“After the lie was uncovered, the pieces that would form the Primordial Infant entered the void. After uncountable time, the energy coalesced and the Infant was born.” - A Recapitulation of Ysteran Lore

“Mother fucking piece of shit!”

Kestel climbed back up the ladder while simultaneously trying to get the blood off of his clothes, when he reentered the main floor of the inn it had been lit up. Candles lined the tables which had now been put out, the shutters had been pulled in which let in some natural light.

“Woah there! You look like shite.”

The innkeep eyed him up and down before pointing a thumb towards a back door to the inn.

“I won’t have monster crap all over the floors, there’s a tub out the back.”

Kestel grumbled as he walked past the innkeep and pushed open the back door. The tub consisted of a bucket and a cloth to wash himself with. He took off his clothes and dropped them in the bucket before picking up the cloth and washing off the dried blood that had stuck to his face and neck. He bent down to grab his clothes from the bucket, wringing them out before getting back up. The world swayed and blurred, distorting and swirling making his head spin.

The vysaks all bellowed a guttural sound, signalling that they had to return to the depths. Being away from the Splinter, their source of power, made it difficult to go much further than this lest they pass out from exhaustion.

“It seems they can go no further than this.” Branth called out, he had been acting as the scout for the last couple of hours so his vysak had responded earlier.

Iyless, slipped off of his vysak and grabbed his packs. Iyless had taken his own advice and packed light, only the essentials had been taken.

“Branth, how long until we make it to the phylactery?”

“I cannae tell from here. But if the weather’s good, perhaps half a day’s walk?”

“That’ll have to do.”

Iyless began to walk towards a tunnel that wound up a mountain and would spit them out on a ridge. From there they’d have to walk along the ridge of the mountains until they spotted the opening to the divine’s phylactery where they could pray for its power.

“Any idea what could be lurking in the mountain.” Iyless gripped the sword strung to his hip. If anything was hiding in those caves, it could spell the end for his rag-tag group of rebels.

They peered into the gaping hole. Confirming it was silent, they carefully crept passed the threshold blades drawn.

“Keep your eyes peeled.” Iyless cautioned the others, one slip up and their frail lives would be extinguished.

The group shuffled forward, leaving scraps of peeled skin behind them. A symptom of being cursed by powers far greater than themselves. Branth headed the group, wielding a stock standard arming sword that almost every other fighter had. Iyless held the rear, his focused eyes capturing the entire cave with one look.

Drips of water from the ceiling splashed down into the floor and then quickly dried out. It was almost as if the mountain was pulling the water towards it.

“What’s wrong with that water?” A woman asked from the middle of the pack.

“It’s mana infused, these mountains are special in a most peculiar way. Because of the phylactery, it draws in masses of mana from the environment around it. The divine then breathes it in and somehow exhales more out.”

Branth in his moderate wisdom spoke up and answered the question, which did nothing to actually clarify what was happening.

“So what does the divine actually do when it breathes in the mana though.”

“You’d have to ask the divine that, if it is even present at the phylactery. When the humans began harvesting the divines most fled with a temporary phylactery and what remained was just an empty shrine.”

The party went silent, the atrocities committed by humans seemed to only increase. They were not saints themselves but to taint those who are closest to the Infant is a sin of great magnitude.

The tunnel finally began to open up and they were greeted by a breathtaking view. On one side of the ridge lay a snowy and barren valley with clusters of jagged rocks sprinkled in to add a sense of ‘kindly fuck off.’ The other side of the ridge sprawled out into an expanse of grassland, on the horizon a great clump of trees sat. It smelled of death even from that distance, not too far from it however was a small village nestled in between a wood.

The party could not pick out how many buildings there were but it was of no significance compared to the tales they had heard of human cities. They trudged along the ridge, each step sinking them deeper into the snow.

The scenery slowly changed from somewhat inviting powder to harsh rock that cracked with the slightest touch, a clumsily placed foot could send them tumbling down the mountain-side. The sun was at its peak now and beat down on the band of rebels with its full might, with luck they would get out of the heat soon.

Kestel awoke to a splitting headache and the comfort of a bed. He fumbled his hand around until he grasped onto a cup of water, downing it in one go. He swung his legs out to get up off of the bed but something was very wrong. An icy pattern danced around on his legs, or rather underneath his skin. Pain fizzled up and down his legs, leading all the way up to his arms which seemed to have gotten the worst of it all.

His biceps were completely frosted over and his forearms while not having any ice pattern had begun to reform the tattoo from the ruin. His hands however were given no mercy, an ethereal glow emerged from his fingertips. Pain pulsated in rhythm with his heart beat, each blood vessel lighting up with each beat.

“Fuck it, I’m going back to sleep.”