I keep my eyes closed for several seconds and crane my face downward, unwilling to open them to see the orchard, or worse, the dinghy.

For a first test...do I still possess Death energy? If I’m still in the orchard, it should be oozing around my body, visible through closed eyes; moreover, I should be able to feel its presence.

The energy...is gone.

My ears strain to detect a difference in the ambient noise. After the battle, birdsong and typical animal noises had ceased; the present surroundings are similarly silent. The air smells woody, almost like pine.

My heart accelerates. This place can’t be the dinghy: there’s no harsh sunlight, no seagull cries, no sound of the ocean.

I open my eyes, then collapse to the ground on my knees. I rub my face with my palms, as though unwilling to trust my senses.

Y’jeni.

I open my eyes again.

“What is this place?” I turn my head, surveying the interior of what appears to be a lodge made of layered logs. There’s a hearth with a crackling fire, as well as a simple bed, an old dresser, an antique mirror, and a round table.

“There’s nothing here,” I murmur, getting up from the ground and heading to the small, icy window by the table. Outside the warped glass of the window is an endless expanse of snow and mountains. The sun casts a blinding reflection over the snow and evergreen trees stretch over the landscape.

My eyes search the outside for any signs of animals, but detect nothing. Even the empty blue of the sky is devoid of life.

I turn away from the window and head for the lodge’s single door, a stocky, rough cut of wood that looks like it would splinter to the touch. A thick fur coat lies draped on a hook next to it, along with a pair of leather boots. I slip into the coat and pull on the boots, finding that both fit me uncannily well.

I open the door with a twist of its knob and squint into the reflection of the sun off the snow. Before I can take a step outside, I’m assaulted by a bitter, biting cold. I close the door and turn back, looking for any other vestments, such as a pair of gloves or a hat. Seeing none, I step outside and begin to walk around, turtling my head into the jacket’s collar.

While there are no animals or insects in the area, the trees are plentiful, and I’m able to quickly wither one and generate Death energy. I circulate the energy around myself as a small bit of insulation against the cold, then throw myself into the air, soaring up high over the trees and into the cloudless horizon.

I’ve never been in such a climate before. While the Solar province can get quite cold in the winter, Shattradan as a whole is quite flat. On the opposite side of the spectrum, the region around Menocht and the Ho’ostar peninsula is mountainous; lofty Mount Ziggura is typically visible on a clear day. But the Ziggura range lies on the equator: while the peaks are white and strewn with evergreens, most of the range is either tropical or temperate.

I wonder if I’m in northern Corneria’s endless peaks, or the southeast’s renowned Adder Spire.

After flying for a few minutes, I can’t help but feel that I’m going in circles: flying past the peaks begets only more of the same, as though I’m passing over the same ground over and over again. I turn back around, and sure enough, I still see smoke in the distance. Somewhat confused, I decide to escape the cold and do some more thinking about the possible objective of the new layer.

When I reenter the cabin, my teeth are chattering and my fingers are numb. I kick off the boots and pad over to the fire, warming my hands and face over its blessed heat.

While the cold is nothing to scoff at, this layer seems oddly peaceful: unless there’s an angry tree monster lying in wait, there don’t appear to be any creatures that could do harm.

After warming up, I throw the coat on the floor and walk over to the slightly-cloudy mirror over the dresser. My hair is damp with perspiration, while my face is slightly sallow, as though I haven’t recently had anything to eat.

I notice something shiny poking out from a small towel folded on the dresser. I pull the cloth away to reveal a long knife: While the blade is smooth and slightly curved, looking very much like a typical knife blade, the hilt is a masterwork.

The metal of the hilt is filigreed and shaped with a superior level of detail. Miniscule gems of either blue, white, or yellow lie socketed in the hilt’s tendriling metal, so numerous and small as to look like reflective scales. While most of the hilt appears to be made of steel, inlays of what might be gold and platinum lay like bi-color stripes along its surface.

Wrapped around the central span of the hilt is a thick ribbon of cyan silk. My hand seemingly moves of its own accord, gripping the hilt and holding it carefully aloft.

What would something so precious be doing here, in this remote lodge? Everything else here is simple and pragmatic, aside from the knife.

I bring it over to the window and hold it up to the light, its hilt dazzling. I snort as an idea crosses my mind. “Wouldn’t it be funny if I’m supposed to use it to kill myself? There’s nothing here, nothing to eat. Maybe the point of this layer is to end my own suffering.”

I don’t actually believe my words, though there is truth to them: I genuinely have no idea what I’m supposed to do about food. Perhaps the cabin has some rations stored away, but they won’t last forever. It’s possible I was wrong about going around in circles over the mountain, and that it’s possible to fly away and reach civilization; but some part of me feels that this desolate mountain range might be all there is.

While I turn the dagger against the light, the floor tremors, almost wresting it from my loose grip. A few seconds later, another tremor shakes the lodge, rocking the furniture.

Just as I think it might be over, the earth seems to unnaturally lurch behind me, as though the entire house is being pushed backwards. In the far distance, I can make out a muffled crushing sound, as though a giant has stepped on wet snow.

I hastily don my coat and boots, then fasten the small towel on the dresser around my mouth as a scarf. I don’t have a sheath to store the knife; keeping my hands exposed to the cold while holding it, rather than tucking them into my sleeves, isn’t a valid option.

I go with the first solution that comes to me. I use the knife to tear off a strip of leather from the fur coat. I tie the leather around the hilt, then fasten it to the jacket, Death energy serving as stitching.

As I head for the door, the echoing rumble of falling ice and snow resounds, the sound waves accompanied by minute shuddering of the earth. When I exit the lodge, I can’t see anything amiss from the ground, most of the distance obscured by tall trees. I kick off the ground and launch into the air, rapidly gaining altitude.

A snow tsunami is making its way across the landscape, snapping trees like twigs and covering everything in a blanket of white. Even at a distance, the avalanche is earsplittingly loud, the groaning, crashing sound of surging snow drowning out everything else. I draw closer to the avalanche’s source, figuring that something must be responsible for setting the avalanche off.

As I fly, my heart nearly skips a beat: There’s someone buried under the snow. I draw in energy from the countless freshly-snapped trees, then shape one of them into a gnarled shovel. I dig into the snow; while it’s powdery and easy to shovel, it’s quite deep. As I draw closer to my quarry, the shovel’s movements grow slower, more careful–I wouldn’t want to accidentally kill the person with an errant swipe.

The first thing I see is a crown of long, dark hair. While continuing to dig, I begin to pull on the person’s bones, trying to drag them up out of the snowy trench.

I eventually unearth a nearly-frozen young woman and pull her up to my side. The air tosses her hair to the side, revealing a familiar face: Germaine.

I don’t bother to consider how or why she’s here: I immediately strip out of my coat and place it on her body. She’s dressed only in a summer dress, as though she’s come straight from Menocht Bay; I’m not sure the coat will be able to help all that much, given that her legs are still fully exposed, but it’s better than nothing.

Teeth chattering, I send the two of us back to the cabin, following the plume of smoke like our lives depend on it–which they probably do. I roughly barge through the door, sending Germaine across the room and next to the fire. Shivering uncontrollably, I grab a blanket from the bed, swaddle myself, then sit down next to her.

Her vitality is gray, but seems steady; it isn’t growing any darker. The two of us lay by the fire for the better part of an hour. At some point, I nod off, the weariness of mind and body asserting its influence.

“Ian?” a voice calls out, thin and soft. I feel a slight shaking of my arm, then snap to consciousness.

“Germaine!” I exclaim.

She smiles. “You’re awake.”

“That’s my line. I found you buried under an avalanche–it’s a wonder you’re still...well.”

She gives me a confounded look. “An avalanche?”

“You don’t remember?”

She shakes her head. “No...where are we, exactly? This can’t be Menocht. Are we in a different country?”

“It’s definitely not Menocht,” I chuckle bitterly. “We’re in the middle of a mountain range.”

Germaine's mouth pops open. “Let me guess, we’re following the necromancer out here, right? Did he try to escape? Is this Mount Ziggura?”

So many questions...

“No to all three. Germaine, you remember a necromancer?”

“Of course; why wouldn’t I?” She frowns. “I suppose I’ve lost a bit of my most recent memories, if I don’t remember coming here, or getting stuck in an avalanche.”

“I see.”

While I try to keep my composure for Germaine, my thoughts are a mess. I’ve never had something like this happen before, where someone from a previous layer appears and has memories of past events. It’s almost easier to believe that I’m still stuck in the previous layer, and that some strange spell of the necromancer transported me–and somehow Germaine–across the world.

Almost being the key word: There’s no way to send us to a far-off area without a transport array, and I have no explanation for why Germaine seems to have appeared here several hours later than myself. More fundamentally, if this were really the previous layer...I don’t think she’d still be alive.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Um...perhaps...investigating?”

“...Where?”

“The yacht club?” She sighs and rubs her hands up to the fire. “It’s all kind of fuzzy.”

I notice that Germaine has taken off the fur coat. I scootch over and turn it on its side, revealing the knife. I hold it up in front of me, watching the dancing light of the fire reflect in the metal.

“Did you have a chance to see this knife?” I call out. Hearing no response, I turn around, only to realize that Germaine has disappeared. She isn’t dead, nor is she hiding in the cabin. She’s just gone, as though she’d never been here in the first place.

My thoughts turn to the danger of Remorse practitioners, recalling Aunt Julia’s warning about needing to train myself against people who can meddle with my mind.

But this can’t be that: aside from Germaine, I’m all alone here. I hold up the knife uneasily. When first inspecting the knife, the avalanche occurred, suggesting Germaine’s appearance. When I inspected it again, Germaine disappeared. It seems far too convenient to be coincidence.

“Why must everything be a damned mystery?”

—

Suddenly, the cabin shakes again, though this time more forcefully. The window shatters, cold wind rushing inward and scattering shards of ice and glass.

“Mind if I come in?” a familiar voice calls out. A moment later, I see Euryphel’s face in the window. Though he gives me an easy smile, his entire body is violently shivering.

At this point, I’m just about ready to give up on trying to understand the layer. I drop the knife on the coat, then run over to open the door, ushering the freezing prince inside. He staggers over to the fire, then breathes a sigh of relief.

“It’s a good thing all fate in this loop points toward you, else I’d be hard pressed to find you, or anyone else, for that matter.”

“Do you know me?” I ask.

“I feel like I should, but my memory is disturbingly hazy. If I’m not mistaken, though, we’re stuck in a dilation loop. Rather, you’re stuck in the loop, while I’m around for the ride.”

“It doesn’t seem to bother you too much, being stuck in a loop.”

Euryphel shrugs, his teeth still chattering despite the warmth of the fire. “It’s not something I can change.”

“Sounds...reasonable.”

“You know, your fate is quite unusual.”

Unusual? Euryphel never mentioned anything like this before.

The prince continues without prompting. “While my own fate points to you–as can be expected–your fate points outward, like numerous vectors pointing so far away as to become invisible. If I had to hazard a guess, the world here in the loop is struggling to contain you. Perhaps it’s simply running out of energy, though there are numerous more interesting possibilities.”

“Like what?”

A gale rips through the cabin, tearing the door off its hinges. Visible beyond the door is the expanse of mountains, but they’re growing indistinct. After a few seconds, everything beyond the cabin appears to be stark white, without definition, conveying a sense of nothingness.

The prince hums. “It might be better not to say. Whatever the cause, the loop is breaking down.” He reaches over, grabbing for the knife, then stands up and walks over to the empty door frame. He slashes out and the emptiness opens up like a piece of torn paper, revealing abyssal black.

He gestures to the door. “It’s time for you to leave.”

It’s impossible not to understand the implications of his words. We’re not discussing leaving the layer, but leaving the loop.

I hesitate, suddenly feeling unprepared: I still need to train myself against mental attacks; moreover, I never had the time to experiment with freeing myself from oaths. What if I leave the loop, only to find myself trapped in a Life Death oath?

Euryphel suddenly chuckles, then hands me the knife.

“If you’re afraid, you can try to turn back; but even if you can ignore the effects of the loop’s collapse for a few days or weeks, your time here is approaching its conclusion.”

“It sounds like you think I should leave, but you don’t even know me.”

The prince cocks his head. “Why not leave?”

I sigh. “I’m worried. If I step through that door...I don’t know what’s waiting for me on the other side.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“What if I’ve agreed to an oath I can’t remember? What if I have to live the rest of my life following the bidding of someone else? A weapon?”

The prince gives me a blank look. “I don’t have a good understanding of your circumstances, but there are ways to deal with such things.”

I move to ask another question, but he interrupts me.

“Stop worrying about what you can’t change. Hasn’t this place stolen enough time from you already?”

“Yes.”

“Then you know what you should do.”

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. I give him a nod, then step into the black.

End Book 1