Through the eyes of the bird I reanimated, the city came into view. Its walls stretched high, easily twenty meters, with a thickness that spoke of preparation and war. Whoever built them had expected conflict – perhaps once, perhaps always. The settlement within was sprawling, large enough to hold ten thousand, maybe more.
The buildings were uniform in shape, clustered together along cobbled streets that spiraled outward from a central square. Smoke rose from chimneys, curling lazily into the sky. Market stalls lined the open spaces near the square, bright with fabric and goods. It was oddly beautiful, polished and pristine in a way that didn't belong to the harshness of reality but to the romanticized stories of ages past.
Surrounding the city were farmlands, neatly sectioned and watered by irrigation canals. These canals diverted fresh water from a river that glimmered in the distance, snaking its way past the settlement like a lifeline. Farmers worked the fields, their figures moving methodically among rows of crops. Beyond them, the wilderness stretched far and wide – a stark contrast to the carefully tamed land around the city.
On the walls, sentries stood in pairs, their armor catching the sunlight in bright, sharp flashes. Metal spears glinted in their hands, and their postures were upright, disciplined. They noticed our tribe almost immediately, heads turning, gestures sharp as they pointed in our direction.
But they didn't sound an alarm.
They watched, calm and uninterested, as if The People posed no threat. And why would we? Spears, bows, and stone tools weren't enough to frighten a city with such fortifications. Their confidence wasn't arrogance – it was the quiet certainty of those who knew they were untouchable.
The elder stood beside me, her eyes narrow as she gazed at the distant walls. Her bracelets clinked softly as she crossed her arms. She glanced at me, then back to the city. Her lips tightened. With a sharp motion, she gestured for the others to gather.
Yatuk was the first to approach, his bow slung over his shoulder. He crouched low beside the elder, his hands moving quickly. "They see us. What do we do?"
The elder exhaled slowly, her breath visible in the cold air. She pointed to the mountain range in the distance, its jagged peaks shrouded in mist. Her hands moved with precision. "We go around. Avoid them."
The others nodded, their expressions grim but accepting. Yatuk hesitated, his fingers flexing as he signed again. "Will they follow?"
The elder's lips pressed into a thin line. She glanced at me, her dark eyes searching. Then she motioned toward the frost curling faintly at my feet. "If they do, he will deal with it."
I nodded once. Deliberate. True enough, if I wished it, I could simply reach out with my frost and freeze that whole city, and everything and everyone in it, solid. I didn't want to. But it was a reminder of the fact that no amount of steel or iron weapons would stop me of the city-dwellers decided to attack.
Yatuk relaxed slightly, his shoulders easing as he looked back at the elder. She turned to the tribe, her hands rising to gesture sharply. They understood her commands without hesitation. Supplies were packed, tents dismantled, and the group began moving before the sun reached its peak.
We didn't take the most direct path. The elder led us along the tree line, keeping the city at a distance while angling toward the mountains. I stayed at the rear, my gaze fixed on the walls in the distance. The sentries still watched, but they didn't move. Their silhouettes remained still against the bright sky.
The path toward the mountains was slow. The terrain shifted from rolling plains to uneven ground, the grass giving way to rocky outcroppings and sparse vegetation. The children struggled to keep pace, their steps unsteady on the loose stones. Yatuk and the hunters moved alongside them, lifting them when needed, their hands quick and steady.
The elder kept her pace deliberate but unyielding. Her gaze flicked back toward the city often, her jaw tight. I saw her pause occasionally, her fingers brushing the beads on her bracelets. The faintest hesitation before she pressed forward.
As we moved, I noticed the city folk. Farmers in the fields glanced up, some shielding their eyes against the sunlight to watch us pass. Their expressions were curious but neutral, their movements never halting. They didn't shout or gesture, didn't approach. Like the sentries, they seemed certain of their safety. I could see their ease in the way they moved, their postures loose, unconcerned.
The elder raised her hand sharply, signaling a stop. The tribe froze, crouching low among the rocks and sparse trees. I crouched as well, though my form loomed even then. She pointed toward the edge of the farmland where a group of armored men stood. They were too far to hear, but their laughter carried faintly on the wind. One gestured toward us with his spear, his tone light, almost dismissive.
They didn't pursue. They didn't move toward us at all. The elder straightened, gesturing for us to continue. I stood and followed, my frost leaving faint trails on the stones behind me.
By the time we reached the foot of the mountains, the sun was dipping low, painting the jagged peaks in shades of orange and red. The air grew colder, sharper. The elder stopped and gestured for the tribe to set up camp. Tents were raised quickly, the hunters fanning out to scout the area. I stood at the edge of the camp, my gaze still fixed southward toward the distant city.
Yatuk approached, his steps quieter than usual. He stopped beside me, his breath visible in the cold air. His hands moved, slower than before. "They did not follow. For now."
I nodded, my gaze unwavering. His fingers flexed again, hesitating before he continued. "What if they do?"
I signed back, my movements deliberate. "If they come, I will stop them."
His brow furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. He nodded once, then turned back toward the camp. The firelight flickered in the distance, casting long shadows over the rocky ground. I stayed where I was, the frost curling at my feet growing thicker as the cold of the mountains settled in.
The city hadn't acted. Not yet. But their walls were too high, their armor too polished, for them to be untested. Those defenses weren't built out of peace. They had seen battle – weathered it and survived. Whatever enemy had once forced such fortifications into existence might still exist. And if the city decided we were a threat, I would ensure The People were safe. Still, the sight of such an advanced settlement, especially compared to the nomadic life of The People, brought questions to mind. Chief among them burned a single thought.
I approached the elder, her silhouette sharp against the campfire's glow. Her bracelets clinked softly as she turned to me, her sharp eyes watching my hands rise.
"Who were they?"
She didn't answer immediately. Her lips pressed together, her gaze drifting toward the distant city lights barely visible beyond the valley. Finally, she spoke, her voice low but clear.
"Stone-Dwellers and Kneelers," she said. Her fingers absently brushed the beads on her wrist. "They live in houses of stone and kneel to their lords and ladies. They wear suits of metal, and they wage war upon each other like beasts in a pit. They have never attacked us, and we have never attacked them. On occasion, they trade. Pots, tools of metal. Things they make, in exchange for furs or ivory. But this is the first time our tribe has come so close to their walls."
I nodded slowly, my hands resting in my lap. Her words were deliberate, but I could see the small shift in her posture, the way her fingers lingered on her beads longer than usual. She wasn't uneasy, not entirely, but she was cautious.
I signed again, carefully. "Why do they build their walls so high?"
Her expression didn't change, but her voice grew heavier, her words slower.
"To keep the Greenskins and the monsters away," she said. She gestured toward the mountains, toward the woods we had come through. "The same ones who no longer come near us, because of you, Icewalker. They fear your frost, your strange power. But just because they keep away from us does not mean they do not attack others. The Stone-Dwellers make themselves easy prey. They cannot move as we do. They root themselves to the ground. Their walls must hold because their legs cannot."
She looked at me, her dark eyes steady. "But their walls do hold. For now."
I glanced toward the city, still visible as a faint glow against the night sky. The sentries patrolled, their forms sharp and upright even at a distance. Her logic was sound. But incomplete.
Walls like those weren't just for monsters. Monsters didn't march in formations, didn't break sieges with ladders and fire. Those walls, with their sheer height and thick stone, were meant to keep something more cunning at bay. Something more human.
I signed again, slow and deliberate. "Do they fear each other?"
The elder's expression didn't shift, but her silence stretched. She ran her thumb over one of the larger beads on her bracelet, her hand moving in a slow circle.
"They do," she said finally. "Their lords fight over land. Over food. Over power. Sometimes, they fight for nothing at all."
Her gaze flicked toward the city, then back to the fire. "That is their way. The Stone-Dwellers have always been at war. Even before the Greenskins came."
Yatuk approached, his steps quiet but hurried. He crouched beside us, his bow slung over his shoulder. His hands moved quickly. "Scouts have returned. The city did not follow."
The elder nodded, her expression easing slightly.
"Good," she said. Her voice dropped lower as she turned back to the fire, her hands moving slowly. "But we do not linger. We move at first light."
Yatuk nodded and stood, but he hesitated. His gaze flicked to me, his hands shifting hesitantly. Finally, he signed. "What do you think of them?"
I paused, my frost curling faintly at my feet. My hands rose, deliberate. "They are an interesting bunch. I would love to learn more of them if I can."
His brow furrowed, his head tilting slightly as he considered my answer. He didn't respond, instead glancing toward the distant city before walking away to relay the elder's orders to the others.
Kesh approached me from the edge of the camp, her steps quiet, deliberate. She stopped a few paces away, her dark eyes studying me briefly before she crouched, her hands rising in a blend of speech and gesture. Like most of the tribe, she preferred to speak aloud while signing to me, her voice low and steady.
"My mother met with them before – the Stone-Dwellers," she said, her fingers tracing the words as she spoke.
I tilted my head, watching her closely. We didn't speak often. Kesh was a skilled trapper, quick and sharp-eyed, but she had always kept a certain distance from me. Not out of fear, but perhaps out of practicality. She was busy, always moving, setting snares, skinning prey. This was the first time she had approached me directly, unprompted.
She raised her left wrist, turning it slightly to catch the light of the fire. A bracelet gleamed there, its intricate loops of silver and gold catching my attention. Her lips quirked faintly as she noticed my focus.
"In exchange for a few tanned hides," she continued, "they gave her this. And knives. Pots too."
Her fingers brushed the bracelet lightly. "She said it was a fair trade. The Stone-Dwellers were polite. Careful. But they didn't linger. Neither did she."
Her hands stilled for a moment, her gaze shifting toward the faint glow of the city in the distance. Then she signed again, slower now, her words deliberate. "She lost it all – the knives, the pots—when Greenskins raided her tribe. She barely escaped with her life."
Her fingers brushed the bracelet again. "But this, she kept. Said it was too pretty to leave behind."
I nodded, my frost curling faintly at my feet. Kesh watched the movement, her eyes narrowing slightly, but she didn't flinch. Her hands moved again, quick and fluid.
"The Stone-Dwellers have their troubles," she said aloud, her voice soft. "Monsters, Greenskins, even each other. My mother said they fought among themselves more often than they fought anyone else. She didn't understand it. Said they had too much to lose to keep fighting like that."
She paused, her fingers flexing as if searching for the right signs. "But they weren't cruel. Not to her. She said they wanted peace when they could have it. They traded honestly. They didn't threaten her or her tribe."
Her gaze shifted back to me, her expression thoughtful.
"I think they are like us. They want to survive. But they've forgotten how to live without walls." Her hands moved with the words, her gestures sharp yet graceful.
She straightened slightly, her brow furrowing as she added, "They're not bad people, not unless you provoke them. They have their ways, their rules. My mother said if you follow those rules, they leave you alone."
Her lips quirked faintly again, almost a smile, as she signed the next part. "But rules are strange to those who wander."
I signed back, slow and deliberate. "Do you trust them?"
She tilted her head, considering. Her fingers tapped against her knee as she thought.
"I think they are like a river," she said aloud, her hands moving with the words. "They flow steady and calm, but if you push them the wrong way, they flood."
Her eyes met mine again, steady.
"Do I trust them? No. But I don't hate them either. They're just trying to survive." Her gaze flicked toward the distant city once more. "Like us."
I watched her for a moment, then nodded again. She stood, brushing her hands against her legs as if to wipe away the dust. She glanced back at me, her lips pressing together briefly before she signed one last thing.
"Don't let their walls fool you. They're just as breakable as anyone else."
With that, she turned and walked away, her steps light and even as she disappeared back into the camp. I remained where I was, my frost thickening faintly at the edges as I considered her words. The city's glow remained steady in the distance, its walls high and unyielding against the night sky. For all their polish, for all their rules, they were still human. And humans, as Kesh had said, had their own kind of fragility.
When dawn broke, the air was crisp, the frost lingering over the rocks and sparse grass of the camp. A dozen riders emerged from the horizon, their mounts galloping with a speed that stirred dust and loose earth. They rode lizard-like beasts, their scaled bodies sleek and muscled, claws tearing into the ground with every stride. The creatures were larger than any predator I'd seen, their heads snapping as they moved, eyes sharp and alert.
Dinosaurs. They were riding actual dinosaurs.
This had to be the coolest thing I've seen since I woke up to this new reality.
The riders bore a banner, fur-lined and white, fluttering in the wind. The symbol upon it – a golden crest of intertwining branches – gleamed faintly in the morning light. A sign of peace. Of diplomacy. Among The People, such banners were used when tribes sought to talk, to trade, or to settle disputes without bloodshed.
The tribe was already stirring. Most of The People woke early, their movements quick and practiced. The hunters saw the riders first, their eyes narrowing as they crouched by the edges of the camp. Some reached for bows, their fingers brushing the strings but not yet pulling them taut. The elder stepped out of her tent, her bracelets jingling faintly as she moved to the front of the camp, Yatuk by her side.
The riders slowed as they neared. The lizard-beasts snorted, their claws scraping against the rocks as they came to a halt. The leader, a man clad in finely polished armor, swung down from his mount in one smooth motion. His movements were controlled, deliberate. He raised both hands, palms open, stepping forward to show he carried no weapon in hand. His fur-lined cloak billowed faintly behind him.
"I come on behalf of Queen Lysara," he said, his voice strong but steady. He spoke The People's language, though his accent was unfamiliar, the words rounded in ways that marked him as a foreigner. "She sends her greetings and wishes to speak."
The elder stepped forward, her head held high. She glanced at me briefly, then back at the man. Her fingers tapped her staff once against the ground before she spoke.
"You have brought many riders to speak," she said, her tone measured. "What does your queen wish from us?"
The man inclined his head respectfully.
"We mean no threat," he said. "Our riders are for protection only. The queen has sent us to offer you an opportunity. One that may benefit us both."
His hand moved slightly, gesturing to his side. Another rider dismounted, a woman with sharp eyes and a fur-lined cloak similar to the man's. She carried a bundle wrapped in fine leather. With a nod from the man, she stepped forward and placed the bundle on the ground between them. She untied it quickly, revealing several cured meats wrapped tightly in cloth. Beside them, another pouch spilled open, gleaming with polished metal tools – knives, hammers, and other instruments of fine craftsmanship.
The elder's eyes narrowed slightly, but her expression remained unreadable. Yatuk shifted beside her, his gaze flicking from the riders to the bundle.
"This is only a taste of what we offer," the man continued. "Thousands of kilograms of cured meats, tools, and more. And land."
His voice lowered slightly as he added, "Land to call your own. For as long as you wish to settle."
The elder's grip on her staff tightened slightly. Her lips pressed together, her gaze sharp as she studied him. "What do you ask for in return?"
The man straightened. "We ask for warriors. Your hunters, your finest fighters. The queen faces threats from all sides – Greenskins, beasts from the mountains, and worse. She needs strength. You are strong."
A murmur rippled through the gathered tribe. Some of the hunters exchanged glances, their brows furrowing, while others frowned, their hands tightening on their weapons. The elder held up her hand, silencing them. Her gaze bore into the man.
"You would take our strength and leave us defenseless," she said. "And you would have us fight your wars for you."
The man's jaw tightened briefly, but he bowed his head. "I understand your concern. But I assure you, this is not conscription. We ask for volunteers. Those willing to join will be compensated. And your tribe will not be forgotten. The land we offer is far from the frontlines, fertile and safe. Your people will have a home."
The elder remained silent for a moment, her gaze unwavering. Then she turned to me. Her dark eyes met mine, questioning.
"Speak, Icewalker," she said. "You see much. What do you think of this offer?"
I tilted my head slightly, my frost curling faintly at my feet. Slowly, I signed. "They are desperate. Desperation can be dangerous. But I sense no falsehood in them. They speak the truth. Their people need help."
However, there was... an odd feeling that nagged at the back of my head, a little voice of caution that told me something was not... quite right about this whole thing, that I was missing something important. But then I had no proof.
The elder nodded faintly, her lips tightening. She turned back to the man. "Why now? Why come to us?"
The man hesitated, glancing at the riders behind him. Finally, he spoke. "The Greenskins are stronger than before. Organized. They march in greater numbers, and they are not alone. Creatures from the north have joined them – things that walk like men but are not."
His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. "The queen believes war is inevitable. We are running out of time."
Another ripple of murmurs moved through the tribe. The elder's grip on her staff tightened further, her knuckles pale against the wood. She looked at the bundle on the ground, then back at the man. I knew, right then and there, that the offer was too great to pass up. The offer of land wasn't all that interesting to them, though it was likely fascinating. No, it was the offer of a thousand kilograms of dried food. and tools that captivated the elder and the tribe.
"I will speak with my people," she said finally. "You will have your answer by sundown."
The man nodded, relief flickering briefly across his face.
"Thank you," he said, stepping back toward his mount. The riders did not leave but remained at the edge of the camp, their mounts restless as they watched the people move back into their tents.
The elder turned, motioning for the hunters to gather. Her gaze flicked to me again, lingering for a moment before she gestured for me to follow. I rose silently, the frost around me growing faint as I stepped closer. Whatever decision was made, it would shape our tribe's future – and perhaps the Stone-Dwellers' as well. Though, if the leader asked me, I'd prefer to join the expedition, if only to see more of this world and its wonders and horrors. But I also did not want to leave the tribe defenseless and, honestly, I was the best defense they had. Sure, our warriors were fierce and strong, but that only counted for so much when there were so few of them.
The elder stood tall, her staff tapping once against the rocky ground to draw the hunters' attention. The tribe had gathered in a loose circle, their faces lit by the faint glow of the morning sun. The air was tense, heavy with unspoken concerns. Her bracelets jingled faintly as she raised a hand, silencing the murmurs.
"You all heard the offers of the Stone-Dwellers," she began, her voice steady. Her gaze swept over the gathered hunters, sharp and assessing. "Who among you wish to fight in their war for them?"
The silence stretched for a moment, broken only by the occasional snort of the lizard mounts at the camp's edge. Finally, Yatuk stepped forward, his bow slung over his shoulder. He straightened, his hands moving in practiced, deliberate gestures as he spoke aloud.
"I will go," he said. His tone was even, his expression calm, but his eyes flicked briefly to the elder and then to me. "The Stone-Dwellers offer land and safety. That is worth fighting for."
Another hunter, a wiry woman with scars across her forearms, stepped up beside him. Her name was Tala, and her movements were quick, impatient.
"I will go too," she said. Her hands moved faster, signing alongside her words. "The tribe needs this. Land. Food. We cannot wander forever."
A murmur rippled through the group as two more hunters stepped forward, then a third. Half the warriors now stood in front of the elder, their expressions resolute. Their decision was clear, but the tension among those who remained was just as evident.
One of the remaining hunters, a broad-shouldered man named Harn, shook his head sharply.
"And leave the tribe defenseless?" he said, his voice low but firm. He didn't step forward, his hands staying at his sides. "No. I will not go."
A younger hunter beside him, barely more than a boy, nodded in agreement. His hands moved quickly, his gestures almost frantic. "If we leave, who will guard the children? The elders? If the Greenskins return-"
"They will not return," Tala interrupted, her voice rising slightly. She gestured toward me, her expression hard. "They fear him. Icewalker protects us. He protected us from the Greenskins and he will protect us from the Stone-Dwellers... if they betray us."
Harn frowned, his gaze shifting to me. His shoulders stiffened, his hands curling into loose fists.
"And if he is not enough?" His voice was quieter now, but the weight of his question hung in the air.
The elder raised her hand sharply, silencing the growing murmurs.
"I will hear no more of this doubt," she said. Her voice cut through the tension like a blade. "This decision is not made lightly. Those who wish to go will go. Those who wish to stay will stay. Both choices hold risks. Both choices hold value."
She turned to the warriors who had stepped forward, her dark eyes narrowing. "If you go, you fight not for glory. Not for pride. You fight to survive. Do not forget that."
The hunters nodded, their expressions solemn. Yatuk glanced briefly at me, his jaw tightening before he looked back at the elder.
One of the younger hunters, still among those who hadn't stepped forward, hesitated. His hands twitched, halfway to a gesture before he froze. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft but steady. "If they go, and we are attacked… what then?"
All eyes turned to me.
The elder didn't answer. She turned her gaze to me as well, her expression expectant. The frost at my feet curled faintly as I stepped forward, the air growing sharper with my movement. I raised my hands slowly, signing deliberately. "I will protect the tribe."
Yatuk's brow furrowed slightly, his lips pressing together. Tala tilted her head, her expression thoughtful but skeptical. The others watched silently, their eyes flicking between me and the elder.
I continued, my gestures steady. "I have done it before. I will do it again."
Harn's jaw tightened. He crossed his arms, his shoulders stiff.
"You are powerful, Icewalker." he said quietly, his tone measured. "But even you cannot be everywhere at once."
I tilted my head slightly, my frost thickening as I signed back. "I do not need to be everywhere. The frost is me. The wind is me. If they come, I will know."
Of course, I hadn't told them yet of all the insects and little creatures I'd reanimated to act as my eyes and ears – the birds and the rodents.
The elder's lips quirked faintly, almost a smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. She nodded once, sharply, and turned back to the group.
"You have your answer," she said. "Icewalker will guard us. Those who stay will guard the rest. And those who go will fight to secure what we cannot."
She paused, her gaze sweeping over them again. "Survive. That is all I ask of any of you. Survive."
The hunters bowed their heads slightly, some murmuring quietly among themselves. Yatuk stepped closer to me, his movements deliberate. His hands rose, signing slowly. "You are certain?"
I nodded. "I have never been uncertain."
His lips twitched briefly, a flicker of amusement or approval. He clapped a hand against my shoulder – a light touch, quick enough to avoid the frost – and turned back to the others.
As the tribe dispersed to prepare, the riders at the camp's edge watched silently, their lizard mounts shifting restlessly. The leader, the man in the polished armor, met my gaze from a distance and inclined his head slightly. I didn't move, my frost curling faintly at the edge of the rocky ground.
Whatever decision had been made, the world beyond our camp was about to pull us into its chaos. But I would ensure the tribe survived. No matter what came. If it came to it, I would unleash the full breadth of my power. No wall, no city, no armor, no weapon could stop me if I willed otherwise. I could freeze this planet in eternal winter if I was pushed. The thought hung at the edges of my mind, cold and certain.
It was for that reason that I was going to keep a close eye on our warriors, using a few reanimated birds to follow them around. If they ever needed my aid, they would have it. Briefly, I considered granting them weapons made of True Ice, but quickly decided against it. They were... mortal. There was no way they could wield such weapons without becoming frostbitten.
Whatever the case, Stone-Dwellers kept their word.
When dawn came, and the chosen warriors departed with their riders, they left behind what they had promised. Tools of iron and steel – hammers, knives, axes – were laid before the elder in neat bundles, gleaming faintly in the morning sun. Beside them, sacks and crates of cured meats were stacked high. The scent wafted faintly through the air, a strange mix of smoke and salt that drew murmurs from the tribe. Children gathered near the edge of the stacks, their eyes wide, their hands twitching with the urge to touch. The hunters who stayed behind stood at a distance, their expressions a mix of relief and unease.
The final gift, though, was the land, which came with a scroll that was apparently signed by their queen, which – by their own laws – legalized the transfer of the ownership of the land to The People.
The riders led us to it that same morning, their lizard mounts moving easily through the rocky terrain as the tribe followed with careful steps. The valley opened before us, its expanse stretching wide and untamed. The river cut through its heart, its waters clear and fast, glittering in the light. Trees dotted the edges, their roots thick and gnarled, while the grass in the open spaces swayed gently in the breeze. The soil beneath my frost was rich, dark, and soft – ideal for planting, for life.
The tribe had plenty of seeds, too, from fruit-bearing trees and plants that bore bright berries.
The elder crouched by the riverbank, her hand dipping into the water. Her bracelets jingled softly as she lifted her palm, letting the droplets fall. Her lips pressed together briefly before she nodded once, sharply, and stood. The river, I noted, was clean and clear and, every so often, I'd spot a fat fish surging just beneath the waters.
Borik, one of the hunters who stayed behind, crossed his arms and frowned slightly as he gazed across the valley. His hands moved quickly as he spoke aloud. "Why don't the Stone-Dwellers keep this land for themselves?"
The elder turned to him, her expression unreadable.
"It is far from their walls," she said simply. "Too far to protect. They do not have enough people to tame all the land they claim."
She glanced at me briefly, her dark eyes sharp. "But we are fewer still."
Borik's frown deepened. His fingers flexed, then stilled as he looked back at the valley. "And if someone comes to try and take it from us?"
"They will not," I signed, stepping closer. The frost at my feet curled faintly, blending with the morning mist. "If they do, I will stop them."
The elder's gaze lingered on me for a moment before she turned to the tribe. Her staff struck the ground once, the sound echoing faintly.
"This is our land now," she said. Her voice carried, firm and steady. I could tell that it was a strange thing for her to ponder, seeing as our tribe had not once considered settling anywhere before. We followed the roaming herds of grazing beasts, hunting and foraging. This was... nothing she'd ever conceived before, something new. But, from the stories she told over roaring campfires in the night, there was a time when The People had a permanent home, a place of great abundance and peace, before they were driven out by the Greenskins, though she rarely told that particular story. "We will make it our home."
The tribe began to move, their steps hesitant at first but growing more confident as they spread out across the valley. The hunters scouted the edges, their eyes sharp, while the gatherers explored the riverside, their hands brushing the tall grass. The children ran ahead, their laughter bright and quick as they chased each other through the open space.
Kesh crouched by a cluster of trees near the river, her hands brushing the bark. She glanced back at me, her lips twitching faintly in a small, almost reluctant smile.
"This is good land," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "Rich. Alive."
I nodded, though my gaze remained on the horizon. The valley was beautiful, yes, but it was also isolated. The mountains loomed in the distance, their jagged peaks shrouded in mist, while the forest at the valley's edge stood thick and dark. This land was fertile, yes – but untamed. Whatever had kept the Stone-Dwellers from claiming it wasn't just distance or population. It was cost.
As the sun climbed higher, the tribe began to settle. Tents were raised near the river, their bone frames sturdy against the soft breeze. Tools were tested, axes swinging through fallen branches with sharp, satisfying cracks. The elder stood at the center of it all, her hands moving in quick, decisive gestures as she directed the efforts.
I remained at the edge of the valley, my gaze fixed on the forest. The frost around me thickened slightly, spreading outward in faint tendrils. My senses extended with it, brushing against the trees, the grass, the earth. The land felt still, quiet – but not empty.
Borik approached, his steps careful as he stopped beside me. His bow hung loosely at his side, his fingers brushing the string absentmindedly. He signed slowly, his gestures deliberate. "Do you think it will last?"
I tilted my head slightly, considering.
"The quiet?" I signed back. "No. But the tribe will."
He watched me for a moment, then nodded. His gaze shifted to the forest, his expression tightening slightly. His fingers twitched, then stilled.
"If it doesn't," he said quietly, "you'll make sure of it."
I glanced up at the sky. Something was coming. I felt it in my cold bones, an almost tangible force. And yet I had no idea what it was, only that it was big. I wasn't even sure where the feeling came from. After a moment, I signed, "I will."
"My queen, you have yet to tell the council why you offered so much to the Wildlings for so little gain." Tharanis's tone was calm, measured, but the sharp gleam in his eye betrayed his intent. His words were deliberate, loud enough to carry over the murmurs of the chamber. The other councilors glanced at him, then at Lysara. He sat straighter in his chair, fingers laced over his gilded robes, the perfect image of feigned respect.
Lysara leaned back in her throne, resting her chin lightly on her hand. Her emerald eyes lingered on Tharanis, her lips curving into a faint smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"For so little gain?" she said lightly. "Oh, Tharanis, your lack of imagination disappoints me."
The room stilled, the murmurs dying as the councilors turned their full attention to their queen. Tharanis's brow twitched, though he quickly covered it with a courteous nod.
"Enlighten us then, Your Majesty," he said, spreading his hands. "We are eager to understand your... vision."
Lysara straightened, her posture regal. Her gaze swept the room, lingering on each councilor.
"The Wildlings serve a purpose – both now and in the future," she said. "In the short term, their warriors will scout and fight for us. They know the wilds better than any of our men. And they are fierce, resourceful, and loyal to those who treat them with fairness."
Several councilors nodded faintly, though others exchanged skeptical glances. Tharanis tilted his head, gesturing for her to continue.
"In the long term," she went on, "I intend for them to settle the valley. To grow roots. To build something of value. A community that thrives under our protection – and serves as a buffer between us and the Ork tribes growing in the North."
She leaned forward slightly, her smile sharpening. "The land I offered them has brought us nothing. It is distant, untamed, and costly to maintain. Now, it will serve us. This is not a loss, Tharanis. This is foresight."
Tharanis stroked his chin, his lips twitching faintly.
"And yet," he said slowly, "you place trust in people who owe us nothing. They are wild. Untamed, as you said yourself. What is to stop them from turning against us when the winds change?"
"The same thing that binds all loyalty," Lysara said smoothly. "Mutual gain. They will grow to depend on us. And we will ensure that bond is strong."
The councilors murmured again, some nodding, others frowning. Lysara's gaze shifted to Malathax the Raven, her Court Wizard, who had remained silent so far. The court wizard stood at the far end of the room, his black-feathered robe pooling around him like shadows. His pale hands rested lightly on his staff, his head tilted slightly as if listening to something distant. She knew that look about him.
"Malathax," Lysara said, her voice cutting through the murmurs. "You have been unusually quiet. Does this not intrigue you?"
The murmurs ceased, all eyes turning to the wizard. He lifted his head, his bright blue eyes glowing faintly beneath his hood. His voice, when it came, was low and resonant, carrying a weight that made the air seem colder.
"There is a great darkness that lingers about them," he said.
The chamber stilled, a tense silence descending. Even Tharanis's usual smirk faltered as he shifted in his seat. Lysara raised a brow, her fingers tapping once against the arm of her throne.
"Speak plainly, Malathax," she said. Her tone was calm, but her gaze sharpened. The man was many things, but he was also reliable, which was the only reason she kept him in her court. "Has the Changing God offered you another vision?"
Malathax's grip on his staff tightened slightly. His gaze drifted upward, as though looking beyond the chamber, beyond the walls of the city.
"Not a vision," he murmured. "A presence. It clings to the Wildlings, faint but undeniable. A sliver of something vast. Something ancient."
His glowing eyes locked on Lysara. "The Great Dark Winter. A waking avatar of ice, cold, and shadow."
The words hung in the air like frost. One of the younger councilors shifted in his seat, his face pale. Another leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table. Lysara's eyes narrowed. The Great Dark Winter was a time of great... upheaval and strife, when a seemingly infinite winter blanketed the land in ice and snow and lasted for several generations. It nearly wiped out all the Kingdoms and all the people. Tharanis's fingers tightened over his gilded robe, though he masked it quickly with a faint smile.
"A waking avatar?" Tharanis said, his voice light but strained. "Surely you speak in riddles, Malathax."
Malathax turned his gaze to Tharanis, his expression unreadable. "It is not a riddle. It is truth. The Great Dark Winter is power beyond comprehension. It freezes, it consumes. It is the death of all warmth, the end of all things. And it walks among the Wildlings."
Another silence fell, thicker than the last. Lysara tilted her head, her lips curving faintly.
"And yet," she said, her voice calm, "this avatar – if it exists – has not brought ruin. It has accepted our offer, has it not? It has not attacked our riders. Not destroyed our kingdom."
Malathax's eyes narrowed slightly. "For now."
Lysara leaned forward, her smile sharper. "Then perhaps it is not the end of all things. Perhaps it is something we can understand. Something we can use."
"I understand your trail of though, but..." The wizard's grip on his staff tightened, his feathers rustling faintly. "You play with forces you do not understand, my queen. The Great Dark Winter is... death itself."
"And you," she said softly, "speak of forces you cannot control."
Malathax's gaze flicked to the councilors, then back to Lysara.
"If the Great Dark Winter turns its gaze upon us..." he said, his voice low, "...no walls will hold it back. No armies will stop it. Its cold snuffs out even the fires of sorcery."
Lysara straightened, her emerald eyes steady. "The warriors I sent to treat with the Wildlings reported a very curious man among them – tall... about the same height as an Ogre, but symmetrical and beautiful, snow-white hair and vivid blue eyes. You don't suppose this man might be the avatar that you speak of?"
Malathax had a thoughtful look about him, before he answered. "There is only one way to be certain."
