against the icy backdrop.
How many times had he gone over it? How many hours had he spent drowning in the mire of his own regret, circling the same truths that stung like an open wound?
It wasn't as if the reason wasn't clear.
No, it had always been there, sharp and unforgiving: killing Grim Fang had shattered the fragile barrier holding the Fragmentum at bay.
In the end, his victory had been their doom.
Yakarich had fallen, and its people with it.
And the nightmares wouldn't let him deny it, even if he tried in the beginning.
Every time he closed his eyes, the phantoms came.
Lev, Iyanka, Borini, Magna, Tobias—all of them twisted by grief and anger, their faces pale as death, screaming his name like a curse.
And over it all, the Stellaron's voice raged in his mind, a discordant symphony of obscenities that only fed the storm of guilt.
He didn't argue with them because deep down, in some dark corner of his mind, he welcomed the accusations.
Maybe it was better this way—better to be haunted by vindictive phantoms than to be reminded of how they ended up.
Unbidden, images of their bloodied, broken bodies scattered across the ruins of Yakarich flashed across his sight.
All of them the victim of shaewalkers, the latter of which none had walked away.
Caelus had seen to that if nothing else.
He'd gathered their bodies, one by one, and buried them as best he could in the frozen earth. Though he laid them with care, his movements were mechanical and cold, his mind long since numbed by the reality of it. But try as he wanted, the weight of each friend, each neighbor – he would never be able to forget, no matter what he tried. He worked until his hands were raw and his soul hollow, leaving only the pitiful mounds of snow and fractured stone standing as the only markers of their lives.
Yet the carnage didn't end with just those who could fight or run.
Those that could not... All the children he had found...
When he came across their tiny, fragile forms among the wreckage, he swore something shattered within.
Amidst the uncaring gusts, cradling their cold bodies against his chest as though he could will life back into them, he had howled into the sky at the unfairness of it all.
But there were some he hadn't found, and as sickening as it was, he was almost relieved he didn't find Talia, Andrei or any of the other kids among the dead. He had scoured the ruins for any sign of their little band, desperate to unearth some sliver of hope.
But that notion was a poison, and he'd swallowed enough of it to know better by this point. Even if they had fled, the wastes would claim them sooner or later. They weren't equipped to handle the cruel reality beyond their village—not like he was.
It have been better that they have died there instead of freezing or starving to death out here, he thought morbidly with clenched his fists, the leather of his gloves creaking against the strain.
The wind howled around him, and he let it carry his thoughts into the void.
Whatever dreams he might have spun for them, the truth was that Yakarich was gone, its people were gone, and he was the only one left to remember.
The Stellaron pulsed faintly within him, its presence like an ember that refused to die. It gave him warmth, power, and life. But in moments like this, it felt like a brand—a burning reminder that this power was not a blessing, but a curse.
How long had it been? Days? Weeks? Months?
The question clawed at Caelus's mind, as relentless as the wind tugging at his scarf.
Time had become a cruel abstraction since Yakarich fell, each moment blurring into the next until the past and present became indistinguishable.
Was it possible that years had slipped through his fingers without him noticing?
His phone had been the only thing tethering him to time, and without it, the hours had dissolved into a shapeless haze.
And still, he was no closer to finding a way home—if there was even a home to return to.
"Stop it!" he muttered fiercely with a shake of his head, the motion sharp and dismissive.
The dead couldn't help him.
A pang of guilt rippled through him, the sting of those words slicing deeper than he'd anticipated.
Still, he set his jaw and forced himself forward.
"Guess I'll check the maps again."
He trudged over to a suitable patch of jagged rock jutting out from a frozen ridge, brushing the loose snow from its surface with a gloved hand. His pack hit the ground with a dull thud, and he knelt beside it, unbuckling the straps and pulling out Borini's maps.
The weathered parchment crackled under his fingers as he unfolded them, their frayed edges threatening to tear at even the slightest tug.
A sudden gust tore at the maps, threatening to rip them from his grip. He growled, lunging after the wind-tugged papers and slapping them down against the icy stone. He pressed them flat with both hands, his breath coming in quick bursts as his heart settled back to its usual rhythm.
"The fact these things have lasted this long is a miracle," he muttered, brushing a few errant snowflakes from the pages.
The maps were riddled with markings now—hasty scrawls, notes in the margins, and countless red crosses stabbing like wounds into the parchment. Each cross marked a place he'd visited, places Borini had assured him would be havens: villages, outposts, or even old Silvermane Guard encampments.
There had been nothing to find.
Empty icefields.
Ruined settlements.
Old roads blocked by Fragmentum corrosion so thick it was hard to breathe, accompanied by jagged tendrils coiled around broken buildings like a predator savoring its kill.
Every red cross was another dead end, another failure on a road that seemed to stretch endlessly ahead of him, as bleak as the landscape.
He traced one of the crosses with a gloved finger, the ink smudged and faded. For a brief moment, his hand hovered there, as if he could will the map to change—to show him something, anything—that might lead him out of this purgatory. But the ink remained stubbornly still, just as lifeless as the world around him.
"If these are right, then this is where I am now, and with any luck an old depot might be nearby… hopefully not completely buried like the others."
Caelus exhaled sharply, a plume of steam rising from his lips and dissolving into the air.
"All right," he murmured, his voice low and hoarse as he rolled the maps back up with care, tucking them safely into his pack. "Let's hope this one isn't a bust too."
Hope.
The word felt foreign and bitter on his tongue.
He slung the pack over his shoulder and pulled his scarf tighter against the bitter wind. It didn't matter if the next cross led to nothing. He'd keep going, because stopping wasn't an option.
Not yet.
Caelus glanced around for another moment before heading off up another trail, not expecting to come across anyone. He'd been walking for hours now and seen nary a soul, let alone any wildlife – plenty of Fragmentum spawns, but nothing worrying.
As Caelus crested yet another icy rise, his boots slipping slightly on the frost-slick surface, something ahead caught his eye—and for the first time in what felt like ages, his heart skipped a beat. He blinked hard, half-convinced it was a mirage conjured by his exhaustion but the sight remained-
A flag. It hung limp and battered on a tilted pole, its colors almost entirely leached away by time and the relentless frost. The symbol on it was worn and weathered, little more than a faint outline against the fabric, but there was no mistaking its design.
A Silvermane Guard outpost.
A tired, disbelieving chuckle rose from his throat, his breath condensing in the frigid air.
His mind was already whirling with possibilities the possibilities; supplies, shelter and maybe—just maybe—batteries for his phone. The idea of hearing the others' voices again, even if it was just through old, static-ridden messages, made his spirits soar. It was like a weight lifting, if only slightly, from his shoulders.
"Even if it's crawling with those things, it's gotta be worth a look," he muttered aloud, his voice tinged with a spark of hope he'd almost forgotten how to feel.
Fueled by this fragile notion, however slim it may be, he quickened his pace, his steps deliberate but cautious. He stuck close to the terrain, keeping his profile low and his senses sharp. The Fragmentum had a way of lurking where you least expected it, and he'd learned the hard way how easily its twisted creatures could strike when one least expected it.
The memory of the forest outside Yakarich flared in his mind—a sudden rush of claws, teeth, and the coppery tang of blood.
He grimaced, shaking it off.
He'd come a long way since then – it wouldn't happen again, he'd make sure of it.
His eyes remained locked on the flag ahead, its tattered edges whipping in the wind. It became his anchor, a beacon of purpose in the endless white expanse. Jarilo-VI felt every bit as desolate as a desert, and this outpost was like an oasis—a sliver of possibility in a sea of nothingness.
When he finally cleared the last stand of frost-covered trees, the sight before him nearly brought him to his knees.
The encampment stood intact.
Against all odds, the outpost had resisted the ravages of time and frost. Most of the tents were little more than tatters by this point, but one still stood proud, its fabric worn but unyielding, flapping madly in the bitter gusts. Snow had gathered in drifts around the edges, but the structure remained upright, as though defying the wasteland's attempts to bury it.
Relief coursed through him, warm and all-encompassing, cutting through the cold like a long-forgotten flame. His knees buckled slightly, and he dropped his pack to the ground, letting its weight slip from his shoulders. "Finally," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, "thanks Borini."
As if summoned by his words, three unnatural forms slithered into view from behind the tents. Their shapes were jagged and wrong, pulsing faintly with the Fragmentum's sickly glow. The creatures moved with an eerie grace, their jagged limbs carving through the snow as they advanced as they hefted ancient weaponry.
Caelus groaned, his shoulders sagging as his fleeting moment of peace evaporated. "Had to say something, didn't you, Caelus?" he muttered bitterly under his breath, shaking his head. "Alright fine," he said, his voice steady despite the fatigue etched into his bones. "Bring it."
The soot-haired young man slid down a narrow incline of slick ice, his boots skidding but controlled, before dropping into a crouch behind the splintered remains of an old barricade. His breaths came in shallow puffs, each one dissipating in the frigid air as he risked a cautious peek over the jagged wood.
Three in total; two incineration shadewalkers and one frostspawn, were lingering near the largest tent in the camp. Their forms radiated an unnatural malice—armor corroded, weapons jagged and pitted, the telltale glow of Fragmentum corruption pulsing faintly across their twisted bodies. They moved in aimless agitation, the frostspawn flapping its crystalline wings with sharp, erratic beats that sent tiny shards of ice spiraling into the air.
Caelus ducked back behind the barricade, almost chuckling at the lack of opposition.
He willed his bat to materialize in his hand with a brief flash of light, deciding against his lance for the now; the tight quarters of the courtyard demanded something swift and compact. The charged feeling of the bat's handle against his gloves felt grounding, and he rolled his shoulders before stepping out into the fray.
A guttural hiss escaped one of the shadewalkers as its head snapped toward him, the lower portion of its face twisting in what might have been a snarl. The second shadewalker dragged its rusted blade across the frozen ground with a shrill screech, sparks skittering off the ice. The frostspawn shrieked, its wings spreading wide, darting about in an agitated manner.
"Let's get this over with," Caelus muttered, his voice calm, almost disinterested.
He lunged forward, closing the distance in a blur.
The nearest shadewalker swung its weapon—a massive, flaming axe—in a powerful arc, but Caelus ducked low, the blade slicing harmlessly through empty air above him. He retaliated in an instant, his bat connecting with a sickening crack against the monster's knee. The shadewalker let out a distorted scream, its leg buckling as it collapsed to the ground. Caelus capitalized, bringing the bat around in a clean, brutal swing that caved in its misshapen skull.
The creature dissolved into a burst of glowing embers, scattered on the wind like so much ash.
The second shadewalker and the frostspawn screeched in unison, charging at him from opposite sides. Caelus pivoted smoothly, sidestepping the frostspawn's dive with barely an inch to spare. Its icy wing clipped his shoulder, the touch sending a deep, bone-chilling cold through him, but he ignored it, already focused on his next move.
Before he could advance on the remaining shadewalker, the frostspawn came at him again, slamming its bulky frame into his side. The impact sent him flying into the remnants of a barricade, wood splinters flying in all directions as he landed hard against the frozen ground. A grunt escaped him, sharp and pained, as the frostspawn circled back for the kill.
"Alright, since you're so eager..." he growled, pushing himself to his feet.
The winged abomination dove, its crystalline talons outstretched, but Caelus rolled to the side, its charge missing him by inches. The creature slammed into the barricade he had just vacated, its wings flailing madly as it tried to extricate itself.
Caelus didn't hesitate; he closed the distance with a skillful leap, raising his bat high and bringing it down with an explosive swing that crushed the frostspawn's body into glittering shards.
He turned just in time to meet the last shadewalker. The corrupted soldier hurtled toward him, its flaming halberd trailing arcs of fire as it swung with inhuman speed.
Caelus barely had time to raise his bat in a defensive block, the impact sending a shockwave up his arms. Flames licked at his face, beads of sweat rolling down his temple despite the freezing air. The shadewalker pushed harder, trying to break his guard, but Caelus smirked. "You should've got me when my back was turned."
With a sharp twist, he broke the lock, shoving the abomination back just enough to launch his counterattack. He swung with all his strength, the bat colliding with the shadewalker's torso in an explosion of corrupted metal and ash. Its body shattered, fragments scattering across the camp before disintegrating into embers that faded into the air.
Silence reclaimed the camp.
The trailblazer spun the bat once in his hand before resting it against his shoulder, glancing at the empty space where his enemies had once stood. He let out a shuddering breath, willing his bat away with a flicker of thought before turning to face the largest tent. His stomach twisted in knots as he approached, boots crunching on frostbitten ground.
Please. Please have something I can use.
He pulled aside the flap, stepping into the cold, shadowed interior.
The air inside was still, heavy with the faint metallic tang of Fragmentum corruption.
Just before he moved further in, Caelus stopped dead in his tracks, his heart sinking like a stone.
The tent wasn't empty.
Scattered throughout were the bodies of Silvermane Guards, their armor scuffed and broken, their weapons lying uselessly at their sides. They had fallen in their final positions, some still clutching their swords as though determined to fight even after death. The scene spoke volumes: a final stand through and through, and one that clearly had long since been forgotten of.
Caelus swallowed hard, forcing a sigh back into his throat. His chest tightened, and for a moment, he stood frozen, unable to move. Then, slowly, he stepped deeper into the tent, his movements careful, reverent. He threaded his way between the fallen, bowing his head as though apologizing to them for intruding.
The thought of rifling through their remains never even crossed his mind. Even had he wanted, what would be the point? Had their phones survived such carnage, their batteries would no doubt be as dead as their owners all the same.
That left only the overturned cabinet in the far corner.
Caelus approached it with purpose, though his legs felt leaden, his breath hitching with every step. His gloved hands found the edge of the cabinet, and he heaved, gritting his teeth as he forced it upright. The effort left his arms burning, but he barely noticed. He yanked the cabinet doors open with a burst of urgency, his heart pounding against his ribs.
Scraps of armor, tarnished and useless.
A few packets of rations, their seals broken and contents spoiled long ago.
No tools, no spare batteries, nothing he could use to reconnect with the Express—or with anyone.
A low, guttural growl rose from his throat, and he slammed a fist against the cabinet, the sound echoing hollowly in the silent tent. "Damn it…" His voice cracked. He slammed his fist down again, harder. "DAMN IT!"
The rage coursed through him like fire, but it was short-lived, replaced almost immediately by a cold, crushing despair. He stood there, panting, his forehead pressed against the cabinet's edge as the wind outside keened mournfully.
He had dared to hope, dared to think there might be something—anything—left behind that could help him. This had been the first intact outpost he'd found, the first sign of progress after weeks of trudging through an endless frigid wasteland.
And it had been just as barren, just as meaningless, as everything else.
Caelus slid to his knees, the cold biting through his pants but failing to register against the numbness spreading through his chest. He stared blankly at the ground, his thoughts swirling in an endless loop of doubt and despair.
Was it all pointless?
Was he doomed to wander this frozen hellscape, alone and unheard, with nothing but his own regrets for company?
The thought clawed at him, and his hands curled into fists. A dark, suffocating weight pressed down on him as the faces of those he'd lost flickered through his mind.
March's jubilant laugh, Dan Heng's wise gaze, Himeko's encouraging smile and even Welt's comforting presence—they all felt distant now, like fragments of a dream he couldn't quite grasp.
More maddening was the growing fear that he was beginning to forget them.
March's face, once so vivid, was fading, her features blurring into indistinct shapes.
He clenched his jaw, forcing the thought away.
"Why did you send me here?" The words tore from his throat, rough and bitter, all aimed at the woman who landed him here. He glared at the empty air, his voice trembling as he spoke. "All that talk about another chance, and for what? To wander this wasteland you called a home? To bury everyone who ever showed me kindness? Do you have any idea what you've done to these people... done to me...?!"
His voice cracked, and he squeezed his eyes shut as tears welled up, hot against the icy wind cutting through the tent.
Somewhere deep down, he knew talking to himself like this wasn't sane.
But the sound of his own voice—any voice—was better than the suffocating silence.
His memories betrayed him then, the faces of Yakarich's villagers swimming to the forefront of his mind.
Each one cursing his name, their voices searing him with truths he couldn't deny.
It was his fault. His pride had brought the Fragmentum to their doorstep, and they had paid the price for his arrogance.
"You just had to be a hero, didn't you?" he muttered bitterly, reciting the words the phantoms whispered to him every night.
He let out a long, shuddering breath, his hands falling limply to his sides.
The idea of returning back home now felt like taboo.
Even if he made it back somehow, how could he face them? March might defend him—she always saw the good in people, Kafka being a notable exception—but the others? Himeko, Dan Heng, Welt? They would see his crime for what it was. Maybe they'd even cast him out, and he wouldn't blame them.
"The Express looks after its own," he said mockingly, his voice barely above a whisper. "But what if that person helped wipe out an entire village?"
The wind howled outside, offering no answers.
Caelus dragged himself to his feet, his movements sluggish and mechanical. "This was a waste of time," he muttered, glancing around the tent one last time. "This place belongs to the dead, and I'm not ready to join them. Not yet."
He staggered toward the tent flap, his breath fogging the air as he stepped back into the frozen wasteland. He wasn't sure if there was any point to continuing, but the old stubbornness in him wouldn't let him stop.
"Just get to Belobog," he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with hollow resolve. "If it's all for nothing... we'll figure it out then."
As Caelus reached for the tent flap, a sound cut through the howling wind—a faint rustling, just beyond the canvas walls.
He froze, his breath catching before his eyes darkened.
More Fragmentum, he thought bitterly, the familiar anger bubbling up again. His fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms as his jaw tightened. The urge to unleash that rage surged within him, his bat manifesting in his hand once more as an afterthought.
"Come on then," he growled through gritted teeth, pushing past the tent flap with a burst of ferocity. He expected to come face to face with another grotesque Fragmentum creature, its warped visage ready to strike.
Imagine the surprise when his eyes locked onto a pair of stormy gray ones—wide, startled, and unmistakably human.
"W-WHOA...!"
Caelus's swing was already in motion, the bat cutting through the air with deadly precision. It took every ounce of strength and willpower to yank it back, the momentum carrying it sideways into one of the tent's wooden posts. The post splintered instantly, shards of wood scattering across the snow as the structure groaned in protest.
Caelus staggered, panting heavily, his heart thundering in his chest as the reality of how close he'd come to killing someone hit him like a freight train. He swallowed hard, his grip on the bat tightening as a dark whisper echoed in the back of his mind: What's one more, even if accidental?
He shoved the thought down with practiced force, his gaze snapping to the man he had nearly struck.
The stranger was on the ground, his gloved hands splayed in the snow as he stared up at Caelus, eyes wide with awe—and a little fear. The man was very much human, that much was clear, but it was his attire that caught Caelus's attention. Unlike the heavy, fur-lined garments the people of Yakarich had worn, this man's outfit was more modern, more reminiscent of the clothing he remembered from the Belobogians he was familiar with. Still, he wore a thick overcoat and a fur-lined cap that were clearly meant for the cold.
"You... you're a Pathstrider!" the man exclaimed, his voice trembling with equal parts wonder and disbelief.
Caelus grimaced, his lips pressing into a thin line. The title hit him like a slap—unwelcome, sharp, and painfully accurate.
Before he could respond, another rustle cut through the air, louder this time.
He turned, his body tensing instinctively as his gaze fixed on the source.
Emerging from the snow-draped trees were several shadewalkers, their rusted forms glinting faintly in the dim light. Towering over them, its form rippling with eerie blue energy, was an ice-out-of-space— the sight of it made his blood boil. His mind flashed to Yakarich, to the twisted remains of his hunting party – of Abram, Alek, and Nevski – their lives ripped away by this hulking monstrosity.
A snarl tore from his throat as his bat began to crackle with energy, faint sparks dancing along its length. "Inside. Now," Caelus said sharply, not even glancing at the man behind him. His voice carried a weight of authority that brooked no argument.
The man hesitated for a moment, but the cold fury radiating off Caelus was enough to spur him into action. He scrambled to his feet and darted into the tent, leaving the Trailblazer alone to deal with the approaching horrors.
Caelus stepped forward, his boots crunching in the snow. His eyes locked onto the ice-out-of-space, and a feral smile tugged at his lips—a smile devoid of mirth, laced with rage and dark satisfaction. "You don't know how long I've been waiting to see one of you again," he hissed, his voice low and venomous.
The blue-glowing entity rumbled in response, its icy aura pulsing outward as it lumbered toward him. The shadewalkers flanked it, their weapons raised, their distorted faces twisted in malicious glee.
Caelus tightened his grip on the bat, raising it as it crackled with raw energy.
The cold no longer mattered. The exhaustion, the despair—they faded into the background, eclipsed by the singular focus of the fight.
The shadewalkers—a horde of Everwinters clad in shadow and frost—unleashed a chorus of guttural snarls as they surged toward him. Their icy forms radiated a deathly chill, but Caelus planted his boots firmly in the snow, the weight of his resolve heavier than the storm around him. He tightened his grip on his bat, its worn handle slick beneath his gloved fingers.
His lips curled back in a snarl of his own.
"Beat it, freaks!" he roared, his voice carrying like a thunderclap through the storm.
He lunged forward, delivering a ferocious whirlwind of strikes. Each swing connected with bone-cracking force, shattering the shadewalkers into brittle shards that scattered like autumn leaves caught in a gale. With one final devastating blow, he cleared a path through the throng, his fiery breath fogging the frozen air.
Ahead, the ice-out-of-space hovered like some twisted deity—its symmetrical, crystalline form pulsing with an otherworldly rhythm. Without warning, it hurled a jagged chunk of ice in his direction, the projectile trailing a comet's tail of frost.
Caelus reacted instinctively. His bat swept upward in a savage arc, smashing the ice into a glittering cascade of shards that fell harmlessly around him.
He didn't slow. He couldn't. Not while the thing that ensured the demise of his friends was right in front of him.
"HYAAAAAAGH!" His war cry split the air as he swung his bat overhead with meteoric force. The weapon slammed into one of the monster's segmented arms, obliterating it in an explosion of icy fragments.
The entity let out a deep, resonant groan before flickering out of existence, blinking away like a distant star snuffed from the sky.
Caelus's eyes darted, scanning the battlefield with a predator's intensity. His pulse pounded like war drums in his ears.
Since when could these things teleport?! The thought burned through his mind like lightning as he turned sharply, his senses straining for any sign of movement.
A sudden gust of frigid air ruffled his coat, and he ducked just in time. A wicked spike of ice zipped over his head, so close he could feel its cold kiss against his neck. He rolled to the side, springing back to his feet with a feral grin. "Missed!" he barked, the taunt laced with venom. His eyes locked on the monster as it reappeared, hovering ominously, a dark specter against the snowstorm's gray haze.
The creature's aura surged, and the air itself seemed to shatter as a forest of icy spikes erupted from its back, each one razor-sharp and glinting like death's own teeth.
"Getting serious, are we?" Caelus growled, his voice low and threatening. He let the bat dissolve into shimmering motes of light, summoning the blazing lance in its place. The weapon ignited in his hands, flames roaring to life and licking hungrily at the air. Heat radiated outward, melting the snow in an instant and creating steaming pools that hissed like wounded serpents.
It was a defiant blaze against the monster's creeping cold.
The ice-out-of-space began to swell, its core brightening as it gathered energy into a blinding, frigid orb.
Caelus's lips curled into a ferocious sneer.
Not this time.
He surged forward, the lance propelling him like a rocket, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. The icy orb hurtled toward him with the force of an avalanche, but Caelus met it head-on. His lance punched through the attack, splitting it apart in a shower of freezing mist. The weapon's burning tip drove straight into the monster's torso, burying itself deep into its crystalline core.
The entity shuddered violently, emitting a low, mournful groan that reverberated through the battlefield.
"Not so easy prey, am I?" he spat through gritted teeth, twisting the lance savagely like a knife. Flames erupted from the wound, carving through the entity's body like molten lava through ice.
The monster flickered once more, vanishing in a flash of cold, pale light.
Caelus stood there, breathing hard, the lance's flames still roaring defiantly in his hands. Around him, the snow hissed and steamed, leaving the ground beneath him bare and blackened. His eyes quickly scanned the area for any lingering elements of hostility but there were none.
He was alone again.
A hand clamped down on Caelus's shoulder, startling him into a reflexive whirl. The lance was halfway raised before he registered the face before him—a wide-eyed man, breathless and clearly not a threat. Caelus's lips pressed into a thin line as he forced himself to relax, the flames of his weapon guttering out as he stowed it with a flick of his wrist. "Ah, sorry!" the man stammered, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "I didn't mean to startle you. I just... I wanted to thank you for saving me back there."
Caelus blinked, the adrenaline still singing in his veins.
The man's hunched posture and nervous smile spoke of gratitude rather than hostility, but old habits died hard.
After a beat, he managed to muster something resembling a smile, though it felt foreign on his face. "You're not hurt, are you?" he asked gruffly, his voice rough like gravel.
The man shook his head hurriedly. "No, no, I'm fine. Thanks to you."
"Good." Caelus nodded once, curtly, already turning away. "Then you should get somewhere safe. It's not going to stay quiet here for long."
That should've been the end of it. It was the end, as far as Caelus was concerned.
"W-wait a second, strider!"
The man's anxious voice halted Caelus mid-step. He turned, his expression already darkening, to find the stranger staring at him with a strange mix of awe and desperation.
"What about what you came here for?" the man asked, his tone tinged with curiosity and something else—but Caelus didn't dare name it right now.
"There's nothing here but bones," Caelus said flatly. "I was looking for something… something I didn't find." He swallowed the lump forming in his throat, his fists clenching at his sides. "It was a waste of time. I need to keep moving."
"At least let me repay you for saving me back there!" the man blurted, his voice rising as if afraid Caelus would vanish into the storm right then and there.
Not an unfounded fear, he reasoned.
"My village isn't far from here. You could rest—have a warm meal, maybe some supplies. It's the least I can do!"
"NO."
The word cracked like a whip in the frigid air, sharp enough to make the man flinch.
For a moment, even Caelus was stunned by the force of his own voice. He took a shaky breath, willing himself to calm down, but the ghosts of Yakarich clawed at him from the edges of his memory. Faces long gone swam before his mind's eye, faces of people he'd failed.
He couldn't bear the thought of adding more to that list.
"I appreciate the offer," he said at last, his voice softer but no less firm. "But I can't afford to stick around. I have people waiting for me."
The words tasted like ash, but he forced them out anyway. It was easier this way—easier to push people away before they got hurt, before he got hurt.
Still, as he trudged back to where his pack lay half-buried in the snow, he couldn't help but notice the sound of footsteps following him.
While he remained at a respectful distance, the man's presence was impossible to ignore. He didn't seem to notice—or didn't care—that Caelus was doing his best to pretend he didn't exist. Instead, he filled the silence with a steady stream of chatter.
"Man, a real-life path strider," the man marveled, his voice full of unabashed wonder. "I was sure those things were going to be the death of me until you stepped in. And with a bat of all things! You're incredible!"
Caelus bore it all with clenched teeth, his steps crunching loudly in the snow. Part of him wanted to snap at the man, to send him packing before he got too attached.
The other part—the quieter, lonelier part that had been wallowing over the last while—basked in the human contact like a parched plant drinking rain. It had been weeks since he'd spoken to anyone, and though the man's babbling grated on his nerves a bit, it was... comforting in its own way. Familiar, even.
While his new admirer droned on, Caelus knelt in the snow and methodically checked his gear. His gloves tugged against straps, his fingers prodding for cracks or weaknesses in his armor.
Satisfied everything was in order, he reached into the folds of his jacket for the one thing he dreaded checking most: his phone. The device emerged, cold and lifeless in his palm, its blank screen an unspoken accusation. He ran his thumb over its surface, as if sheer willpower might coax it to life.
But there was nothing. No flicker. No spark. Just a hollow piece of tech, another broken thing in a broken world.
Caelus bit his lip, his jaw tightening as frustration threatened to bubble over. He wanted to scream, to hurl the damn thing into the snow and be done with it. But instead, he swallowed his rage, letting it simmer low and quiet.
There's nothing for it, he thought bitterly. I just have to keep moving until I get to—
"What's wrong with your phone?" The voice snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts.
Caelus stiffened, his head jerking up to find the man leaning over his shoulder, peering curiously at the device. His glare was immediate, sharp enough to cut. "It got damaged during a fight," Caelus said curtly, keeping his tone neutral.
Half-truths were safer, easier to manage.
A look of realization seemed to dawn on the man all at once. "Is that why you went into the camp? To see if you could fix it?"
Caelus blinked, taken aback slightly.
So, he's not as green as he looks.
"...yeah," he admitted grudgingly. "But I should've known better. That camp's been abandoned for who knows how long. I was wasting my time. Now all I can do is hope I come across something else later."
The man frowned, his expression doubtful. "I wouldn't count on that, strider. The Guard doesn't leave much behind, even when the devils are clawing at their doorstep. If you're hoping to find parts on your own, your best bet would be heading up to join the Mane Line in the north." He paused, looking Caelus up and down. "But you don't exactly strike me as the patriotic type."
"WHAT OTHER CHOICE DO I HAVE?!"
The words burst from him, raw and unguarded.
Silence hung between them, heavy and awkward, before he raked a hand through his hair and sighed.
"Look, I didn't mean to shout it's just…" His voice softened, shoulders slumping under the weight of unspoken grief. "This phone is my only connection to everyone back home. I have to fix it, no matter what. Even if I have to scour this entire Aeons-forsaken planet."
The man tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "You're not from here, are you?"
"No," Caelus said flatly. "And that's why I have to keep moving." He hefted his pack onto his shoulder, brushing past the man. "I'm glad you're okay, really, but you should get somewhere safe. There's no telling if more of those things are still out there."
"But what about your phone there?" the man pressed, gesturing to the device.
Caelus froze mid-step but didn't turn. "What matters is getting to Belobog. Someone there can fix it—or at least point me to someone who can. It's the only plan I've got, and I'll see it through no matter what."
"Why not get it fixed sooner? There's someone in my village who—"
Caelus spun around, grabbing the man by the shoulders before he could finish. His eyes were wide, almost manic. "Are you serious? Where? Tell me how to get there!"
The man blinked, startled, but recovered quickly, raising his hands in a calming gesture. "Peace, friend. No need to throttle me. I was going to tell you anyway." He smiled, slowly reaching into his coat and pulling out his own phone. It gleamed in the sunlight, pristine and most importantly, functional. "See? Proof enough that old man Gregor can handle whatever repairs you need."
Rationality caught up with Caelus with a quickness, and he released the man, stepping back with a faint ashamed flush creeping up his neck. "S-sorry," he muttered again, clearing his throat. "I just—"
"All is well," the man said with an easy grin. "And now you've got a reason to take me up on my offer, yeah?"
Caelus hesitated, the memories of Yakarich rearing their ugly heads.
For all he knew, this man could just be one of those two-faced slimes all smiles until he got Caelus alone. He couldn't let himself grow complacent, couldn't let hope blind him to the dangers of trusting strangers.
But the thought of fixing his phone, of hearing March's or anyone's voice again… it clawed at him with desperate intensity.
"Fine," he said at last, clenching his fists. "But on one condition: you take me straight to whoever can fix it. If they can't help, I'm gone. Got it?"
"That's a fair deal." The man grinned, sticking out a hand. "By the way, the name's Lowenthal, but everyone calls me Lowen."
Caelus clasped his hand firmly, shaking it once. "Caelus. And keep the path strider thing between us. I don't need the extra publicity."
"Shame that, but I respect your wish anyhow." Lowen turned, gesturing for Caelus to follow. "The village isn't far, but it's a bit of a hike. Think you can handle it?"
"I saved your hide, didn't I?"
Lowen chuckled. "Fair point. Let's get moving."
ANNNNNNNNNNNND we're back, with a 8K word chapter. Gonna try to keep this the "normal" length and the 13K-15K the extreme ones. Doubt anyone would have the patience for a 20K one but we'll see.
Gotta say, a little disappointed that the last chapter didn't receive that much feedback. I have been planning that chapter for months and to get only a "bruh" out of that from one reviewer was heartbreaking really.
Oh well. Onwards I guess. But the crowd on Ao3 has got you guys beat. :P
Anyways, I had to really sit back and think about where things were going to go after Yakarich. Originally, the plan was to have an interlude chapter after that one but that felt too abrupt since it was only 5 chapters or so. So this one will take that just a little further, following Caelus as he finds a reason to keep going with all that's happened. It will not last long - a chapter or two max, then we're off to Herta's Station for one hell of a chewout by the pushy little puppet herself.
As for "The Herta" being a thing, just be patient. I am aware of her and will find a way to work that in.
It might seem a bit pedantic to put a focus on Caelus's phone like this, but just bear with me. I have plans and what happens in the next few chapters will set the stage for Caelus's motivations for the rest of the story, at least until he meets Cocolia here which won't be for a bit, sadly.
Till then,
Stay healthy (and safe).