Gorv’s boots were sogging full of snow and small icepicks formed from his red beard. The shirt stuck to his skin under the thick fur, drenched in sweat. Axe bloodied. His home was in full view, the cabin his father helped him build, at the foot of the mountain, the old dunce… But, it had proven to lay old grudges to rest, this sanctuary. No place better, Gorv felt he could live out his days and die here.

  He shouted, with great effort, hearing steps approaching fast.

  ”Dragon!” His chest heaved as he spun around, he realised he was too late, but got an arm raised just in time to protect the face. It had been an ambush! Claws reached for his head! They retracted as both tumbled in through the door, even the beast bracing for impact. The woodsman laughed with closed eyes. ”There you are, Dragon!”

  He forgot about his aching legs for a moment, as the dog licked his face.

  ”Yes, it’s good to be home, girl,” he laughed.

  He thought of a bygone life that sprinkled itself inside the cabin, wealth that did not belong in such a humble home. Some things still remained with him, passed down from his father and grandfather. Every day he routinely checked on the ring, atop the mantle piece. It was a deep, matte green, with dark purple inlays. It passed from his grandfather, Omen, who was second in command at the peak and fall of Spirehaven. The ruling city of Icevein Kingdom. How his father got hold of the trinket had always been a mystery. came, and the lumps of coal were on their last puffs in the fireplace.

  ”Gorv!” The outside voice competed with the howling wind.

  He was on his way to look through the window, suspecting bandits at this hour, when Dragon startled him, like thunder and lightning – she barked and shot out of her hide in the corner, at the sound of knocking. Her head low, her back raised.

  ”Well, now they know we’re home.”

  ”Gorv!”

  Now the tail wagged instead, head tilting to the right, then back again, at the sound of her master’s name.

  With part disappointing, part happy expression, Gorv stood up from resting and cracked a few joints in his neck and back, taking his time.

  ”Gorv!”

  He removed the doorstopper.

  ”Go,” he said, softly. An effortless command, sending Dragon flying through the doorway, lifting the black knight’s visor up, from the momentum of the hug.

  ”Yes, yes, good girl, Dragon! Sit! Haha! Sit! Help, Gorv!” The lieutenant could command many, but not this furry friend of a friend. ”Haha, yes I missed you too! Gorv, command her, or something!”

  The man coughed in-between his chuckles, which only seemed to rile Dragon up even further.

  Gorv snapped his fingers in mercy, and before the knight had stopped laughing or opened his eyes, shielding himself from the drooling dog, Dragon stood at her master’s side.

  ”Sit,” he said calmly. Then he smirked. ”So, what could The Stormrider want from me?”

  ”Come now, Gorv! Ocationally I’d just like to come by, see how you live!” The Stormrider put on a faked smile of his own, though it was quickly followed by the genuine smile he already brought with him.

  Gorv practiced his silence, creating an awkward tension, as if they both needed that.

  ”I see,” he was hard pressed to continue. ”Well, sources say you were seen at the battle today, near Gate 1. Thought I’d check that with you.” The knight’s idle hand still wiped away at his face to make it somewhat presentable.

  ”Been here all day long.” Gorv told him, with confidence.

  The head of The Stormrider was still, eyes glancing off to the axe on the wall inside. He nodded towards it with a smile. ”Well, I had to check, you know me! I do my job and I do it well.

  Gorv threw a look back inside, observing his logging axe utterly drenched in blood.

  ”No need to thank me!” the knight cut in. ”You have lended me a hand or two in our past. Only serves you right to be helped right back. Besides, now I can tell the lord I’ve been here, done what’s asked… You seem well,” he ended abruptly, dragging the weight of armor up the saddle of his dark horse. ”Here, Dragon!” he said, as he threw a piece of meat he’d kept in his satchel.

  Naturally, Dragon was delighted.

  ”I can feed my own dog, thank you very much.” Gorv wrinkled his forehead.

  ”I know that. Just trying to make up for lost time.” The Stormrider stared shamefully at his feet. ”It will never happen, will it?” He looked Gorv in the eye. ”I am sorry, if that means anything to you. It’s just that I wish things were different. You should have stayed with the king’s guard. How you ended down here is beyond me.” His gaze hardened. ”And I should have told you this sooner.”

  The silent air brought the snowflakes with it, as gusts of wind began to sweep by.

  Gorv didn’t know what to say. Never did.

  ”I’m glad you haven’t changed, Wilmar! Though, I must go. No stopping the storm, I’m afraid!”

  Was he talking about himself or the actual weather? Who knew? By the three Hells, it was hard to get a word in. Hard to even come up with any to begin with… No wonder Gorv loved the loner life, except for her, of course.

  Dragon was still chewing on that treat, oblivious to anything else around her.

  ”Matters need attending!” The Stormrider, finally, exclaimed. ”Shame we are born to a beautiful world and most of us get the short end of the stick. I trust we see each other again soon, if the gods see it done!”

  He had to give it to the black knight. Always managed to see something positive in everything. But… what did he mean?

  ”Who’s got the short end of the stick again?”

  ”Answers tend to be revealed given enough time.” His tone seemed a blizzard of mystery. ”Hiyaa! To the mountain, Argomar!” Black horse and black rider, vanished behind the white prickly curtain of winter.

  ”What the hell was that all about?” Gorv muttered, looking down at his good girl. They looked at each other for a solid moment, then Gorv could not contain his laughter anymore. To hear his old friend, from the king’s guard of Fellwood Keep, finally seem apologetic and feeling remorse was something he never thought would happen.

  *

  A warm sun gleamed over Icevein Kingdom the next day. A fine contrast, dreamlike, every time that fireball showed up, casting shimmering rays, making all things glitter in the snowy landscape. He stood in the opening, this time feeling warmth he had not felt for a long time. Eyes closed, head raised. ”I must say, Dragon, life does have its moments of bliss.” Sweat glistened on his forehead. ”When that beauty in the sky comes to visit us, I wonder why we, or anyone, would ever live here. They must have it good down south, don’t you reckon?”

  There was a distinct thud behind him!

  ”You shithead, you missed!” said a voice from beyond the trees, giving away the general direction of the arrow, that just managed to miss his throat by a fists breadth, hitting a chair further inside.

  ”Shit! Bandits, Dragon! Go long way round!” His gaze was locked on to the treeline. Time to hide or die! He quickly unbuttoned the fur mantle, then made for the trees in a zig zag. ”Icevein take you, fiends!” He yelled with deep conviction. Halfway there. Another arrow! Gorv saw the shot. He rolled to the side, dropping the axe. It felt like eternity. A hand found the shaft in the snow. He sprawled to his feet. A terrible shot missed him by meters. A moving target proves to be underestimatingly hard, for most anyone.

  The bowman’s spotter, or whatever he was supposed to be, was spotted. Terrible at the job, really. His head was between treetrunks, shouting gibberish to his left, as Gorv adjusted the grip on his axe – attacking with speed, defying a man of his size. He threw a dagger, before dashing round the trees. Axe in full swing.

  Gorv heard loud curses through the sound-dampening snowfall. Must be the shooter! He’d be fucked if there was someone else watching. Coming closer, there was no choice but to continue zig zag-ing through the pillars of wood.

  There he was, fumbling the arrow, sending it deep in the sheet of cold white! The utter incompetence! Gorv could hear his paniced voice clearer now.

  ”I’m not paid nearly enough for this!” He hissed. ”Where’d he go?!” he wondered, looking up, after picking the arrow from deep snow, with shivering hands.

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  Gorv, with the size of two bowmen, had stopped. With the grace of a bunny – or so he’d like to think – he flung himself between the pines.

  ”Hey! Dain!” The bowman’s eyes dartet across his field of view. He got quite the surprise, they landed on the woodsman.

  ”I meant to clean this thing.” Said Gorv, stepping out into danger, staring a good while at his axe, twisting it in the air, before his face. ”Yesterdays blood haven’t even come off yet.” He tilted his head and with just a look picked coldly at the Bowman. ”And you two are?... Well, this one ain’t much any more, come to think of it.” His axe was still dripping of dark red from the bowman’s partner’s head, while he directed his thumb over his back toward the savaged body. ”Not in great shape, I’m afraid.” The bloody Gorv made a subtle whistling sound, pressed through his bared teeth.

  ”Rats hell!” The unwelcome guest shifted his aim, pulling on the string. The arrow never locked on target. The world of the intruder had turned to nothingness.

  Wroo-oof!

  ”Good girl!”

  Dragon had flanked the bowman from behind, her teeth deep into his throat. The velocity of the tackle bounced his head clean onto the tree he leaned against. A short twig pierced the left ear, making the man tilt to the tree trunk, even in death. He never saw anything quite like it – but then again, no battle ever was.

  Dragon was happy as a dog could be, for one that had killed a man.

  ”I’ll cut you the finest meat from these cut-throats, friend!”

  Gorv’s smile made her strut with glee, dark substance falling from her furry face.

  ”The Stormrider would no doubt think thrice if he saw this. Though I still don’t know why he’d care.” Gorv whispered, pondering of the ramifications.

  He was tired in every way, but Dragon’s happiness made Gorv feel ok in the moment, though things felt grim and dark. It was like the day was an omen. He felt his past still shaped him today.

  ”A normal person would try to hide this scene, before thinking of the next meal, you know? Are you listening at all?”

  Dragon just stared through the tree trunks.

  Gorv chuckled at her innocence... although, she looked much less so than that.

  As if by a higher calling, she walked over to the bowman again, licking at the leaking throat.

  ”You keep me grounded, you know that, right?” he said, squating to her level, raising his eyebrows.

  Her whole body twitched with excitement, before stopping again. She tilted her head back and forth. She knew that look of his.

  ”How about an arm and a leg?!” he said with a smile.

  Dragon jumped around in circles, without a care in the world.

  Night swept across the Fellwood region.

  ”Good hunting today, Dragon! Two rabbits, and big ones,” he said, proud of his sighthound.

  She shook the white powder from her fur and seemed to smile at him. Peculiar creatures. They say a dog can’t smile, but somehow they leave the opposite impression.

  As they went inside, the skies were black.

  ”You saved my life today, so you’re getting just as much as me, how’s-”

  Knock! Knock! Knock!

  Gorv approached the window, axe already in hand. ”How is that possible?” he whispered. They both walked in, not 30 seconds ago.

  Dragon stood up, poised.

  The angle was bad, but he did see the back end of a disc shaped hat, seemingly made from straws, hard to be sure though. Certainly did not belong in the north. What was the man thinking? Outlandish armor covered him, filled with runic looking symbols, letters – well, something. It was hard to make out from inside. He should be frozen solid, or at least be frostbitten. Shouldn’t he?

  Gorv decided, maybe the man was desperate... Although, his posture seemed very calm. He never even saw a man clad anything like this, and his gut feeling was; he is no enemy. It would look bad enough with the remains of the intruders, beyond the treeline. Plus he was curious who this was. Right? Wasn’t he?

  And thus, he opened the door, letting a stranger into his and his good girl’s safe haven.

  The stranger wore an odd looking mask. It covered half his face, and had a frowning mouth carved into it. One hand rested on a long thin blade, sheathed in a hilt of dark patterns.

  ”Allow me,” said the visitor, kneeling before his host.

  ”Uhm… Sure. But you don’t need to-” Gorv paused, as the man removed his hat and mask with the one free hand – The other never seeming to let go of the blade.

  ”Gorvanis Wilmar,” he said, sounding like he was reciting some important document.

  ”Go on,” said Gorv – Though, to be honest, he felt unsettled the man knew of him.

  The stranger stood up, Gorv towering over him.

  ”I am Jin - A ronin, some would say legendary, though I attribute most of my successes originate down south,” he said, observing the less than enthusiastic look on Gorv. ”I get the feeling you, and all the people I’ve met in this kingdom, never heard of me. I find it a most humbling experience.

  ”You’re right, I don’t.” Gorv pointed casually past the trees, shrouded by the night. ”You go on home now, or preach to the village down the path. Take a left at the big tree where the paths cross.”

  The ronin did not turn.

  ”Look, I thought you needed help. You’re not exactly dressed for the cold,” Gorv pointed out, not knowing what to feel.

  There was an awkward pause.

  The wind swept the black hair of Jin, as it seemed to grasp, like a wraithen hand, toward Gorv’s axe, where it leaned – too close for comfort.

  The visitor’s eyes drifted with the breeze.

  Snatching the weapon, feeling quite unsure of the man’s business still, Gorv retreated a few steps.

  ”State your business, stranger! I don’t like your kind of silence – and I’m a silent man,” he said, shifting the handle to show blood dripping from the heel.

  ”It has been ages since I saw… my home, I suppose.” The wanderer’s gaze seemed to drift to a far and away place – Before falling on the axe, yet again. ”Let me state why-”

  ”You’re stating nothing until you let go of your sword! I noticed your hand never letting go of it!”

  ”Oh, I see. You have an eye for these things, that’s good.” He smiled, showing some kind of… feeling, for the first time since knocking out the peace – the quiet bliss. ”I cannot let go. Shin’en is part of me, deeply connected.”

  ”Shinen, what is that,” said Gorv, fumbling on the word.

  ”Remember to wash your ears, young man. Shin’en! In your tounge, it means Abyss. Fitting name, as you will, no doubt, find out.”

  ”I don’t want you here,” said Gorv, lowering both voice and eyebrows – starting to feel a little bit concerned of the ronin’s intensions

  Jin stood fast and raised his voice, and after a heated minute, finally convinced Gorv that he would not physically harm him – to which Gorv thought, how else would this short man get to him? Perhaps singing would do the trick? Gorv barely liked the professional singers, displayed at the theaters – as visited during his duties as a king’s guard. Now things were different, good even. He hadn’t left Icevain for what must’ve been ten years now. Bloody realms, kingdoms or whatever – always needed saving, or conquering. He almost choked on the thoughts on the matter, as Jin blurted out;

  ”My God chose you as the second wielder. And so it shall be.”

  ”What the… ” Gorv gasped. ”What? I mean, of what?” He blinked, several times, snapping back to reality.

  ”There may be times you encounter allies I’ve made. I will leave you this, and then be gone. I… am sorry,” Jin said, then he bowed, spun the katana in an impressive fashion, before drawing it out of its hilt and displaying it, holding it out at arms length, resting in his palms. The slightest nod was made to show respect to his own weapon. Jin’s katana almost seemed alive, oozing of quality.

  Gorv was stunned by the showmanship. He put forth the question, wether it was the warrior or the weapon that was the legend, though the warrior seemed to still be transfixed with his ritual, now juggling with the blade unsheathed! He believed him now. Must indeed be a fighter of legendary status where he’s from. ”Second wielder of what?” He realized, as if the words just hit the back of his head. ”Of that?! A Southlands weapon?” He took a step forward, glaring at the intricate hilt. Never in my life have I seen such markings…

  Jin changed his posture, and for the first time since entering Gorv’s cabin, his hand completely let go of the sharp piece of violence. Standing straight with arms tucked to his body, the sword started to change. Jin grinned wide, making the owner of the place take a step back. The ronin bared his teeth, what was left of them anyway, displaying a mouth that seemed rotten, like his insides were of an entirely different creature, or environment even – It was too far gone to tell.

  It was clear to Gorv; He’s a demon! ”Dragon! Get back!” he bellowed, taking two additional calculated steps back, and stared – as fate weaved itself further and further from normality.

  Blackness engulfed and seeped out of the blade - drowning out all light surrounding it. It was like a torchlight, but reversed.

  Jin was done talking. Then he cried. A desperate clinging to his former self, that he had not been able to feel for the longest while. It was as if he got permission to feel again, while some mystical power seized his body. It began to rise up. Up. Up.

  ”By the dark arts. What necromancy is this.” Gorv whispered. He didn’t know what to do, or say, so he watched.

  Jin was now fixed to the rafters, sword pointing up at him, floating of itself. His eyes scanned the room. Jin’s energy faded fast. Eyes shut, limbs hung loose, back fixed to a large beam. Facially, he changed, there on the spot. Got wrinkly like an old potato. The speed at which it happened was not made for humans to comprehend.

  ”Wha…” Gorv gasped for air, as if the day could not get more horrifying. What happened? What is this? He saw the ronin at a young age! The levitating sword vibrated upward. Fast! It thrusted Jin right under his ribs, shot out through the back of his neck, then through the large wooden beam, supporting the roof. The unnatural movement of the samurai sword made a chunky hole through the aged body of its owner. He hung loose on the sharp blade, barely clinging to the rafters.

  A dead smile lingered. Dark green, black and bloody red spewed from the mouth. It reeked unbearably of death. The stench hit the nose like a wall, fast, like something that was let out of its prison.

  Gorv stretched his beard sideways in slow motion, without noticing. His hands were stiff like frozen branches. He did not notice dropping the axe. A sickening crack was heard from the joints in the ronin’s neck. Then the head of Jin gave up and fell down uncannily. It swung like a necklace held by a finger. Gorv chuckled in disbelief. His cheek muscles moved all kinds of ways. Suddenly he felt the pain through the roots in his beard.

  A shower of blood exploded from the wound. Dragon started growling. Gorv tried to move. All in vain. He already had chills all over his body. An unending creeping. It scratched like nails at his insides. Made him sick. The growling intensified. Gorv looked at the dog. It didn’t even seem like his anymore, as the growling turned to shrieking.

  He repeated some mantra of having to stay sane, of being a warrior – a fearless killer. But, as mantras go, they are not always grounded in reality. His dwindling sanity and dropped cleaver were proof of that – but there were no witnesses, apart from poor Dragon, and she was not in shape to be his therapist. She likely needed one herself.

  Long howls of fear filled the cabin. Gorv felt his eyes tremble at the sight of his companion. His whole head twitched at the sight. He didn’t know what to say or do! What could he do!? That was not his dog.

  Jin’s body slid on the katana with a cringey sound of sharpened metal on bone. And the flesh. Oh, the horrible gooey, fleshy sound it made. Gorv had killed men, but nothing came close. He never liked the slicing sound swords made. He liked a good, hefty axe – the finality of the hit.

  The siren of horror intensified. ”Dragon!” he tried, confused. ”Dragon!” Powerless, Gorv fell hard to his knees. ”Dragh-!” Dragon, please! No! Fuck!

  He felt lost in his home. Like a young boy, telling his parents he’s getting bullied by his friends — but not one of them listens.

  Dragon ran under the bed, tail between her legs. From there, the shrieking tortured cries seemed to come from hell itself.

  With closed eyes, hands pressing against the ears and failing screams, Gorv felt his mind drop, like an ice pick, and then – it shatteres.

  Then came the voice. It had no rythm to it. A dark, deep and shifty chill of sound.

  ”Use the blade. Or lose the dog.”