The Mark of Aether

Kilranon

We all laid under the birthing night, covered with snow and coldness. And so little close to how we expected to land, the fall was painful. Instead of falling straight from the skies, the gate had thrown us beneath layers of sheets and whiteness, drowning us from head to toe.

Wrapped in coldness and nothing less, moving was hard. Finding our way from underneath masses of snow was hard. If it wasn't for the dripping blood that had fallen with us, the blood that had marked north from south; we would have died before knowing which direction to dig first.

As ice cloaked my bones and mist accompanied my every breath, I stood, scanning Kilranon with my eyes.

A small village, only remaining by few houses dispersed every here and there. Poor lands greeted our eyes, vegetation dying drastically. No trees were found, only some poor tundra shrubs peering from beneath the white blankets. And, as though a whirlwind ravaged the place, cracked stones were summed in one corner, covered with rotten logs.

Even as land glowed from moonlight against snow, the houses were dim. And I knew that one of those houses was our destination.

"Can somebody remind me why are we here?'' I asked, miserably sinking in the snow. I was tall, yes, with a thin body, but still, I was close to being swallowed by all that whiteness.

Reaching high past my knees, snow made it impossible to move, lacing its cold hands along my lower body.

''To seek information from an old sapient that holds enough to guide us to the lands we aim for,'' said Leon as he made his way easily through snow and dirt.

''And who is this wise sage?''

"An old of my kin still living here,'' replied Luthian, his words dying after that.

As we continued hobbling, one behind the other, we walked straight to one particular domicile. A small, brick built house with small dark windows and no visible chimney.

Standing in front of the iron door panged with years and rusted from snow and occasional rain, Luthian knocked. Slammed, if words were to give justice.

As several thuds kept harassing the door, iron and steel finally cried as it was opened. Merely moved to reveal a crack, the shape of an old woman emerged from darkness. Looking over our faces, she opened her door a bit more, enough to show herself. To show her dark lantern and tatterdemalion, weak body. And most of all, to yell at us in a tongue I could not understand.

''Ei? Kino soma ari? Ronasi adona ve-''

''I request seeing Shino Aldeheim,'' commanded Luthian, cutting her gabbles in half. Eyes white but not blind danced across our freezing bodies. Eyes I feebly remembered to be forgotten, the eyes of the elder faes. And as she weighed the option of allowing us entrance or leaving us to the mercilessness of night, I studied the wrinkles smearing her face.

Finally, the old woman opened the door, allowing us in. A small interior, a mirror to its exterior. Poor and miserable, not a house fit for such weather. Not fit for any day.

A few steps ahead, the cracked floor groaned underneath each movement. As we turned right, entering past a ragged curtain with more holes than to be counted, the woman guided us to Aldeheim.

Seated on a small tabouret, an old hombre sat, an old cane in his trembling hands. Whiteness colored his hair, wrinkles spamming the area of his eyes. Dirtied clothes barely covered his body, revealing the wearied shape of an old that had only seen pain in his life. And as sensing our presence, sensing Luthian's scent and magic, he turned at us.

His body gave under his weight as he tried to stand, tried to reach for the First Lieutenant. And whatever existed between him and the cold commander, it was strong. Strong enough to flash worries and pain in the younger one's eyes.