Cells had been crudely fashioned here. Scavenged metal bars were wedged between natural pillars of rock or anchored into hastily chiseled sockets. Straw was the only bedding.
A single cell stood apart.
Inside, hunched on the cold stone floor, was Rurik Stormcrow. He flinched as Eirik’s torchlight, revealing hollowed cheeks and a face that had stripped away all pretense of nobility.
He pressed himself further into the corner.
Eirik’s eyes passed over his half-brother with indifference. He stopped before a cell where the occupant sat unnervingly still.
Dren.
The traitor was a ruin. The sentence for his treachery had been carried out swiftly after Abercrombie’s retaking: his eyes were gone, seared shut by hot iron. Scabs still clung to the swollen sockets.
"Who... who's there?" He shivered violently as he heard the steps.
"Open it," Eirik commanded. A Talon guard complied.
Dren scrambled on hands and knees until his back hit the slimy cave wall.
"Lord! Please! Mercy!"
Eirik crouched before the cowering man.
"The Frost Mother bleeds, Dren," Eirik stated. "Would you know anything about who's behind it?"
"B... bleeds? The statue? How...?"
"Blood. From its eyes. From its hands." Eirik watched the reactions closely. "Hot, red blood. Human blood. Running down the ice like tears. Who among the Skarls could do such a thing?"
Dren trembled, shaking his head violently.
"None! None here! Grakk'Thor... Grakk'Thor could... but he's gone! Dead! The shamans... the blood-workers..."
"Names, Dren." Eirik's voice hardened. "Among the prisoners. Who held Grakk'Thor's secrets? Who spilled entrails onto his altar? Who knew how to twist blood for power?"
Dren sucked in a ragged breath.
"Ulgor! Ulgor was his apprentice! He helped... helped with the hearts! The livers! And Krenna! The crone! She knew the old words! She stirred the sacred poisons! And... Grond ! He knew! He saw everything!"
Eirik straightened. "Bring them."
Moments later, three prisoners were hauled before him.
"You defiled the sacred ice," Eirik stated. "You made the Mother weep blood. Tell me how."
Ulgor spat at Eirik's feet.
"Frost-worm. You defile yourselves by living in this pit. Your ice woman bleeds? Good. Let her bleed dry."
Grond cackled. "Blood calls to blood, little lord. Sky Father drinks what is offered, even if it spills from your false idol!"
Krenna remained silent.
Eirik glanced at Olaf and Leif, who flanked him. "Take them to the room."
The "room" was a smaller cave adjacent to the main prison fissure. Its sole feature was a thick wooden bench bolted to the floor.
Dren was forced to sit on a stool near the door as the translator.
Ulgor was dragged to the bench first. He struggled fiercely, snarling curses in the guttural Skarl tongue.
"Last chance, Ulgor," Eirik said. "How did you bleed the statue?"
Ulgor spat again.
Olaf's sap cracked against Ulgor's ribs with a sickening thud. The man gasped, air driven from his lungs. Another blow, lower down. A third, across the shoulders. Ulgor writhed against his bonds, groaning but refusing to scream. He spat blood this time.
"Is... is that... all you have? Soft southern... weakling..."
Eirik nodded to Olaf.
The tall lieutenant took a pair of rusty pliers from a nearby bucket.
Ulgor's eyes widened fractionally before he forced his face back into a snarl. Olaf grabbed the smallest finger of Ulgor's left hand. He twisted, then pulled. The crack of bone and the wet tear of the tendon was obscenely loud. Ulgor screamed this time. Dren whimpered on his stool.
"How?" Eirik repeated.
Ulgor shook his head violently, babbling curses.
One by one, the fingers followed. Each crack, each scream was more piercing than the last. Ulgor sagged in the manacles, barely conscious, his hand a ruin of blood and shattered bone.
He wouldn't speak.
Grond was next. He endured the beating stoically, teeth gritted, spitting blood in Olaf’s face. When the pliers came out, he roared defiance. His little finger snapped.
"DO YOUR WORST! SKY FATHER WATCHES! MY SPIRIT IS ALREADY IN HIS HALL!"
Eirik’s gaze flickered to Krenna.
Throughout Ulgor's and Grond's ordeal, she had seemed… detached.
Her lips moved constantly in a silent litany. As Grond howled when the pliers found purchase on his ring finger, Eirik saw a subtle shift in her posture. A tremor ran through her, not of fear, but of… focus?
Her muttering intensified for a split second. And in the flickering torchlight, her pupils seemed to momentarily swirl with darkness before returning to their milky blankness.
Possession? Communion? Something worse?
Olaf finished, leaving both warriors slumped on the bloody bench. They hadn’t yielded a word. Krenna was dragged forward. She offered no resistance. When Olaf raised the sap, she didn't flinch.
He looked at Eirik, uncertain. The commander shook his head minutely.
Krenna cackled softly. "Torture a woman? Or do you fear my curses, ice-boy? Your false mother bleeds. Soon, you will too. The Sky Father drinks his fill. Soon, He will claim what is His."
Eirik stared at her. This woman was actively asking for it now.
But—
"Olaf," Eirik said. "See that they don't die. Yet. We'll revisit this later."
He turned to leave.
Leif looked stunned. "Commander? We can't just—"
"We can," Eirik cut him. "They're prepared to die screaming rather than talk. It only feeds their defiance. And that," he jerked his chin towards Krenna, who watched him with a terrifyingly knowing smirk, "is playing into whatever game she's part of."
He strode towards the door.
Back in the marginally fresher air of the prison entrance fissure, Eirik leaned against the cold stone wall, rubbing his temples.
Dren stood nearby, shaking, guided by a Talon.
"Dren," Eirik said. "Grakk'Thor. His rituals. The offerings. The blood on the altar. What was he doing? What were the words he shouted? The meaning?"
Dren flinched. "L-Lord? I... I told you before! He called upon the Sky Father! Offer him life, warmth... the heart-blood!"
"The exact words, Dren," Eirik pressed. "What did he say when he held the heart aloft? What did he say when he threw the entrails onto the stones?"
"He... he shouted things like... 'Accept this offering! Life force for power!' And then... 'Blood is life! Power is life! Take this life-force!'" Dren paused, trembling harder. "But... but it wasn't just... submission. Not like praying to a god to give you something..."
Eirik straightened. "What do you mean?"
"It... it felt... different," Dren stammered. "Not 'O Great Sky Father, grant us victory!' More like... Take this life-force!' But... there was another part... when he poured the blood onto the fire...I think... I think that means... 'Strength for the Eternal Cycle!'"
Dren seemed to grasp a fragment of understanding.
"It was... almost... like a toast! A sharing! Not worshiping a master, but... sharing power with an ally! Offering the blood, not to beg, but to feed... and expect... something in return? But... but the Sky Father... he wasn't a person... he was... the sky? The cycle? The... hunger? I don't know!"
Dren slumped, exhausted.
"He rarely spoke of it clearly. Deepest rituals... true meanings... only the Wise Ones knew. It was forbidden knowledge for warriors. But... it felt like... like a pact. An exchange. Feeding... something."
Eirik pushed off the wall.
"Double the watch here. Especially on the crone."
———————
Eirik slammed his chamber door shut.
Torture yielded defiance, not truth. They wanted death – especially Krenna. Why? What was the payoff for her?
Moreover, if she has such power, why just tears? Why not bring the whole cavern down? Why not free them? The thought nagged him.
The "Mother’s Tears" were horrific, yes, shattering faith and crippling his income source, but they weren’t leverage for escape. They were… provocations. Aimed squarely at him.
His mind played with the hypotheses.
If Krenna was the obvious bait, that meant there’s another more powerful agent inside. One of the prisoners, maybe? Or someone in disguise among the pilgrims? Whoever it was, they are orchestrating this blasphemy step by step.
But the timing had made him reconsider. Mara and Varina had just left, and whoever it was couldn’t have stayed undetected under their watch. That eliminated the prisoners who were already there.
That also eliminated the newcomers who would surely have no way of talking to the prisoners. Krenna. Whoever pulled this off must have had a way of watching Abercrombie closely for this precise moment and had a way of communicating with the prisoners inside.
Which brings him to another hypothesis.
Could it be a remote force? Grakk’Thor’s "Sky Father"? Something beyond the Skarls?
But… Why such a small display then? The blood tears felt… understated for a power that could reportedly command storms and drink the life from warriors. Why not simply shatter the statue? Or freeze the pilgrims solid where they stood? Why bleed it slowly, theatrically?
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
The questions gnawed at him. He was missing something. A critical piece.
His gaze snapped to the worn leather-bound volume.
The book.
Sister Mara’s parting gift. "Gelu Praxis," the title read in stark, silver-etched letters – Frost Practice. He flipped it open.
The pages were filled with intricate sigils and passages of flowing script describing concepts that made his head swim.
He scanned the table of contents:
Snow Realm:
-
Gelu Lumen: Light conjuration (Minor)
-
Gelu Tenax: Minor object strengthening (Ice)
-
Gelu Scutum: Basic frost shield (Self)
-
…
Frost Realm:
-
Gelu Glacies: Weapon conjuration (Ice)
-
Gelu Vincula: Binding chains of frost
-
Gelu Cura: Minor wound sealing/cryostasis
-
Gelu Scutum Major: Enhanced frost shield (Area)
-
Gelu Honetus (Tier I): Compel truth (Limited duration/resistance, significant strain)
-
…
Hail Realm:
-
(Locked)
Gelu Honestus. The spell he’d seen Mara unleash. The spell Rurik had been forced to yield to.
[Would you like to learn Ability: Gelu Honestus? Cost: 2,000 MF]
No hesitation. Time was bleeding faster than the statue.
[Y]
[MANA FRAGMENTS: 5,200/10,000]
[ABILITY LEARNED: Gelu Honestus (Tier I - Snow Realm)]
He gripped the book tighter. The MF Cost reminded him of the impending tutorial quest, which was less than a day now.
[Settlement Progress: Tutorial Quest #7]
[Time Remaining: 0 days, 22 hours]
[Goals:]
[- Habitable Structures - 58.5% Complete]
[- Income Source - 76.1%]
Seventy-six point one percent. The bleeding had stopped the freefall. But he felt a tang of regret for his procrastination. He’d waited, obsessed over Sindri’s perfect light-shafts, over political maneuvering with Borin and Mara. He’d gambled that he had time.
Now he had hours.
Regret is a luxury for the dead, he snarled inwardly. Find the instigator, kill it, and restore the income tab to 100%. Then finish the quest immediately.
He strode out.
Olaf and Leif materialized from the shadows of the caverns.
“The prisoners,” Eirik stated flatly. “Let’s ask them again. Without pliers.”
Olaf grunted. “Ye think they’ll just sing pretty? After what they saw?”
“They won’t have a choice.”
The Talons guarding the prison entrance snapped to attention. Inside, it filled with the moans of Ulgor and Grond, slumped in their cell, cradling mangled hands. Krenna sat perfectly still in hers.
“Clear this area,” Eirik ordered the guards. “Bring all prisoners forward. Line them up. Every single one.”
The Talons moved swiftly, dragging the Skarls from their cells – warriors, a few older women, and a handful of children clinging to their mothers’ legs, wide-eyed and trembling. They were shoved into a ragged line facing Eirik.
Eirik closed his eyes, drawing on the newly learned chant.
“Gelu Honestus!”
Light exploded. A shimmering sphere, easily ten feet across, bloomed into existence above the prisoners.
[MANA: 40/50]
“Under the Frost Mother’s gaze and this Truth Sphere,” Eirik’s voice rang out, “you will speak the truth. Lies will freeze your tongue. Deceit will crack your bones. Answer my questions.”
He locked eyes with a young Skarl warrior on the far left.
“Did you aid in making the Frost Mother’s statue bleed?”
Frost visibly crackled across the warrior's lips.
“N-no! No! I know nothing! I was here!”
The Truth Sphere pulsed, accepting his answer. The frost vanished.
Eirik moved down the line. Denial after denial, forced out under the sphere’s compulsion, each confirmed by the absence of backlash. Frustration gnawed at him. He reached a group of older Skarl women.
“You?” Eirik demanded.
One woman shook her head. “No, lord! We tended to the fires only!” She seemed sincere under the sphere’s glare.
He moved to the next, a mother holding a girl of about six close. The child buried her face in her mother’s skirts.
“And you?” Eirik asked the mother.
She trembled. “No, lord! I swear by the Sky Father’s breath! We are dust beneath your boot! We know nothing!” The sphere accepted it.
Eirik’s gaze flickered to the child peeking out. Her eyes weren’t filled with simple terror. They held a frantic, almost feverish intensity. Her lips moved silently, tracing frantic patterns against her mother’s leg. A chill unrelated to the sphere touched Eirik.
“The little one,” he said, pointing. “She speaks. What does she chant?”
The mother looked confused, pulling her daughter closer protectively.
“She… she chants prayers to the Sky Father, lord. For protection. She’s frightened!” The sphere pulsed, confirming her words weren’t a direct lie, but Eirik felt the evasion.
“Protection?” Olaf muttered, shifting uneasily. “Looks like she’s callin’ bloody rain.”
Another prisoner nearby, a man with missing teeth, blurted under the sphere’s pressure, “The children… They mutter strange things sometimes. Since the ritual… the Wise One’s last ritual. Whispering to shadows. But they’re scared! Scared of everything! The dark, the noise… even their own damn shadows!”
Eirik filed it away. He turned to Krenna. She stood ramrod straight, that unnerving smile still fixed in place, untouched by the sphere’s light. Her gaze met his, utterly fearless.
“Krenna,” Eirik’s voice dropped to a lethal whisper. “How did you make the Frost Mother bleed?”
She tilted her head.
“How? With blood, little lord. Always with blood. Life calls to life. Death feeds the cycle. Sky Father’s hunger is endless.” She spoke freely, no sign of the sphere affecting her.
“Did you enact the ritual?” Eirik pressed.
“Ritual?” She cackled. “Ritual is just form. Power flows where blood is spilled. Especially sacred blood offered upon sacred ground.” Her eyes flickered past Eirik towards the fissure entrance. “Especially when the vessel is… receptive.”
Before Eirik could press further, a gurgling scream ripped through the cavern.
Ulgor's eyes bulged impossibly wide. Blood erupted from his nose, his mouth, even his shattered fingertips. It snaked across the stone floor in thin directed rivulets towards the center of the prisoner line.
Grond choked beside him, clawing at his throat as if drowning, blood foaming on his lips, joining the ghastly stream.
“SKY FATHER CLAIMS HIS TITHE!” Krenna shrieked.
“WITCH!” Olaf roared, lunging past Eirik. His massive fist, crackling with Frost Realm power, slammed into Krenna’s chest. The impact should have shattered ribs, but dark energy flared around her, absorbing the blow with a sickening thump.
She staggered but didn’t fall.
“TOO LATE, ICE-DOG! THE OFFERING IS MADE! THE CYCLE TURNS!”
Leif moved with blinding speed, his sword flashing. Not at Krenna, but at the blood sigils forming on the floor. His blade, sheathed in shimmering frost, slammed into the wet stone. The bloody symbols hissed and steamed where his frost met them, momentarily disrupting their flow, but more blood poured from the dying warriors. Ulgor and Grond collapsed, utterly draining husks. Three other prisoners nearby suddenly convulsed, clutching their chests, dark blood welling from their eyes and mouths, adding to the horrific stream.
“GET HER!” Eirik roared, channeling frost mana into his hand. Ice daggers formed instantly. He hurled them at her.
Krenna moved with sudden, unnatural agility, dodging the daggers. She raised her hands high.
“SKY FATHER! DRINK DEEP!”
The blood sigils flared brighter, the streams converging towards a point directly beneath where she stood.
“NO!” Leif shouted, throwing himself forward, his frost-covered blade aiming to impale her through the heart. Dark energy surged around her again, but Leif’s blade punched through the protective gloom and sank deep into her shoulder. Not the kill shot, but it ripped a genuine scream of pain from her throat. The dark energy flickered wildly.
The converging blood streams faltered.
Talons surged in, spears leveled. One drove his weapon into her thigh. Another slammed a shield edge into her ribs. Krenna shrieked in rage and agony, collapsing to her knees, the dark aura sputtering and dying. The blood flow of surviving prisoners stopped abruptly. The remaining sigils faded, leaving only smears of gore and the stench of iron and death.
“Bind her!” Eirik snapped. “Now!”
Olaf hauled Krenna upright, snapping heavy manacles around her wrists and ankles despite her weak struggles and venomous curses. She spat a gob of blood and phlegm towards Eirik.
“Fool! You interrupt the feast! But he has tasted it! He knows this place now! Your ice-woman’s tears were just the beginning! He is hungry!”
Leif wiped his bloody blade. “It’s her, Commander. It has to be. Who else could command blood like that?” His gaze swept the terrified survivors – the mother clutching the chanting child, the other prisoners trembling or weeping. “She used them somehow! Sacrificed her own kin!”
The Talons guarding the prisoners echoed the sentiment, their faces hard. “End her, Commander! Crone’s behind it all! No more doubts!”
“Slit her throat now!”
Eirik looked at Krenna. Her defiance was absolute. She wanted them to kill her. Urgently. The eagerness in her pain-glazed eyes was palpable. Her guilt wasn’t in doubt – the blood magic display was proof enough. But was she the mastermind? Or just a channel?
“Dren,” Eirik called sharply. “The deepest rituals. Blood feeding the Eternal Cycle. Feeding… what? A force? An entity?”
Dren, trembling violently near the door, stammered, “I… I don’t know, lord! Only… only that Grakk’Thor called it the ‘Endless Appetite’! He said… he said life poured out feeds the great wheel that crushes all! He said… offering blood strengthened the wheel… weakened the world… brought the Sky Father’s domain closer!”
Krenna cackled weakly, blood bubbling on her lips.
“See? Even the worm knows a sliver! The wheel turns, ice-boy! Crushing your false idols! Feeding the true power! Kill me! Let me join the feast!”
Her eagerness confirmed Eirik’s worst fear. Killing her here, especially bleeding like she was, might be exactly what she – or what controlled her – wanted. But leaving her alive was an unacceptable risk. If she could trigger blood sacrifices remotely among prisoners… She was a detonator. All the prisoners were compromised. The mother, the child… the seed of the ritual might be in any of them, planted by Krenna or the lingering taint of Grakk’Thor’s power.
There was only one way to be sure.
His lieutenants' logic was brutal but sound. Yes, it probably was a trap—but perhaps the only way to spring it was to cut off its head entirely. If Krenna was the conduit, if she was channeling something larger, then maybe destroying her and every potential vessel would sever the connection permanently.
Better to walk knowingly into an enemy's snare and crush it from within than to let it fester and grow.
“Take her outside, but keep her bound and gagged,” Eirik ordered. “Olaf, Leif. Round up every prisoner. Every single adult. Chain them. Bring them out. To the courtyard. Now.”
Leif paled slightly but nodded, understanding the grim necessity. Olaf grunted, hefting Krenna like a sack of grain.
“Aye, Commander.”
As the Talons began dragging the weeping, struggling prisoners towards the surface tunnel – sparing only the wide-eyed children who were swiftly herded into a separate, heavily guarded alcove – Eirik turned to Krenna.
“Before you leave,” he said, approaching. “One more question, under the Truth Sphere. Who commands you? Who is the ‘He’ you serve?”
He reactivated the sphere’s pressure upon her.
“Gelu Honestus!”
The light bathed her. She opened her mouth to speak.
A wave of sheer, concentrated malevolence slammed into the Truth Sphere. Eirik felt the blow in his mind. The Truth Sphere flickered violently, warping.
Krenna laughed. The sphere bent around her. No frost crackled on her lips.
“You think your toy light can pierce me?” she spat through bloody teeth. “I serve the hungry! The Maw that gnaws the roots of worlds! My truth is His hunger! And He is the truth! Kill me, vessel! Or let Him eat you alive!”
The sphere shattered. The backlash jolted Eirik, a spike of pain lancing through his temples.
The Talons stared in superstitious horror.
“See? Your Mother’s light is weak. His hunger is eternal!”
“Gag her,” Eirik rasped, rubbing his temples. “Take them out. Now.”
The courtyard was a scene of tense dread. Pilgrims huddled at a distance behind Talon cordons, their vigil interrupted by this new horror. Many clutched strips of torn cloth like bloody prayer beads.
The Frost Mother statue still wept silently, the twin crimson trails glistening under the weak morning sun that filtered through high clouds.
Talons forced the dozen surviving adult prisoners to kneel in a rough line on the trampled, blood-stained snow directly before the weeping statue.
Krenna, gagged now with a thick leather strap, was placed slightly ahead of the others. Olaf stood behind her, scanning the prisoners and the crowd. Leif directed Talon executioners – soldiers holding heavy axes, their expressions grim but resolved.
“Commander,” Leif said quietly. “Ready.”
Eirik stood before the kneeling line, the towering, bleeding statue casting a long shadow over them all.
His mind raced over the clues: The blood as an offering. Krenna’s desperate desire to die here. The "Maw" she served. Dren’s description of feeding the "Eternal Cycle". Grakk’Thor’s altar rituals. The Sky Father has a hunger. The frantic chanting that Dren had described to him:
Life poured out feeds the great wheel… Brings the Sky Father’s domain closer…
It clicked with horrifying clarity.
The statue wasn’t just a target. It wasn’t just desecrated.
It was primed.
Grakk’Thor had built his base here for a reason. Abercrombie had latent power. Eirik had built the statue on that nexus. He’d inadvertently consecrated a monument on sacred ground to a different, malevolent power – Grakk’Thor’s "Sky Father". Krenna’s blood magic, the initial bleeding, was a ritual key. It had tuned the statue’s core to that dark frequency, transforming it from a symbol of Eirik’s power into a potential… receptacle.
And killing prisoners right here, spilling their lifeblood onto this sacred/tainted ground directly beneath the statue… Krenna wasn’t just sacrificing herself. She was offering a dozen souls to complete the ritual, to fully open the conduit right into the heart of Abercrombie. He’d be delivering a feast directly to the entity on a platter.
It wanted the prisoners dead. Specifically, dead by violence, near the bleeding statue.
Cold sweat drenched Eirik’s back. He’d almost ordered it. He’d almost played perfectly into the enemy’s claws once again.
“HOLD!” Eirik’s command ripped through the tense silence, sharp as an ice shard. Every head snapped towards him. The executioners froze, axes half-raised. Olaf and Leif stared in confusion. Krenna’s triumphant eyes flared with sudden, incandescent rage.
“Commander?” Leif asked, bewildered.
“No executions. Not here. Not now.” Eirik’s voice was firm, carrying absolute authority. “No one touches them. It’s a trap.”
Krenna’s muffled scream was terrifying. She threw herself against her chains with berserk strength, her injured shoulder tearing open further, blood soaking her bonds. She lunged, not at Eirik, but at the nearest Talon guard, a younger man holding her chain. Her teeth snapped at his wrist like a rabid wolf’s, despite the gag.
“FROST TAKE YOU, VILE THING!” the young guard yelled, instinctively yanking back his hand. His other hand, holding a short sword, reacted to pure training and terror. He slashed downwards, not a killing blow, but a desperate attempt to drive her back.
The blade flashed.
Krenna’s left hand, severed cleanly at the wrist, thumped onto the blood-stained snow. For a split second, silence reigned. Krenna stared at the stump, not with pain, but with a look of rapturous ecstasy.
The blood pulsed from the severed stump in a thick, arterial gout. But it didn’t just pool. It arched, defying gravity, a thick stream of crimson fire-hosing through the air not towards the ground, but directly towards the base of the Frost Mother statue.
Before anyone could move, the blood stream slammed into the ice at the statue’s feet. Instead of splashing, it was absorbed like water into parched earth.
The twin streams of blood weeping from the statue’s eyes and hands suddenly surged. Rivulets became torrents. The pristine ice turned lurid crimson from within, veins of blood snaking outwards under the surface.
Then, the entire statue pulsed.
Once. Twice.
A wave of crimson washed over the courtyard like a bloody dawn.