Heir of the Fog

Songs for the Sleepless

Bleeding, I stood and watched where my creations had fallen. Though their vessels were carved of frost, their hearts remained as warm as the humans they once were. Their broken bodies steamed where the ice met shadows, leaving pale rime on the black stones.

However, their sacrifice only bought time.

Sjakthar's influence extended beyond his domain of shadow, even though his army stopped there. I coughed, blood pouring from multiple wounds that refused to heal. The venom kept my flesh painfully open. The wounds from the shadow blades were black at the edges, resisting all attempts at healing. Every breath carried the taste of iron and dust.

Out in the open, weakened and bleeding, I was exposed. Hazeveil called its shadows, but they were much weaker outside of the shadow domain. Sjakthar's gaze landed on me with certainty, and His vines responded, hundreds extending far beyond his domain for dozens of miles, stretching, turning, creeping closer to strike at once from all possible angles and tear me into a thousand pieces, then send me into a long sleep from which I might never awaken—so long as Sjakthar still lived.

My hands scraped over grit as I dragged what remained of me. Below the waist, nothing answered; both legs were gone, the stumps slick with venom that steamed where the mist touched them, sharpening the pain.

The landscape around me was like a graveyard without graves. Ice statues of dead beasts, some even human, stood as a testament to every passage through the mist. They remained everywhere within it, figures trapped at the edge of the veil with no vessels left to cross.

Those empty eyes watched, and their voices pressed against my thoughts, a rough, relentless chorus working at the edges of my mind. Crawling carried me only a few meters. Most of my mana kept my body together, and still, my blood drained too quickly. I maintained consciousness because crimson endured, but that endurance was waning. The land trembled under God's will, and his vines were already moving toward me.

I had always seen death as something that happened to others, so I was surprised to feel a sense of comfort and acceptance when I faced it myself. A profound realization dawned on me, and I heard myself give voice to it: "One doesn't truly contemplate life until he knows it is about to end." Even as the words left me, a faint ray of sunlight pierced the darkness of the Abyss.

It did not strike me. It brushed the ground nearby, touching a patch of stone where darkness concealed something fragile, a single flower. Yellow petals curled upward, streaked with red where my blood had fallen.

Another beast, I thought at first, but no—it did not move as they did. It drank the corrupted blood of the fallen in silence, its stem quivering faintly in the mist. And still, it was beautiful, more beautiful than anything I had expected to see here. "Came here to drink my blood as I die, huh?" my voice rasped toward it. The little thing bent back, recoiling as if it heard. "Fear not, little one," I told it, "life continues even after one ends." I tilted my head, letting more blood slip from my wounds onto its petals. The flower drank eagerly.

Once all the vines had settled into position, with angles chosen and gaps closed, making escape impossible, they came.

Sjakthar didn't even need to push that far to end me, but he took no risks. However, as they came, something flashed before my eyes. It was tall, with joints creaking as a massive titan appeared, one I knew well—Haldrin.

He planted himself over me, a wall of winter, and his spear met the first vine with a crack like splitting bedrock. Around him, more of my creations arrived in crashing strides, frost juggernauts bracing shoulder to shoulder, shielding me as the vines stabbed through their ice plates. Where the vines punched through, fissures appeared, some managing to pierce deep enough to strike cores, and several of them died instantly.

"TOGETHER, SURROUND THE MASTER." His voice shouted and carried far. The Frostkin responded as one, forming a circle around me.

"No! Leave, it's pointless. You'll all die here," I ordered Haldrin. He heard my command and shook his head. A blessed one but not a warlock, unbound, the Frostkin could choose which commands to obey, and here Haldrin defied mine.

As more and more joined the line, Ella flickered through the gaps, there, gone, there again. "Orders completed, master," she reported, voice humming. "Haldrin mobilized almost everyone despite counsel. Too many. Time lost."

"But—but what about our domain? Others might take this opportunity to attack," I asked. I really hoped Sjakthar would overlook the frozen lands once this was over, but if they all came, our domain would remain undefended and fall before this was finished.

"Warned him," Ella said, her voice like frost cracking. "He stripped the domain to shield you. Frozen lands left near-bare. The others march here. Risk heavy. Still, he chose it."

With each passing second, more of them entered the corrupted mist. Yet, even the aberrations caused by the corruption had already started to thin. Most either fled, were fleeing, or lay dead. Without their support against Sjakthar's shadow domain, nothing could prevent him from eventually extinguishing the light of Winged Death, too.

Another wave of vines approached, crashing fiercely against the Frostkin circle. They maintained their formation: the tanks defending with shields, the juggernauts striking the vines with spears, and the mages summoning ice to slow their advance. Still, as the vines pressed on, more Frostkin fell.

Struggling to find a way, I kept asking myself what I could do in the brief moments before the long sleep claimed me. How could anyone defeat such a God? How?

"How?" The whispers asked, as if they heard my thoughts.

"How?" They chanted again.

"How?" And again.

"How?"

"How?"

"How?"

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"Is it already lost?" they finally asked. I had no answer, only dread as I watched my creations fall one by one while I stood helpless on the ground, unable to even lift my own weight to help them in their struggle.

Sjakthar sent rocks the size of houses crashing against their forms. Created beings of shadows flew into the mist to strike at them. But the mages fired at those in the sky, and following Haldrin's guidance, the Frostkin tore through anything sent toward us. "This mist empowers them," Ella remarked. "I've never felt so... energized. Very good. But also bad. Outside it will hollow us."

Indeed, the corrupted mist was much colder than my own, but truthfully, once they left the mist, all that power would fade; they would become weaker than any crimson out there without their own aura.

"Coordinate with them," I instructed Ella. "Tell the rest of the Isari to search for openings in Sjakthar's defenses and send our mages and long-range Frostkin to attack. But make sure they understand not to leave the mist. Those who can't join the ranged assault should focus on defense." It felt desperate, but it was all I had.

Ella nodded and flicker-vanished. Then she paused. "Most of the Isari answered the call," she said. "One did not come alone. You know who, master."

I knew exactly who she was talking about.

Rogara.

I had seen the moment she was startled by the Isari who went looking for her, how she initially considered it merely a hallucination upon seeing a being who refused to stay real for long. As well as when the realization came to her because, as my warlock, she felt the thread between me and my blessed.

The Isari treated her like cargo as they ran through the Deep Abyss, but before reaching my domain, they were intercepted by Ella, and then came here.

Long sleep was closing in; the slumber was coming. All I knew was that when I opened my eyes again, if I ever did, all my creations might be gone—my warlock, my dominion. Yet, in Rogara's approach, I saw an opportunity. "I'm sorry," I said to Rogara through our connection.

Confusion flickered in her, but I simply didn't have time to explain myself. As my body was about to drift into the long sleep, my mind escaped the dreamworld by taking control of her, issuing my will through my warlock, who became my avatar.

Rogara immediately collapsed to the ground, her veins bulging around her face and neck, then spreading across her entire body. A moment later, the figure that was getting up from the ground still appeared to be Rogara, but she was the one who had fallen into a deep slumber.

Living an entire life within one body and then, in a blink, switching to another was a strange experience. Even simple acts, such as moving around and walking, felt bizarre. Having my senses confined by Rogara's made me feel blind; having my power so severely restricted made me feel far more mortal than I had in years, onyx, not crimson.

But above all, as I gazed at the edge of the growing corrupted mist, I felt the power of the frost slipping away from me. I tried to call upon my mist but failed. Rogara didn't have such power; I hadn't bestowed it upon her, but instead, she wielded the white flames.

But within those white flames, I saw hope. She might be onyx, but what about the power of this blessing? A chance to weaken Sjakthar's shadow domain. But first, would this vessel survive the corrupted mist?

The Isari who had carried her froze in reverence, sensing the change and knowing it was me within. Around us, the corrupted mist pressed closer, advancing over the Deep Abyss. Rogara's strength was fragile compared to mine, but the control and the will remained my own.

I summoned the white flames. Thin at first, a faint veil around my body. Then, brighter, coating her like a second skin. I stepped forward, allowing the corrupted mist to wash over me. It could have been her death. Maybe it still would be. But when the mist struck, it did not pierce the fragile fire. The flames held.

Even the Isari stared, astonished.

"Bring me to my body," I told the Isari. He nodded, picked me up, and sprinted through the corrupted mist. I had an idea, even though I wasn't sure if it would work.

A nightmarish titan towered ahead, roughly forty meters tall: born of the mist but not one of its abominations. It monopolized much of Sjakthar's attention as it prowled within His shadow domain, forcing Him to meet it blow for blow. The creature moved on four massive legs like twisted trunks of ancient trees, each step crushing the ground beneath its enormous weight. From its belly hung a curtain of writhing tendrils, some dragging like roots, others lashing through the air with blind fury.

Despite this monster and the abominations, He never ceased the relentless assault toward Haldrin and the Frostkin. They stood firm around my sleeping form and the mages, who hurled frost at Sjakthar, with spears and slabs of ice flung again and again, hoping to gouge Him deep, but they achieved little.

The Isari saw more than most through Sjakthar's veiling shadows. They guided the Frostkin toward the points the darkness tried to conceal, steering both their strikes and their retreats behind the defensive shield-bearers when Sjakthar struck back. Haldrin moved with them in unison, halting their advance when the line braced, driving them forward when the shadows thinned, yet still, for every vine cut, three more were born.

To my surprise, Ella was not with the Frostkin. She was far away, talking to the elf. That strange being still sat inside her own ring, watching the battle unfold. I tried to listen and understand what they were speaking, but the symbols she used meant nothing to me without the elf pushing the meaning through her will toward me.

Without time to dwell on it, I had no choice but to ignore as the Isari carrying me pushed his way through the Frostkin toward my body. "Here," he said, lowering me, but I was already jumping out.

I saw my body lying in a long sleep, but to anyone else, it would likely appear to be a dead human or what remained of one. Given time, the venom and shadows would fade, and my flesh would heal. However, time was a luxury I didn't have.

Summoning white fire within the mist proved punishing. The cold smothered everything except a thin layer of heat. It required simple, ruthless will, and the vessel paid the price: Rogara's skin grew pale as I invoked the blessing, until finally a flame about the size of my palm hovered steadily in my hand.

It fascinated me that this fragile fire persisted against the torrent. The same mist that humbled the fiercest beasts of the Abyss could not extinguish the white flame granted to an onyx. Such was the power of this blessing. Sadly, I had no time to marvel. Every moment meant more Frostkin fallen and Sjakthar a step closer to ending us.

I set the flame to my sleeping chest and poured mana into it. In moments, white fire traveled across my body and consumed it entirely. Pain roared through me—so complete that even outside myself I felt it, a deep, grinding agony that tried to shake my hold on the vessel. It was almost too much to bear.

The Frostkin guarding the circle looked at Rogara with confusion that turned into alarm. For a moment, they couldn't decide whether she was foe; though they felt the thread between us, sight was louder than sense. "To heal, sometimes you need to destroy," I said. "By burning the taint, what comes afterward will come more easily and not be tainted by what ended." It was a simple statement, but one I felt as if I was remembering, something obvious but that I had once forgotten.

White fire reduced my flesh to a blackened husk, with no legs and wounds too numerous to count. I even doubted for a second that the thing before me still lived, even though it was me. With it, the venom and shadows vanished, purged by the white flames.

Without the taint, I knew with certainty the long sleep would heal me faster. I was no longer the boy who once spent weeks recovering from simple beatings. Still, the healing would take more time than I had.

Sjakthar's gaze turned upon me again, upon Rogara, worn as my vessel, and recognition rippled through the shadows. He knew. "Come," I said, and Hazeveil, which had drifted away before I lit the fire, returned and wrapped itself around my vessel. There was no reason to hide. Sjakthar was no fool.