Norman wept at the sight of a hospital bed amid utter darkness. A frail figure lay in front of him with the kindest smile, yet it was all her body could muster.

"Lisa," Norman uttered under his breath. "I didn't mean to..."

His vision blurred as the ground shook beneath him. Light erupted from shadows, and a voice spoke out to him.

"Norman, wake up," Orel said, pushing Norman by his shoulder. "It's our stop."

"Oh? Sorry." Norman rubbed his eyes. "Feels like I'm still feeling some jetlag." He yawned.

"Oh, you come from far?"

"I'm from South Indies, Zabad. Do you know it?"

"Not really, but grandpa said he was from Zabad."

"Oh? I would not have guessed from your surname."

"Must be pretty hot in there." Orel looked at Norman's tanned face.

"Around forty degrees during the summer, but there's a rainy season too. The desert next to it is even hotter, so most people live underground."

Gathering their clothes, the two waited for the train to stop. Orel put on his bouncy jacket and beanie. Both were gifts for when Orel started his journey.

Meanwhile, Norman wore thick pants and an oversized parka that made him look chubby. He also had woolen mittens covering his hands and a black fur hat that looked like a full-sized rabbit was sitting on his head. Still, Norman shivered at the thought of going outside.

"You don't seem to enjoy the weather here?" Orel asked.

"I'm not too fond of it. I don't like the sun, but I prefer it over this." Norman chuckled to himself. "This place is really as cold as the rumors say. Maybe I should have gone elsewhere."

The doors opened as soon as the train stopped at the small wooden platform. The two stepped out and could not believe their eyes. The town was carved into snow and ice, where tall snow walls circled the houses and driveways. It was pretty quiet, with few people around walking under the warming heat of street lamps keeping the walkways clear. Dark clouds blocked the night sky so that no star shined through and even the moons had trouble. The white snow made the bleak scenery at least a bit brighter, but mud and oil from the driveways dyed it to fit the depressing darkness.

"Are the two here?" Norman looked at the groups of tourists departing from the train.

"It's hard to tell." Orel squinted his eyes.

"Let's get out of here. I would rather not meet them."

"Is it night already?" Orel checked his phone. "Wait, it's just 3 pm?"

"That's how long days last in Pohjola. I would become depressed in no time in a place like this."

The two tried finding their way to the village from the train station, but the walled roads were like a maze. Neither of them looked forward while walking through the sidewalk as they concentrated on the brochure they had picked up from the train station. Norman leaned over Orel's shoulder as he read it.

"That thing seems outdated. We are better off using our phones." Norman scoffed.

"I mean, yeah, but this does have some nice information." Orel kept reading. "Did you know that this town holds one of the largest prisons in the country?"

"That's very reassuring. Are you going to tell me next that this town holds the record for the lowest temperature measured?"

"No, but this does have some weird advert." Orel raised an eyebrow. "The Firefox festival?"

"Huh, foxes are not that popular characters in Aleian mythology. Maybe it is a local celebration."

Orel read further into the advertisement with bewildered eyes. "All gather and come together, for it is the only time of the year one can get themselves a firefox at Geavu."

"I see, only some hunting contest. A bit old-fashioned, but I guess some places still have them." Norman tapped on his phone. "Oh, also, I found a place to say. Gohaku's review score is 3.7 stars."

"You searched for the cheapest one, didn't you?" Orel frowned.

"What else did you expect? We can't afford luxury hotels, not that there are any here."

"Did you at least check that the place has heating?"

"Who do you take me for? Of course, I did."

With Norman leading, the two reached their destination, going around corners filled with dark buildings, some run-down, some a bit less. The so-called hotel was a two-story building with a small grocery shop on the ground floor. They entered the downstairs lobby, where a middle-aged man was sitting at the counter. He looked bored out of his mind like he had been waiting for customers since the opening. The layers of bags under his eyes and flaps for cheeks made him look like an old bloodhound. Norman tried not to look at the bright spot on top of his bald head, or he would burst into laughter.

"Piev. Mit teil?" The man asked in a foreign language.

"Excuse me." Norman coughed.

"Aa, sorry." The man struggled with the language change. "So, you want a two-room? How many nights?"

"Two nights." Norman held up two fingers, just in case.

"Good, good. You going somewhere?" The man asked as he looked for the keys.

"North," Orel said.

"Oh, not good. North has lousy weather this week. Stay longer, please."

"Then we better stay the week." Norman nodded in agreement, trying not to imagine it.

"Okay. I will give you a special price. 105 Eer. You have bad luck."

The two wrote their signatures on the slightly damp guest book. Orel looked over and saw that Norman kept his signature to only his initials, which were hard to figure out from the formal cursive.

"Good. Here you go." The man gave them the keys. "Room four, this floor. TV and toilet. Good food from Marko's over there." He pointed at a building on the other side of the road. "Also, a sauna."

"Oh, I've always wanted to try one." Norman rubbed his mittens together.

"What's that?" Orel asked.

"You'll see." Norman winked.

The two went to the left dimly lit hallway and found their room. The door revealed a sleazy hotel room colored light brown and off-white. The place had more than a roof over their heads but nothing spectacular. The wallpaper was bland, with stale-smelling ducks. They put their coats on the dusty hanger beside the door and settled in. There were two single beds, a workstation with a seat, two bedside tables, and a small tv on the wall—no candy on the pillows.

Norman fell on the bed like a wet noodle and turned on the television. There was not much to gain from watching the TV, as most programs were in Aleian, though some had foreign subtitles. Orel also sat on his bed, feeling the worn-out springs against his back.

"What are we going to do meanwhile?" Orel asked.

"I was going to take a nap first," Norman turned on his side.

"I'm going to make a call." Orel took out his phone.

"Knock yourself out." Norman yawned.

Orel went to the bathroom to get some privacy. Norman tried to ignore the beeping sound of a call coming through the paper-thin walls. After a minute, it finally connected. Tuja, Orel's mother, was eager to answer as soon as possible. Like any other mother, she bombarded him with questions. Orel could hear the sound of cooking in the background, making his stomach rumble.

"How's grandma?" Orel asked.

"Fine. I think she's in the attic cleaning." Tuja saw dust dropping between the floorboards and tried to blow them away from her cooking. "When are you coming home?"

"I don't know. It depends."

"I see. We'll be waiting for you here."

Tuja turned from the sound of the door opening.

"Oh, hi, Deras." She said.

"Hi, Tuja. Who are you talking to? Orel?" Deras took off his jacket.

Deras was soaked like a wet dog and shook his damp bushy beard like one too. The rain became muffled as he closed the door, drizzling against the windows.

"Yes. Oh, sorry, honey. Deras just came in." Tuja continued.

"Say hi to him for me. I didn't have time to thank him for bringing me here. Oh, and say hi to dad if he comes home too."

"I will. I'll hang up now, but remember to call if anything happens!"

"Yeah yeah."

"Love you!" Tuja ended the call.

Deras stomped on the smooth wooden floor and sat on the living room sofa, still wet from the weather outside. He turned towards the kitchen, where Tuja was finishing her cooking.

"What did you two talk about?" He asked.

"Just checking. He is doing fine, I guess."

"I wasn't worried or anything. I saw that glimmer in his eye when he took off."

"You sound so sure." Tuja could not help but worry.

"Trust me. I've been sailing with Pops and Emil and saw the same spark in them."

"Orel has always been so headstrong when he decides something. It reminds so much of Emil."

"It does, doesn't it?" Deras laughed. "Like father, like son, as they say."

A loud bang echoed upstairs, making Deras jump in his seat, and Tuja almost dropped her spoon in her soup.

"Is mom going through Pop's stuff again?" Deras followed the sound of creaking floorboards with his eyes.

"She said something about looking for a paper or something." Tuja prepared the food on the hand-carved dinner table next to the kitchen.

"Maybe I should go help her. She's not getting any younger."

"Neither are you," Ymir said, walking down the stairs with a scroll in her hand. "Oh, Tuja, that smells lovely."

The steps creaked a bit, even under her weight. An outsider would be frightened of an old lady going down steps alone without a railing. Still, she knew every step she took, like the back of her old wrinkled hands.

"You should know it. It's one of your recipes." Tuja smirked.

"Ooh, is it mumble stew?" The aroma reached Deras' nose.

"Did you find anything?" Tuja asked, putting down the silverware.

"Yes. Deras, you should come here too." Ymir sat down at the end o the dinner table.

"You don't have to tell me twice!" Deras jumped from the couch and stomped over Ymir's hand-woven rugs.

Tuja watched as Ymir laid the paper open over the table, placing cups at the edges. She looked over and saw that the piece was empty, apart from a few old stains.

"Oh! I thought we lost it!" Deras wondered as he arrived at the table.

"Lost what?" Tuja asked.

"Eli used to call this the memoir paper," Ymir said, sitting on a chair.

Tuja squinted her eyes at it. "Did he use it?"

"Oh, Tuja, I forgot to tell you. This paper paints itself to the explorer who uses it, but only them." Ymir explained.

"Hahaha! I remember when Pops bought it from some merchant in Azuma. Oh, the look on his face when he first opened it!" Deras rubbed tears from his old weary eyes.

"What were you going to do with it, Ymir?" Tuja asked.

"I have no use for it, but it reminded me that these sorts of artifacts are gathering dust up there. It made me wonder if Orel or Emil could get some use out of them."

"Why didn't you think of that before they left?" Tuja's brow contorted.

"I...Forgot." Ymir blushed.

"Let's ask once they come back. Who knows when that will happen." Tuja looked out of a window into the rain. "But before that, let's eat."

"Oh, boy!" Deras jumped on his seat.

While the family ate a filling meal, Orel's stomach rumbled. He left the toilet and saw Norman sleeping on his side.

"I'm hungry," Orel said.

Norman said nothing, but Orel didn't want to disturb him. He remembered the restaurant the owner mentioned and decided to pay a visit.

On the front was a wide wooden sign reading "Markom." The spicy sweet smell of food lingered from the doors with a hint of smoke. The inside was like a ski lodge with a fireplace, trophies, and a wooden bar table. There was no line, so Orel stepped forward to the young cashier.

"Welcome to Marko's. How may I serve you?" He said with an uninterested face.

"How did you know I wasn't a local?"

"You don't see many new faces around here, and the three o'clock train just went by."

"Oh."

"Well, what will you be having?"

Orel looked at the menu on the electric screens. He had no idea what the names meant, but thankfully there was a simplified translation right next to them.

"The chicken basket." Orel read out loud.

"Alright. You want a drink with that?"

"Sure." Orel was feeling a bit cold.

There weren't many customers, and those there seemed to be regulars with nothing better to do. Orel sat down at one of the empty one-seat tables. He could feel the locals glaring at him but looking away when he tried to catch them in the act.

If not the dinner, the hot drink truly warmed Orel's spirit. It was a hot fruity punch with a hint of spice, and even though it had no alcohol, it kept Orel's body warm and fuzzy."

However, before Orel could leave, a familiar voice made his heart race and his face tense. It was the last thing he wanted to hear, yet it was right in front of him.

"Dan, this place is too cold," Fynn said, fiddling with his long hair as the two stepped inside the restaurant.

"Shut it," Daniel snapped, brushing snow from his short beard. "This isn't a holiday."

Orel watched the situation unfold from the corner of his eye. He could not leave, or it would draw attention to him.

Daniel walked over to the register, staring coldly at the cashier with one eye under an eyepatch.

"What will you be having, sir?" The cashier asked.

"Coffee, you have it here?"

"Yes, we do." The cashier made a face at the weird question.

"Then, that, and a bun. What do you want, Fynn?"

"Something hot, but not coffee. Ooh, and I want a sandwich!" Fynn pointed with his long finger at the snack display.

"Okay, so one hot drink, coffee, bun, and a sandwich. twelve Eer."

"Do you take credit?" Daniel took out his leather wallet.

"Yeah, we are a restaurant." The cashier had had enough of the belittling.

Daniel flashed his golden card and went to pick up the coffee. Orel's heart sank as he realized the coffee machine was past his table. He could only stay still and hope for the best. Daniel walked next to him, at which point Orel took a glance. Fortunately, he was on his blind side. He sighed in relief.

Then Daniel turned to stare right back at him. Orel gasped. A cold sweat ran down his spine while every cell of his body screamed to try and escape. Yet he couldn't. As Daniel peered into Orel's gray eyes, so did he into his, and what Orel saw in that fiery mix of red and orange was a burning field with a single laughing figure standing at the center of the spectacle.

Though it felt like forever, Daniel quickly looked away and continued walking. Fynn followed close behind, yet he walked right past Orel.

"Dan!" He complained. "They didn't have ox meat; all I got was this lousy pork sandwich!"

"I told you so." Daniel sighed.

Daniel poured himself a cup and sat on a nearby table, taking off his decorated coat. Underneath his outerwear was another layer of glamour: A red and yellow striped west that fitted nicely along his short stature.

Fynn stepped down and bent his knees under the table. He kept his jacket on while a pair of suspenders strapped against his dark shirt. As the two started to dine, Orel saw his opportunity to flee the scene.

"Dan, I've been thinking," Fynn said between bites.

"Yes?" Daniel put down his coffee mug.

"What if the gig goes wrong?"

"It won't."

"But what if it does?"

Daniel leaned closer. "Fynn, do you trust me?"

"Well, of course, I do, brother." Fynn nodded.

"Then trust me, it won't. Even if something goes wrong, I have a plan. Okay?" Daniel fetched his mug back and leaned back in his chair.

"If you say so," Fynn slurped his drink.

"Remember. Together we are unstoppable." Daniel raised his mug. "For Clarent."

"For Clarent." Fynn raised his.

Orel rushed back to the hotel. He slammed the door open, making Norman jump from the bed.

"What the Gehenna is wrong with you?" Norman asked from the floor.

"They're here." Orel huffed, locking the door.

"You ran into them?" Norman cracked his back like bubble wrap.

"Are they following us?" Orel couldn't understand.

Norman's face stiffened. He pondered, caressing his coatee. "I don't think so, but this might still pose a problem."

"What do you mean?"

"They might be looking for the same thing," Norman suggested.

"Really?"

"I'm not sure, but there are not many reasons for them to come here."

"What are we going to do?"

"It's prudent we get out of this village." Norman shut the blinds.

"We can't. The storm's brewing." Orel reminded as the snow spanked against the window.

"Damn it." Norman dropped to his bed. "I really wouldn't want to come face to face with them."

"We don't have to," Orel said.

Norman dropped his back against the end of the bed. He breathed in and glanced at Orel. The untainted eyes burning with dedication only made it harder for him to say what he had in his mind.

"Orel, you want me to be honest with you?" Norman said with a stern look.

"What is it?" Orel asked without hesitation.

"I think you should quit."

Orel's face dropped. The direct stare into his eyes made Orel sure that Norman wasn't joking, yet it made no more sense to him.

"Why?" Orel asked under his breath.

"This isn't some weird coincidence. You're stepping into one ruthless world that will beat you up and spit you out like a piece of used gum. Only people like them survive, but it's hardly much better."

A cold feeling sank deep within Orel's heart. It was not the words, for he had heard them a thousand times, but the heartfelt pain in Norman's voice. He spoke not because he was afraid but because he knew from experience. His soft green eyes were like a broken mirror, something never meant to be tough, yet tried too hard, only to fall apart.

Orel sat on his bed without saying a word. Norman stood up and left the room. He knew Orel needed time to think of the burden he had just left for him, and he needed to do it alone. Even though it was his best intention to discourage Orel for his safety, nothing made Norman feel more pain than hearing himself utter his father's words the same way they were told to him. Deep behind that anger was sadness that he could not help but drip between the broken pieces of glass. However much he tried to hold it in, his eyes bled again.