As Lassim was herded through the forest, the line of dead or dying trees abruptly ended, revealing a village that was the embodiment of the macabre and the feral.
At first glance, it appeared as a sinister spread of dwellings made of ice and bone, set under the oppressive night sky.
The homes, if they could even be called that, were more like an animal graveyard. Fashioned from the skeletons of colossal beasts, their bones formed twisted archways and ominous doorways with ice filling the spaces between the bones.
The glinting of the ice upon the frozen carcasses like the frozen tears of a multitude of weeping gods.
More wildlings slowly emerged, their gait silent but predatory, moving with a grace towards the hunting squad that was as beautiful as it was chilling.
They regarded Lassim with a curiosity that was far from benign, their eyes glinting with the anticipation of untamed appetites.
His presence disrupted their routine, attracting stares that were as sharp as the icy wind that cut through the village.
The female led the procession towards the tallest structure in the village, its spire a jagged finger accusing the sky.
The enchanted ropes binding Lassim leeched his strength with every moment that passed, leaving him barely able to lift his head. He was trapped in their grasp.
He was dropped face first at the base of the path that led to the spire, their high priestess’ dwelling.
His body numb and his mind adrift in a sea of exhaustion. "[Laara lle naa vanima]," the female said, her voice a haunting murmur as she looked down at him, meaning, "Fate weaves strange patterns, and the priestess will read them."
As Lassim lay there, confused and the village closing in around him, he struggled against the ropes and the encroaching darkness of unconsciousness.
His spirit companions whispered to him, their voices distant echoes that battled to keep him anchored to the present.
"Mari, Zaphy... I need you now more than ever," he whispered inwardly.
"We are here, Lassim. Hold on to our essence," Mari encouraged, her presence a dwindling light in the darkness.
"Fight it, Lassim! Don’t let this be the end!" Zaphy urged, her weak but still slightly energetic spirit fighting against their bleak situation.
The high priestess’ abode loomed above him, a foreboding silhouette against the cloud-strewn sky.
Lassim’s fate was now fully in the hands of these wild, feral wildling creatures and whoever their leader was that Lassim assumed he was about to meet.
He lay there as the village went silent for another twenty minutes. The frigid touch of the snow seeping into his bones, wondering if the Elder Gods that had led him here would also assist in his path out of this situation or if they’d just doomed him to his final resting place instead.
This chapter is updat𝓮d by freēwebnovel.com.
Lassim’s breath misted in the frigid air as he lay bound in the snow, when movement finally occurred at the entrance of the spire in front of him. His consciousness swaying.
Four female elves stepped out in a solemn file, their attire akin to a tree, possibly using the same materials of the dead trees he witnessed so far, and they had odd bits of roots growing menacingly from their heads.
Their robes were of a leafy and bark type fabric that drank in the bits of moonlight that peeked out from the clouds above, looking darker than the black night in their surroundings.
The markings on their skin were solid white and root-like than the deep jet black on the wildlings Lassim had been captured by.
Veils obscured their eyes, giving them a spectral appearance, as though they saw the world through a different spectrum than mere light.
They arranged themselves with ritual precision, two on each side of the path, forming a corridor of whispers and shadowed glances at Lassim. The air grew tense with anticipation, the falling snow seeming to still in their presence.
Then, she appeared.
The creature that emerged into the midnight world, was a being of ethereal grace amidst the softly falling snow.
Her visage was a gnarled blend of nature’s exquisite artistry of woven roots and otherworldly mystique, with delicate permafrost adorning her skin, the roots atop and the leaves of her garb.
The white tendrils of her body markings snaked across her skin looked to be born of the winter’s breath itself. The ones on her forehead jutted out past her hair line and crowned her with a diadem of frosted branches.
Her eyes, a piercing white tinged with blue on the edges, held a silent power within.
Her hair, white as the untouched snowdrifts, flowed around her like a silken banner.
Adorned in a gown woven from the purest whites and grays of winter’s palette, it hung on her as though it were made of the very snowflakes that danced around her, each flake glinting with the subtle glow of moonlight.
The village watched in reverent silence as she approached Lassim.
Her tongue was melodic, uttering words that flowed over him in waves that were as incomprehensible as they were unsettling.
He could only watch, wide-eyed and filled with dread, as she knelt beside him, her fingers reaching out to caress his head.
Her touch was at once icy and searing, the contact sending ripples of alarm through his psyche.
As her eyes began to glow with an inner light, a spectral bridge formed between them, her mana reaching out like tendrils, seeking the depths of his mind.
Lassim’s heart hammered against his ribcage. His instincts screamed at him to resist, to pull away from the invasion that was both intimate and violating. But the ropes that held him fast, had sapped away most of his energy, leaving him vulnerable to the terrifying creature’s probing energy.
As her corrupted spiritual sense or mana or whatever it was finally touched his consciousness, Lassim felt his mental defenses crumble like the brittle bark of the trees that surrounded them.
The panic that surged within him was primal, a fear that gripped his very soul as he realized the enormity of the Priestess’s power. She delved deeper, her presence within his mind a vortex of curiosity and command.
He could feel her sifting through his surface level thoughts, and his current emotions, his being laid bare before her. He wanted to cry out, to rail against the intrusion, but his voice was lost in the void that her magic had opened within him.
In those moments, Lassim knew true powerlessness, his fate resting in the hands of this mystifying creature who could unravel his thoughts and fears with a mere touch and mental pressure.
He was at her mercy, a stranger in a frozen land, his entire life hanging in the balance of her will.
As the spectral bridge between their minds solidified even further, Lassim felt the High Priestess’s presence infiltrate deeper, weaving through his memories with meticulous care like a surgeon.
The invasion, though violating, shifted subtly as she gleaned and absorbed the language from his mind, adapting to communicate directly with him in a way that bypassed the need for spoken words.
Suddenly, the cold touch of her fingers seemed less chilling, replaced by the warmth of her mental voice echoing within his consciousness.
"Lassim, bearer of divine gifts and witness to this strange divine court I see," her voice resonated with a mixture of awe and fear, "What beings are these…. Elder Gods…. you have encountered? What realms do they govern?"
Her eyes, glowing with an ethereal light, fixed on him with an intensity that bordered on reverence.
Lassim, still reeling from the intrusion, felt her curiosity like a physical weight, pressing against his mind for answers about experiences so personal that he felt unsure how to handle it. He chose honesty.
"I... I have seen them, yes," Lassim responded hesitantly through his thoughts, the connection allowing for no deceit. "They are powerful, beyond what I can even understand. They, uh, govern?... the planet I come from, Nexaria." He replied using her terminology.
The creature’s breath hitched, her fascination deepening. "And what of [Erthe Thac’zil]? This realm," she pressed, her mental voice quivering with a mixture of fear and longing, "does it fall under their gaze as well?"
Lassim sensed her fear, a palpable thing, tied not just to reverence but to the terror of being overlooked by such omnipotent entities. "I believe so," he admitted, "though I can’t really say if I feel a connection or anything to them right now. They just sent me here to escape."
He tried to remember the moments before his jumping off the cliff’s edge and into the abyss, the entire scene with Mercy and his worship for the Dragal that led up to him wishing for the Elder Gods to save him.
He wanted her to fully witness what had happened and how he ended up here, possibly saving his life if she realized the connection between him and the Elder Gods he knew. He wanted to use the fact that he was feeling she seemed to have some sort of affection or reverence for some reason towards these these divine beings.
She gave the mental version of a nod, having understood and watched what he showed her, before she then shifted the focus of their strange communion.
Her thoughts reached out to share a vision, a mental image of another being—one that she worshiped as the High Priestess of their pack, the being that she knew that ruled this specific plane.
The creature she revealed through her mind’s eye was unlike anything Lassim had encountered.