Far to the north, beyond the restless seas and the lands of men, the world stretched beneath an endless mantle of ice. The wind howled, biting like a thousand blades, and the sky, an unbroken expanse of eternal gray, loomed heavy, pressing down upon the earth. Amid this frozen desert, a remnant of the old world still stood—an ancient tower of steel and glass, its edges cracked and worn by centuries of frost, glistening under the relentless grip of ice.
At the summit of this broken structure, two figures braved the cold.
One of them, massive, was a polar bear… or what remained of one. His eyes, deep as the abyss beneath the ice floes, gleamed with an ageless wisdom. Solbjörn, Seraphid of the Frost, bore luminescent markings across his snow-white fur, pulsing slowly, like the beat of an ancient heart. Seated on his haunches, his great head tilted back, ears flicking, he exhaled in jagged bursts, his breath rising in thick clouds against the glacial air.
Beside him, a man.
Tall and broad-shouldered, Thalrik Cold-Blade carried the stature of those forged by the merciless lands of the north. His brown beard, streaked with silver, was stiff with frost, and his short-cropped hair clung to his forehead beneath the howling wind. His thick leather coat, worn from time and battle, flapped against his legs like a war banner.
He clutched his stomach, doubled over.
The two companions were laughing, their voices echoing into the vast silence. For a moment, the wind seemed to relent, as if the world itself held its breath to listen to these two souls adrift in the endless white.
Then, Thalrik's laughter stilled. His eyes narrowed.
He had felt something.
No sound. No movement.
But a vibration.
Subtle. Fleeting. Like a ripple running through the world itself.
Solbjörn, sensing the shift, stopped laughing. He turned his massive head towards his friend, his glowing eyes locking onto Thalrik's suddenly somber expression.
"What is it, Thalrik? Why has your heart gone still?" His voice was deep, weighted with meaning.
Thalrik didn't answer immediately. He closed his eyes. Breathed in.
The frozen air rushed into his lungs like a thousand needles.
Yes… there it was. A call. Distant, yet clear. Like a note of music ringing through the void.
Like the whisper of a blade drawn with intent.
The Blade.
Someone… had touched the Blade.
A slow smile spread across his cracked lips, melting the tension in his weathered features.
"Well now, Solbjörn…" he murmured, reopening his eyes, their light warming with both amusement and, yes, pride. "I think I just felt some good news."
"Good news?" the bear rumbled, tilting his head. "In these lands, such things are rare indeed."
"Not this one." Thalrik stretched his arms toward the gray sky, as if plucking something from the air. "A new pup… just touched the blade."
Solbjörn blinked slowly. Understanding flickered in his gaze, followed by a deep, rumbling chuckle that built into a growling laugh.
"A new brother, have you?" he asked, somewhere between mockery and satisfaction.
"A new brother… yes." Thalrik's eyes fixed on the horizon, where the snow fell in an unbroken veil. "Somewhere, a kid just took his first step. And that's no small thing."
Solbjörn rose slowly, his sheer weight making the rooftop tremble beneath him. He stretched his massive limbs, his claws carving deep grooves into the frozen concrete.
"Let us hope he knows what that means. The Blade does not forgive those who hesitate."
Thalrik nodded, his grin widening.
"None of us knew when we began. The first step is what matters. The rest…" He shrugged. "The rest, the blade teaches."
They remained there a while longer, two souls perched upon the roof of the world, gazing out into the white abyss. The wind howled once more, and the snow swirled around them in ghostly spirals.
And beneath the cloud-laden sky, the laughter of man and bear rose again, defying the solitude of the ice.
_ _ _
Far to the south, where ice gave way to scorching sands, the world stretched into an endless expanse of undulating dunes. Countless grains, heated by an unforgiving sun, formed a golden ocean, shimmering beneath the caress of burning winds.
Perched atop a dune as towering as a mountain, a man stood motionless.
His silhouette, draped in sand-colored garments, blended almost seamlessly into the landscape. The fabric, worn yet meticulously wrapped, shielded him from the wind's bite and the sun's relentless assault. Only his eyes emerged from this cocoon of cloth, deep brown, etched with lines that neither age nor exhaustion seemed able to erode. They narrowed, piercing the horizon with the precision of a blade.
Below, the valley of sand trembled under the movement of a writhing black horde.
The Hollowborns.
They swarmed, massive and formless, their shifting silhouettes crawling or rising toward the sky like shadows defying the light. Each pulse of their existence twisted the air, sending waves of heat that distorted the landscape. A nightmarish sight, even for the most hardened of souls.
The man inhaled slowly.
The scent of scorched sand, mingled with the more insidious stench of corruption, filled his lungs.
How…?
His brow furrowed deeper. His thoughts took shape in a voice low and rough, like leather weathered too long by the wind.
"How can so many Hollowborns coexist without tearing each other apart…?"
This wasn't normal. Hollowborns destroyed one another when prey was scarce. Something was drawing them here.
His fists clenched, his knuckles cracking under the pressure.
"I need to know…" he breathed.
His muscles tensed, ready to launch himself down the steep slope... And then, he felt it.
Subtle. Fleeting. But undeniable.
Like a whisper against his nape.
A shiver of energy brushing his skin beneath the layers of cloth. No wind. No sound. Just… that sensation.
He froze, his eyes sharpening like blades being drawn from their sheath.
"What is this…?"
The question hung in the scorching air. He scanned the dunes, the horizon, the sky… Nothing.
It didn't matter.
Other priorities called him.
In one fluid motion, he untied the crossed straps on his back. Two curved blades emerged, twin glaives, their edges catching the sun, glinting like crescent moons of steel.
He spun them with ease, the whisper of metal grazing the wind.
His legs bent, his feet shifting with practiced precision into the treacherous sand.
Then, he sprang forward.