Snow on the Homecoming Plains
The snow blanketing the homecoming plains was the flowing passage of time. It was oblivion. Snow buried the truth, concealed wounds, and erased history.
The rusty, ancient sword Ullern. It sliced Isaac's palm, drawing blood. The boy's blood seeped into the snow that covered the entire plain. It spread in an instant. Like veins, the blood swiftly stained the snowy expanse. A vivid crimson plain appeared there. The snow began to melt. In the blink of an eye, it vanished like a lie. Harsh sunlight and a piercing blue sky. Beneath them, the ruins unfurled, revealing history. All the past of the Granak tribe, buried in snow and time, stretched to the horizon. Isaac wandered the endless barren land, their era, their memories.
Warriors' bones, tattered banners, final breaths, shattered wooden dolls, abandoned weapons, unspoken last words—they stretched on endlessly.
Footprints?
As Isaac roamed aimlessly through the world of imagery, enormous footprints caught his eye. Beast tracks. The deeper he followed them, the more red clouds gathered in the once-clear sky. Red rain fell. Pools of blood formed across the plain.
Awooooo—
A wolf's howl echoed. Isaac headed toward it. Passing mounds of bones, he found the white wolf. Its fur was white, yet it couldn't simply be called white. Half its flesh was stripped away, exposing teeth and jawbone. From its maw flowed not blood, but dust and ashes. Its eyes held neither the fierce light of a living beast nor the sorrow of a specter.
"In blood lies the beast, and in the beast lies the oath."
The wolf's voice rattled Isaac's ears like an auditory hallucination.
"I, Agmar, found the stone that splits thunder with the gods' aid."
It sounded like the wind, or the crackle of a campfire, the rush of a river, or the patter of the falling rain.
"I cast my firstborn into the flames and forged iron into a sword with that fire."
"I named it Ullern, after my eldest."
"Ullern. Born through agony."
"The permitted one, tracing paths of blood."
"The first war erupted."
The wolf's remaining hide, soaked in the red rain, gleamed blood-red. Its form slowly melted into the downpour, dissolving without a trace.
Grooooowl—
Suddenly, the landscape shifted to a deep mountainside thick with greenery. A low bellow echoed nearby. The earth trembled. It was the cry of a bison. The mountain seemed to breathe. Pushing through the trails, Isaac spotted more beast tracks. They led to a colossal bison with a paired rack of antlers made from swords and spears.
"I, Baldor-Kar, warrior beloved by the gods. Victor, unifier. Yet my children fractured to claim Ullern."
Blood poured endlessly from the bison. Not just from the red rain. Thick, viscous blood oozed continuously from the blades forming its body. It too melted into the red rainwater and vanished.
The sun set, the sky darkened. A night of shooting stars arrived, the Milky Way slashing across the heavens. The forest was pitch black. Nothing was visible. In this world of imagery, even Isaac's wolf king senses were useless. He groped through the dark woods.
Hoo— Hoo-hoo—
An owl hooted. In the deep darkness, even faint light was visible from afar. Isaac chased it. Perched on the branches of a mighty tree in the woods was an owl. Its pale, glowing eyes were hollow. Its wings were made of scripture, pages like feathers emanating pure white light.
"I am Bernu Nachtblick. I rejected war with my brothers and received the god's revelation."
"I turned from false gods to serve the one true. With law and order, king and people— no longer barbarians."
"You, heir of Ullern, seek the serpent that whispers with two tongues."
The light faded, night lifted, morning came. Owl, forest, mountain—all gone. Isaac's feet splashed in shallow water. Ssssss— A tongue flicked, breath hissed sharply in his ears. He stood at the heart of a black serpent's coil.
"I, Rodhar. I sought, coveted, exterminated Bernu's heirs, to reclaim the tribe's traditions."
"Negotiations, alliances, betrayal. We to the forests, Bernu's heirs behind walls. An irreparable rift tore the same land."
Wolf, bison, owl, serpent. Then bear, lion, fox, badger, eagle, crow—successive Granak chieftains in beast forms confronted Isaac. Each recounted their era's tale before vanishing like a mirage, only to repeat.
Snow fell again. Isaac stood amid the blizzard on the tundra. The 46 beasts that had greeted him watched from afar or circled low in the sky. The snow intensified into a whiteout storm, visibility zero. Yet the chieftains' spirits still watched, and Isaac awaited the last.
Too long a span for any human to endure. At once, an endlessly fleeting human history. Without the decades he'd spent underground, he'd have lost himself long ago, wandering lost in this imaginal realm forever.
Hmm-hmm-hmmm—
Suddenly, a clear hum pierced the fierce gale. A weary old man's gravelly melody.
"……?"
Isaac knew that tune. He, his brother, his mother—all loved it. Tristis Draco. The sorrowfully weeping dragon. With him.
Thud. Thud. Thud. The earth quaked. A gray curtain of driving snow veiled the murky sky. From it emerged a colossal silhouette, vast enough to pierce the flurry.
Thud. Thud. It approached Isaac. No mere beast. It rent the earth like a dragon incarnate.
"You do not belong to this time."
It—the dragon, or the 47th chieftain—spoke. Whether truly a dragon or a symbol like the others in this imaginal world, who could say? Only its crimson scales etched with thousands of forgotten names, vast wings, world-shaking weight, earth-rending claws, and maw boiling with flame proclaimed it dragon.
The dragon's heart, its pulse, drummed like warriors' war beats in Isaac's ears. As it closed upon him, shaking the ground, it took human form. Massive shoulders draped in thick bear pelt. A cloak of snow leopard fur cascading down, adorned with mountain goat horns and fangs. Like Asra Baldroon's visage. But not a giant crone—a giant elder. Far larger than Asra, a true colossus. Long white hair whipped in the blizzard, eyes pulsing with living beast's fire. In his hand, a rusted sword like Isaac's—but incomparably larger.
"I am Brunscar Eldfyur. What is your name, child?"
"……Isaac von Vinfelt Goethe. Your descendant."
Isaac shouted into the blizzard.
"Wield Ullern. Prove yourself before the ancestors."
The giant swung. Cleaving the storm, the giant's time surged at Isaac. Roaring into the snow, the great chieftain. Blood-smeared face of the warrior crossing snow peaks. Shadow of the old warrior beheaded unbowed at Winterband. Granak warriors clashing with Goethe soldiers, blood spraying. Isaac swung his sword. Two times collided.
"So, that means the kingdom's founding king was a barbarian…… no, an ancestor like you?"
"Bernu Nachtblick. The night-eyed one. Renamed Theoderic Nachtblick after accepting your god. He who rules the faithful in darkness."
"That's why the kingdom's name is Belnata."
Raphael nodded at Asra's words. Belnata's ancient roots meant discipline and order. Literally, "land built on order." Paraphrased, "the nation begun at night's end."
"Fascinating."
Belnata's emblem was an owl. The Royal Academy's was an owl clutching a laurel wreath in ascent.
"More than that, is the Grand Inquisitor position so leisurely? Listening to barbarian history. Has the world changed while I holed up in the snow mountains?"
"I never imagined conversing like this with a god-server. As I said, I stay to sow seeds of faith. The baron received a holy relic from the Papacy. Holy relics belong on faithful soil."
"Planning a church in Vinfelt?"
Asra's eyes narrowed faintly.
"If possible."
"I don't know if your gods or mine are stronger, but I've lived far longer than you—that much is certain. Why not be honest? You're lingering because you're worried about my grandson, aren't you?"
Asra sipped her tea. The cup looked tiny against her bulk.
"……."
Raphael downed cold ale. Northern winters were so harsh that chilled ale was a delight. Four days had passed since Isaac entered Asra's trial. Raphael remained because Asra's guess was spot on. His presence as Grand Inquisitor could delay Boatmer's army. At least until Isaac finished—he meant to buy that time.
"Can a holy man be so biased in worldly power struggles?"
Asra cackled, revealing toothless gums.
"Your faith is lacking."
Raphael replied without a flicker of expression—no shame, anger, or embarrassment.
"That boy's so odd, and his circle's full of weirdos. If you're worried about my grandson, no need."
"What do you mean?"
"Boatmer won't march on Vinfelt. No time left to waste."
Asra drained her cold tea and muttered.
"Many things will change. Very many."
At Goethe Manor's entrance, the woman dismounted. Compared to the biting northern gale, her attire was threadbare. Gray hair peeking from her shadowed cloak gleamed silver in the dim light. Without calling a servant, she strode in familiarly. Her gray coat—patched rags sewn together—was worn and frayed, but her aura remained undiminished. Slow steps showed no fatigue; her face was iron-cold.
"Halt! This is Count Goethe's estate!"
A guard rushed out belatedly. But recognizing her face, he gasped.
"C-Countess……."
"Long time no see, Gunther."
"Ma'am!"
The guard saluted hastily to the lady who remembered his name. Adel brushed past the greeting, heading straight for the manor's central courtyard.