Continent of THÁLGRIMR
The Ironbone Kingdom
Town of Dorrveth
The morning light fell upon Dorrveth like a tempered blade—bright, but not warm, cast in silver rather than gold. The wind here had weight, shaped by the peaks of the surrounding mountains, carving down the ancient bones of Thálgrimr's highlands and coiling through the wide-cut stone avenues. All was chiseled from the mountain itself—no wood, no straw, only the iron-grey of forged stone, the dark bone scaffolding of old ancestors nailed into vertical cliffs like skeletal monuments, their arms outstretched in silent burden. Even the homes seemed to stoop beneath invisible weight, as if humbled by the countless generations that had come before them, nailed to the earth to hold the very sky aloft.
People moved with purpose here, not with haste. Thálmen were a heavy-hearted people, all of them bearing the same quiet burden etched in the bone-inscribed armbands locked around their wrists—their family's sins, written in ancient glyphs carved by the Bonewrights of old. Forgiveness was no virtue in this land; it was outlawed, weakness disguised in warmth. Guilt was sacred. To be guilty was to have power, to possess a sin so monstrous it tied one closer to the gods who once bled this land dry.
And yet—despite the solemn air, despite the cold-blooded legacy etched into stone and soul—there was laughter in Dorrveth Hollow today.
Children darted between merchants' stalls and the armored boots of passing soldiers, kicking a makeshift ball made of waxed hide and hardened string. A cluster of them, faces smudged with coal, took turns leaping off a broken cart into a patch of muddy snow, declaring themselves various heroes and horrors from the old myths. One boy wore a broken pot for a helm and screamed that he was Lord Veln the Wolf-Taker. Another girl, small and scarred, insisted she was a witch cursed with feather-eyes, able to see fate. Around them, market vendors yelled over one another, hawking everything from fermented rootwine to warm bone-soup simmering in deep iron cauldrons that steamed like enchanted kettles.
Overhead, a rust-winged draech—a scaled creature not quite dragon, not quite bird—roosted on a temple spire, its wings wrapped around itself like a leathery cloak, glaring down at the town with ember-glass eyes. No one paid it much mind. If it wasn't biting someone's head off, it wasn't their business.
19 year old Kota Marrowden stood in the middle of this mountain-carved life, nervously shifting the small bouquet of frost-lilies in his arms. He wore his best clothes—at least, what he thought were his best. A brushed grey tunic fastened with bone clasps, thick brown trousers that tucked neatly into snow-scuffed boots, and a sleeveless jacket of waxed wool that was more symbolic than warm. He had scrubbed himself that morning until he could smell the burn of mintroot soap under his arms, and had checked himself no less than three times since leaving the house.
'Here we go…'
His youthful face was flushed from the cold or nerves—he couldn't tell. Amber-brown eyes flicked left and right, half admiring the town, half worrying he looked foolish holding flowers. His auburn hair was wild as ever, spiking and flaring like wind-dried grass, tousled in ways that neither comb nor charm could correct. It made him look endearingly scattered, the sort of young man who didn't mean to stand out but did so anyway.
'They're gonna think I look like a kid holding these. Or worse, like someone who picked the wrong flowers off someone's grave.'
His eyes shifted toward the towering cliff just beyond the city's edge, where ancestors' bones were hammered into jagged lines high above. Thousands of skeletons, held to the mountain with iron nails, their bones whistling with the wind. Even from here, Kota could hear the haunting harmony of hollow ribcages singing beneath the gusts.
He passed through the central square, where two massive boards stood—each carved from ancient wyrmwood, bleached with salt and dust and ink. One was pitch-black, the Black Ledger, rimmed with rows of twisted nails and clawed steel. The other gleamed like pale ash, the Explore Ledger, etched with symbols of compass roses and broken gates. Both were cluttered with contracts, nailed in every direction, curling with age or bleeding with fresh ink. Kings contracts, contracts with nobles, etc.
A burly woman with a shoulder pauldron made of stitched beast-eyes tore down a paper from the Black Ledger, waving it at her companions.
"Cursed serpent's back in the High Rock Plains. Same damn one we killed last spring."
"You sure it ain't just another serpent?" a gaunt man replied, smirking. "They breed like tavern rats, those things."
"I recognize the eyes," she said. "My boot still has one of 'em stuck to the sole."
Behind them, a lean young adventurer at the Explore Ledger scoffed. "At least your job doesn't smell like moldy catacombs. Last week, we found a ruin filled with time-locked echoes. Took me three hours to get unstuck from a conversation loop."
"Yeah? Least you don't have to kill your contracts," a hunter retorted, tapping his skull with a gloved finger. "We do the real work. You just collect trinkets and piss yourself at cursed staircases."
"I piss myself with style, thank you."
Kota passed them, lips curling in a grin despite himself, though his eyes lingered on the Black Ledger longer than he intended. The heavy papers, the red wax, the pay. All so tempting. So many his age had already made offerings. So many had bent the knee before the Flowers, whispering their names into the blooming mouths of godflowers. The flowers that required your own soul offering to gain fragments of a god's power; you would be offering your own soul, but a 50/50 chance of getting your soul back alongside the power.
'But not me,' he thought, the familiar knot tightening in his chest. 'I can't do it.'
Coward.
Or maybe smart.
'But look at them. Look at all they can do. And I'm walking to a date. With flowers. Like a damn romantic idiot.'
He shook his head, forcibly dragging his gaze forward. 'No. Not today. Focus, Kota. This isn't about power. It's about Yuniper. My first date…my heart's beating super fast. This is really happening!'
Just the thought of her made his palms sweat. He checked himself again—sniffed under one arm, then subtly tried to flatten his hair with a hand. Failed.
And then—he saw her.
Yuniper stood at the far end of the square, near the old bone-clock tower where the market met the pub-row. The wind played with the edges of her long, moss-green gown, the fabric catching and flaring like soft leaves in motion. It was embroidered with tiny bone-beads that shimmered in the light like dew, and a silver shawl was wrapped loosely around her shoulders, held in place by a pin shaped like a six-pointed star. Her hair—a cascade of dark walnut curls—was half-pinned behind her ears with thin strips of bone-horn, revealing her bright, gentle eyes, so vividly blue they almost glowed. Her cheeks were already flushed, whether from the cold or from seeing him, Kota couldn't tell.
'She looks amazing…'
Kota froze, unsure of whether to walk or wave or just fall into a well. Instead, he walked stiffly, like someone trying very hard to remember how legs worked.
'I'm walking dumb now! Get it together..Kota..!'
Yuniper saw him, smiled immediately, and raised her hand in a timid wave. He raised his too late, too suddenly. Awkward.
'Fuuuck! I hate when that happens!'
But Yuniper didn't seem to care—her smile widened.
They met near the clock tower's base, where the scent of roasted rootmeat from nearby food stalls mingled with the perfume of her gown. Kota's voice caught in his throat.
"These are for you," he blurted, holding out the flowers like a peace offering.
Her eyes lit up. "Frost-lilies? Kota, these are… they're rare! How did you even get them?"
He blinked, brain short-circuiting. "Oh, uh—I fought through three hordes of cursed beasts," he said, too quickly, nodding like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Yuniper giggled. "Liar."
In his mind, the truth stabbed him in the ribs.
'Why are you lying, Kota? You babysat demon children. Not even demons, just awful children. The one with the horned helmet bit you. You still have the scar.'
She took the flowers with delicate care, brushing one petal against her cheek. "They're lovely. You're lovely. You had the day planned, right?"
Kota looked away, blushing so hard it hurt. "Y-y-y-yes," he stammered.
Yuniper laughed again, and her fingers gently curled around his arm. Warmth bloomed there, even in the chill wind of the atmosphere.
And for once, Kota forgot about gods and flowers, cursed contracts and soul-wounds.
Just for a little while.
The deeper they ventured into the heart of Dorrveth, the more the solemn, high-stoned austerity of the outer district gave way to something richer, more vivid—where the lifeblood of the Ironbone Kingdom pulsed with revelry and craft, trade and tradition. This part of the city, often referred to by locals as The Veins, was where the people let go of grief and guilt for a time, embracing strange games, lively gatherings, and culinary oddities cooked over magma-fueled pits. It was here where fire-breathers lit up the air with colorless flame and enchanted string-mages plucked invisible cords to sing old ballads using instruments made of wind and bone-glass.
Kota walked beside Yuniper like a man caught in a dream, fingers slightly brushing hers, never quite bold enough to intertwine. His heart thundered like war drums in his chest, but his smile—awkward and honest—never left his face.
'Make a move, Kota! Why are you so scared?!' Kota thought.
The first game they came across was Stonetoss, a favorite among Thálmen youth. Contestants were given three rune-stamped pebbles, each imbued with a single property—weight, bounce, or spin—and instructed to skip them across a mirror-still obsidian pool ringed with crowding spectators. The aim wasn't distance, but artistry. The stones, when thrown just right, drew glowing arcs of energy that told miniature stories in light.
"Mine's going to be a wolf howling at the peak," Kota said, biting his lip as he lined up his shot.
"What if it howls at me?" Yuniper teased, stepping back.
Kota threw. The stone skipped once—twice—and then flared into a crude, shimmering shape that vaguely resembled a howling animal… until it misfired midair and exploded in a sudden puff of sulfuric glitter.
"That… was a dramatic death," Yuniper said, giggling.
"I meant to do that," Kota declared proudly. "Symbolic. Of tragic power. You see, the wolf's howl shattered the sky."
She laughed harder.
Next came Gobglintoss, a bizarre booth game involving a large, padded dummy shaped like a wide-mouthed goblin lord. Participants had to launch miniature meat-pies into its open maw using nothing but a slingshot and one hand tied behind their back. Yuniper nailed her shot on the first try.
Kota missed all three and got slapped in the face by a flying pie meant for someone else.
"Tragic power again?" Yuniper asked.
"Strategic misdirection," he said, wiping gravy off his cheek. "I've thrown the match so you'd shine."
'I'm lying.'
She bumped his shoulder affectionately, her smile crinkling the corners of her eyes.
Later, they wandered into a makeshift bone maze—where faint magical inscriptions etched into bonewalls whispered ancestral memories at random. Each corner threatened a different sensation: heat, sorrow, laughter, regret. Kota led the way, shielding Yuniper with exaggerated protectiveness, which only made her roll her eyes affectionately.
"You do realize this is meant to reflect our inner fears and truths, right?" she whispered.
"I'm fine with truths," Kota muttered.
They emerged from the maze holding hands—not on purpose, but once it had happened, neither pulled away.
Kota, flustered, thought, 'It's happening…it's actually happening! First time ever holding a girl's hand…'
In a plaza near the artisan quarter, they came upon Shardbead Artistry—a tradition where couples wove molten-glass beads into patterns on long silk strands to tell stories. The silks were later worn or burned in rituals depending on whether the story was remembered fondly or mournfully.
Kota fumbled with the tongs, trying to arrange the beads into a heroic design. Yuniper chose warm colors—deep plum, golden-bronze, and streaks of green. His came out uneven, one side strangely heavy, with a burnt orange bead sticking out like a mistake.
She leaned close and whispered, "That one's my favorite."
And then there was Vault-and-Vow, a sport of balance and courage. A narrow beam was raised ten feet above a stone courtyard, stretching between two statues. Couples were challenged to walk across it while exchanging words they were afraid to say. Whoever reached the other side without falling was declared "soul-honest."
"I'm not afraid of anything," Kota said bravely, climbing up.
"You're afraid of spiders, commitment, and making a move on me," Yuniper replied, steadying herself.
"I'm not afraid of you," he said quietly, and stepped forward. "I'm not afraid of anything.."
'Lies. I'm afraid of a lot of shit. Why am I trying to look fearless?'
Kota sighed, "Okay maybe I'm not so fearless."
Her breath caught. She said nothing—but the words were in her eyes. "Haha! See?" They made it to the other side. The crowd cheered, some throwing small tokens into the air. Kota flushed and nearly tripped on the way down.
But as they walked away, laughter and warmth surrounding them like a borrowed cloak, they passed a group of Hunters near a meat stall—grizzled figures with hard eyes and weapons laced in dark silver. One read from a parchment nailed to the Black Ledger.
"Another witch burned in Lowshale. That makes three today."
Yuniper froze.
Her steps halted mid-motion. Her lips parted slightly, but she said nothing—her eyes darkened, clouded over like stormglass.
Kota's mind scrambled. Words? He had none. Comfort? Too complicated. Distraction?
'Witches have been an issue in all of the kingdoms. They curse beasts into a chaotic frenzy. They eat and sacrifice people to whoever, and overall spread darkness. We can't have that gloomy shit hanging over our date. My first date at that!'
So he did the first thing that came to mind.
He farted.
Loud. Stupid. Tragic power, again.
The square went quiet for exactly three seconds. Then the ripple began. A slow, rising wave of snorts, laughs, jeers, curses.
"By the mountain's navel!" someone shouted.
"Shield the girl! She's too fair for such dark magic!" another cried, flinging his cloak over Yuniper dramatically.
"Is that a death-bloom curse or a cabbage ghost?"
"Forgive me," Kota said, standing tall and squinting like a war-hardened mercenary. "But my soul couldn't contain the truth of this land any longer."
'Play it off!'
One of the Adventurers shielded Yuniper with both arms like a knight in shining sarcasm. "Fear not, sweet maiden, I shall bear the brunt of this man's sins—"
"Back off," Kota said, now in a raspy baritone, flicking imaginary hair back. "The demon within me… needed air."
"He's possessed!" another laughed.
"I'm just cursed…" Kota cried dramatically. "I had to evacuate my emotions.."
People backed away from him, calling him weird. Someone even offered him a bone-cloth for the damage, saying, "Did you make a mess—?"
Kota scoffed with a high pitched squeal, "I DIDN'T!"
Then—through the absurdity—Yuniper returned to his side. She reached for his hand, smiling so hard her nose crinkled, and her laugh had not a trace of mockery in it. Just joy.
"You're impossible," she whispered.
Kota grinned. "But I'm your impossible."
Kota turned to the side slowly, and almost pulled his own hair out. Panicking and thinking:
'…THAT WAS SUPER LAME! Why did I even say that?!'
Eventually, they settled at a street-side eatery called The Cloven Cup, its tables carved from old siege towers and plated with silver for heat absorption. They sat under a copper awning as the scent of grilled marrow-cutlets, crisped wormroot fries, and molten cheese-dumplings filled the air. Around them, other couples and families chatted, a bard sang softly in the corner, and children traded ghost teeth for sweets.
Kota ate like a man at war.
He hadn't meant to, but nerves made him attack the food like it was going to vanish, each bite chased by a barrage of anxious thoughts.
'Was I too much? Should I have not farted? Was the bead thing stupid? Did she mean it when she said I was lovely or was she being polite? Do my ears smell weird? What if—'
Her hand, warm and steady, rested over his.
He stopped.
Yuniper didn't speak. She didn't need to. Her touch was enough to calm the storm, to anchor him.
He chewed slower. Swallowed. Met her gaze.
"I'm glad you're you," she said softly.
And in that moment, Kota Marrowden stopped doubting the day.
They had been sitting together, half-finished plates between them, the air filled with warmth and street laughter. Kota's nerves had finally begun to dissolve, slowly, like morning frost under the sun, as Yuniper leaned closer over the table, the flickering firelight glinting off her lashes.
"So…" she started, her voice gentle. "Why were you crying that night in the pub?"
Kota blinked, the question landing softly—too softly for the weight it carried. His gaze dropped to his cup, tracing his finger around the rim as his smile faded a little.
"I was…" he sighed. "Pressured. The Hunters that night, they kept pushing drink after drink on me. I didn't know how to say no. The drinks itself made me super emotional."
Yuniper smiled faintly. "And you were crying."
"Yeah," he admitted with a dry chuckle.
She reached across the table, curling her fingers slightly over his wrist. "And I asked to sit with you. Do you remember what you said?"
Kota chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Something poetic, I'm sure."
"You said, 'Sure, but if I cry again, I'm blaming your mom.'"
"No way I said that." Kota covered his face. "I never even saw or met your mom. I'm never..getting drunk again."
They laughed together, gentle and easy, like breaths shared between old friends. Then Yuniper tilted her head, her eyes soft. "I want to know more about you. Really."
Kota hesitated, then exhaled and leaned back. "More? Like what?"
"Mmm, like what goes on in that head of yours."
"Well… I was alone most of my life. My parents, if I can call them that too, dropped me into a volcano when I was just a baby. Don't even know why."
Yuniper blinked, expression freezing.
"I crawled out without a burn on me," Kota said, his voice quiet now. "Clerics thought I was chosen. Turns out, maybe I was just lucky. Or stubborn."
She said nothing, waiting. Kota looked up at the dusklit sky.
"I still don't know what I'm meant to do. I'm too scared to offer my soul to a flower. I've seen what it does to people. What it costs. One mistake, and you're not even you anymore, or dead. If I weren't such a coward, maybe I'd be out there—Adventuring, Hunting, doing something that matters."
There was a long silence.
"I just…" he rubbed his face, voice almost trembling. "I want to find someone who gives a damn about me. I don't wanna die until I've been truly, actually happy. Just once."
Yuniper looked at him. Really looked at him.
"Are you happy now?"
Kota paused.
Then smiled faintly. "I'm more content than I've ever been."
She opened her mouth, eyes gentle and wide, something warm ready on her lips—
THWUNK.
A single sound split the air.
The sharp thrip of pressure ripped from above as a blinding pink blur tore the sky open. A slender, heart-tipped arrow, glowing with unnatural elegance, flashed through Yuniper's face—shattering her cheekbone, burrowing through the other side of her skull—and blasted her from her seat.
Time did not just slow—it cracked.
Kota didn't blink. Couldn't. His breath caught in his throat as her body was hurled back, smashing through the eatery wall, then through two more stone layers behind it. The blow created a shockwave that hurled plates, tables, and bodies aside in a wild gust of spiraling wind and debris.
Blood hit Kota like a warm rain, speckling his face.
'…Huh…?'
Screams erupted all around. People ran. Hunters leapt to their feet, weapons drawn, magical sigils pulsing in midair. Adventurers crouched low, eyes sharp, already scanning the horizon for the source of the attack.
Kota didn't move.
He couldn't.
She was there a second ago. Laughing. Smiling.
He heard it before he saw it—a sing-song voice behind him, casual, cheerful.
"Oooh, she survived? Craaap. I was really aiming for the throat. Instant kill shot!"
Kota turned.
Slowly. Mechanically.
'Who…is that….?!'
And floating above the cracked courtyard was a figure that made even the armed warriors hesitate.
She hovered in the air like a goddess torn from a forbidden dream—hair like liquid moonlight, wearing a white dress that was sleeveless and cut at the thighs, white wraps around her foot and ankles, eyes hidden behind a heart-marked blindfold glowing with pink runes. Her wings spanned out in a luminous gradient of violet and fuchsia, their edges sharp and impossibly elegant, inscribed with divine geometry that pulsed like a heartbeat.
Tattoos glowed on her collarbone and chest, pulsing with energy like living scars. A circular pink and white jagged edged halo shimmered above her head—inscribed with celestial equations that no mortal tongue could read.
And in her hands was a delicate, crystalline bow, vibrant pink, loaded with another arrow of sickly-sweet murder.
"…Lyzelle," she said, grinning ear to ear, her voice bubbling with theatrical mischief. "Cupid of Love and Harmony. At your service."
Silence broke into frantic whispers. Then shouting.
One Hunter stepped forward, blade alight. "That's a Cupid! One of those fairy bastards! I've seen one on a B-rank contract—they're insane!"
"Beautiful," someone muttered in awe. "But what the fuck!?"
Lyzelle ignored all of it. She posed like she was on stage, leaning sideways, holding her bow like a prized violin. "Yes, yes, I know, I am beautiful. Stop staring. Actually no—keep staring."
Her smile turned to a smirk as she pointed casually at the bloody ruin where Yuniper had vanished.
"But that bitch is a witch."
Gasps, confusion, more shouting. Kota stumbled forward, mouth agape, heart still trying to catch up to the horror.
From the shattered stone and blood-slick floor, a sound rose—wet, gurgling, furious.
And then the change began.
Yuniper—or what was left of her—emerged.
Her once-delicate form contorted, bones cracking as her skin blackened and peeled like burned parchment. Her beautiful face sagged, one side morphing into an ancient, twisted countenance with half-rotted flesh and bone-pale teeth. A red magic crest spun behind her like a moon of ruin, etching burning trails into the air.
Her voice was a jagged roar:
"I thought I avoided you annoying fleas long enough. The Cupids are always watching! They warned us of you all…"
Kota's entire world tilted.
'Yuniper. Was a witch? No. It can't be..right? This is just a dream, a horrible fucking nightmare…'
He staggered back. His heart thudded. Every memory twisted and soured as he stared at the monster that had once laughed at his jokes.
'It was all a lie…? So I'm really not funny…?'
Hunters raised their weapons, magic sigils pulsing. One whispered a prayer. Another spat.
Lyzelle, still floating, began gliding side to side with eerie glee.
"Ooooh, look at that transformation! Gruesome!" she grinned, raising another arrow. "How many strikes until I finally bury you? Three?! Five?! Seventeen?!"
Kota was still frozen; Trapped between the fragments of love and the rising shadow of truth.
'A Cupid…a witch…everythings happening so fast…'
And in that place of chaos, amidst blood and revelation, the witch screamed—her voice like thunder, her magic a crimson storm—and Kota stood alone, in the middle of it all, trembling.