Chapter 22

I woke Ashlara next, and then Mirri. Each of them was trapped in some private nightmare, bodies tense, breaths shallow, faces twisted with fear or grief. And each time, I returned to the standing stones. I learned the names carved there and spoke them. None of the pale figures answered, but each seemed to hear. Each one softened, just a little. And each became clearer to my eyes.

Together they were Amilie, Makresh, Jip - the goblin - and Shaa’liira - the naga. Different peoples, different lives, but all bound in the same bleached stillness, skin pale and frostbitten, breath misting faintly if at all. The cold didn’t seem to touch them. They never shivered. They refused clothing when offered. And though they never spoke, they understood us. That much was clear.

Neither Serah nor Mirri had ever heard of an affliction like this. And they couldn’t tell us. What we did have were guides - silent, solemn figures who agreed to lead us deeper into the mountains, to their leader, whoever that might be.

As we left the canyon, the weather returned with a vengeance. The wind came screaming back, stronger than before, whipping our cloaks and flaying our cheeks raw. Snow followed soon after, thick and relentless, swallowing the world until visibility shrank to a few yards at best. The path vanished beneath our feet. Snow piled higher and higher, up to our knees by the time the sun’s light finally died. We slipped. We stumbled. Every misstep carried the promise of a long fall into nothing.

As we walked, we saw bears and more of the pale people. I watched them as they watched us, studying the faces that emerged from stone and snow. Fear, sadness, hope. Goblins, orcs, naga, humans, dwarves, elves, others I couldn’t name. To my companions they were all trolls. To me, they were people. Somehow, I could see them as they were. I didn’t know if that was my resistance to magic, or something else entirely.

As we passed, they followed.

They never came close, but they gathered in numbers - climbing walls, walking ledges above and below us, trailing silently along paths I hadn’t even seen. Hundreds of them, surrounding us without a sound. No voices. No footfalls. Just presence.

Standing stones dotted the landscape. Some stood alone. Others clustered together. Entire cliff faces were carved with names - thousands of them, etched by countless hands. I couldn’t tell if they were memorials, a census, or territory markers. I wasn’t sure which answer frightened me most.

Our guides led us through winding canyons, slick trails, and narrow caves. After hours of walking, a soft blue glow appeared ahead, faint but unmistakable. This place wasn’t something one stumbled upon. It was hidden. Secluded. Deliberately cut off from the world.

The path opened suddenly into a vast amphitheater carved from a glacier. Sheer walls of ice and stone rose around us, blocking the wind completely and leaving behind a crushing stillness. Tiered stone and ice curved downward toward a central platform.

And there he stood.

What he looked like to my companions, I couldn’t say. To me, he stood nearly seven feet tall. His flesh had long since petrified, veins of ice threading through it and pulsing with a cold, merciless light. He was broad - not sculpted, but immense, bearing a weight of strength that felt ancient and immovable. A beard of jagged ice crystals jutted from his chin like a frozen outcropping. His hair was a crown of spikes and frost. His eyes burned white with fury.

Many of the pale people were already gathered here. More poured in around us, filling the amphitheater until it felt like a silent stadium holding its breath.

Amilie looked to the great man, then back to me, her expression empty. I smiled and nodded. She led us down toward him.

As we approached, I heard something I hadn’t heard since entering this place.

Crying.

To our left stood a small goblin girl. Too young - no hips, no curves yet, her frame still slight. She shook with cold and fear, tears streaking her cheeks. Her clothes were intact but thin, utterly inadequate for the chill. A pale orc woman and a pale dwarven man flanked her, blocking her escape.

I stepped toward her and several bodies shifted at once, cutting me off. Rage and fear surged through me in a wave so strong it nearly staggered me. I looked up and found the leader’s gaze locked on mine.

“It’s ok,” I said to the girl. “We’ll get you out of here.”

“She has made her choice,” the leader growled, his voice like stone grinding against stone.

“What choice?” I demanded. Grief poured off him in a suffocating wave.

“The choice to suffer.”

Mirri collapsed to her knees. Ashlara’s axe slipped from her fingers and struck the ice. Serah shut her eyes, tears spilling freely. But I couldn’t stop. I wouldn’t.

“We all suffer,” I said. “That’s not a choice. It’s a fact of life. What matters is what you do with it.”

“You forget. You move on. You do not suffer,” he snarled. Another wave of misery crashed into me, dredging up every mistake I’d ever made. Every failure. Every regret. Was any of this worth it? Was I making matters worse?

Then I thought of failing Mirri. And that was enough.

“Bullshit,” I snapped. His eyes widened. “I don’t forget. I never forget. Every little, fucking thing I screw up. Every failure. Every mistake. Every… EVERYTHING! I remember it all. I play it over and over and over and over in my head. All the goddam time. I don’t move on. I fucking learn.”

“I don’t wallow,” I spat. “I don’t wallow in my grief, you lazy sack of shit,” I spit. “That’s what you’re doing here, isn’t it? You wallow in grief and convince others that it’s the right thing to do. So you’re not so fucking alone all the time. These people, they’ve given up, haven’t they? You’ve convinced them to join you in wallowing in a grief that isn’t theirs-”

“THEIR GRIEF IS THEIR OWN!” he thundered. “They come here to suffer and I give them a place. To suffer in peace. I give them shelter so that they may endure!”

“This isn’t endurance,” I shouted back. “Look at them. Look at Amilie. Makresh. Jip. Shaa’liira. They’re hollow. You didn’t give them peace - you trapped them. You’ve built a prison where no one can live and no one can die.”

“They endure!” he countered.

“Liar!” I shouted. “You lie to yourself and you lie to them! Even if the grief is their own, they’re not enduring it. They’ve given up. This isn’t a community built on support or caring or strength. You don’t offer them protection. You offer them isolation and cowardice and weakness. These people don’t live with the pain. But they can’t die. Isn’t that what this is? You prolong their suffering, crush their souls until there’s nothing left. But there’s no end of the road for them. They just suffer and suffer forever.”

“Why do you raid the villages?” I demanded. “Why?”

He faltered. The crushing despair lifted. His face flickered with rage, confusion, sorrow, regret.

“Why?” I asked softly.

His mouth opened. His answer was so small, so quiet that I couldn’t hear, even in the deafening silence of the amphitheater. I waited, he tried again. “To be remembered.” His voice was quiet - raw with misery and despair.

Mirri stepped forward. “You don’t eat the people you take, do you?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“They’re sad, right? The people you take. They’re suffering,” she continued. “You think you’re protecting them.”

He nodded weakly.

“I’m not going to minimize your pain,” I told him softly. “I know you hurt. This kind of hurt doesn’t go away. But it doesn’t have to rule you. You can endure. You can learn from it. You can toughen your heart and continue. Don’t forget it. But don’t wallow in it. There’s a time for grief. But that time isn’t always. There is a time to heal. A time to wear your scars like a badge of honor. Remember, but endure.”

He bowed his head. Ice fell from his beard like tears.

“If we remember you,” I asked, “will you stop the raids?”

He lifted his head to look at me, his white eyes dim in their glow. “We are nearly gone. We forget. We fear. We suffer. We have nothing to remind us. When you leave, you will fade, and we will remain.”

“What if Reedwatch remembers for you?” I offered. “And the other villages. They’ll create memorials. Build standing stones around the villages like you’ve done here. Record and remember your names. If you forget, if you go to the villages, you’ll see them. You’ll remember. And you’ll know that others remember.”

He bowed his head once more. “When we see, we will remember. We will leave you in peace.”

“Will you let the girl go?” I asked. “She hasn’t given up yet. She’s too young to stay with you. She can heal. She can endure. But only with those who care for her. If she stays with you, she will surrender. She will waste away.”

He nodded.

“Thank you.”