“Othering? You said it had something to do with my thaumaturgy, didn’t you? Is that some sort of magic?”

“It is a lot more than simply magic. While magic shapes itself using the universe’s dark ethereal matter to affect itself, othering comes from the source power outside the greater cosmos. The space between—that my kind refers to as The Real. It is, in layman’s terms, what you would call ‘the power of the gods.’ And as such, it is not something that can be fully understood by the children of men. This entire domain, for example, was created by me after analyzing which element suited me best. The cold winds of space proved to be an ideal affinity for me. Once I had learned that she ruled over this side of the planet, I did my utmost to drown that Old One in snow where she lay. And I have been doing so ever since.”

“Then the endless frost that batters this region is all your doing? And all in an effort to what? Put a stop to my God who has done nothing but spread her message of good faith?” The priestess sneered. “That still doesn’t explain what that has to do with my thaumaturgy or why it no longer works.”

He nods slowly. “Old Ones and Elder Ones are able to share a fraction of their power to a few gifted of their choosing. In the case of Old Ones such as Macha, that power is inexact and unpredictable. It only manifests to a certain extent, which is why you Scarlet Sisters all have varying degrees of abilities and strength. However, Elder Ones are a league above and can bestow a soul with something more specialized and powerful. I had thought those in your order knew this. Were you not informed when you acquired your so-called thaumaturgy?”

“No. I was taken blindfolded into a large, cold chamber that held an extremely maddening aura. It felt as if Macha herself were in the room with me. A strange ritual was performed—the peculiars of which I was not privy to—that drove me into a temporary insanity. After which, I was trained into discovering and mastering my ability. It was the most emotional moment of my life. Until you took that all away.”

“You are destined for something far greater, Orphan of Macha. You are my chosen now.”

Zulema glared at him weakly. As much as she wished she could hate him completely, he still rescued her from certain death. And there was still a part of her that did not want to leave this life behind just yet.

“If you have the energy to hold such hatred over me, then you would be wise to channel that hatred. You wished for a tool that could cut? Then manifest one from the frigid air.”

The priestess nodded with conviction. She stared at her open palm and concentrated. She closed her eye and pictured in her mind the glacial energies around her swirling into a bundle of energy in her hand. She attempted to form the energy into the figure of a knife. First the handle, then the blade. Finally, she opened her eye—to reveal a yet empty palm. Zulema sighed frustratingly. “It didn’t work. Are you sure I have this power?”

“You have already manifested it once before,” he claimed.

“I did?” Zulema’s eye widened in surprise. “At what point? I-I don’t recall—something like that. I think I would have noticed!”

Derleth looked at the young woman strangely once again. “Your dress.”

“Huh?!” She looked down at the billowy white dress she had woken up in. There were miniature glacial patterns adorning it that she hadn’t noticed previously. She blushed furiously. “I thought you had put me in this dress! It’s bad enough you undressed me, are you saying you left my nude body in the frozen snow?! And what’s more—you’re saying I somehow conjured this white dress from the snow around me?”

“That is correct,” he replied. “I do not carry around things I do not need. I disposed of your armor and immediately began the intensive process of overwriting your system. It was either die from your injuries or freeze to death. I could not have you succumbing to either.”

“But I don’t even know how I did it! Was it some kind of subconscious desire to remain modest? Why didn’t I manifest some fucking armor?!”

“These things are not always clear. For now, Orphan of Macha, you should practice knowing that it is not entirely pointless.”

She squeezed her eye shut. Her brow twitched as she tried to focus once again on creating something out of literal thin air. She grumbled loudly as she tried to picture the knife made of ice in her mind. But as she continued to focus, her mind couldn't help but wander. She thought about home and how much she missed spending time with her family. Her father, who had own short stint in the military before going on to become a teacher of history. And her mother—a strong and hotheaded woman that taught her to keep a firm belief in herself. Zulema remembered Alma’s smile and it made her smile in turn. She remembered how distraught her sister seemed immediately after her deployment and how she had spoken to her about very bizarre circumstances right before the priestess had to leave for her mission. This mission. If it hadn’t been for this catastrophic mission, she would have spent all her time stalking her sister instead. Seeing what kind of problems she had run up against that had caused her to waver from her responsibility. Should she had taken her outbursts more seriously? It did seem like she was hiding more than she let on. Meeting an unusual woman and her elfwin companion in the forest—she thought maybe they were just more nomads, conducting a pilgrimage to the holy land like so often the strange ones do.

Zulema’s strong desire to protect her sister filled her mind. As it did, she gradually felt a weight build in her hands. This process wasn’t at all like her usual thaumaturgy, which involved wanting to manipulate her target. She could feel her longing take form in her grasp. The priestess opened her eye. In her hand was a crude dagger made entirely of ice. She shot a smile at the eldritch man who had been standing before her, who nodded in approval. Using a newfound strength, she stood up from the snow and with almost inhuman agility, thrust the blade into Derleth’s chest.