A Tale of Forgotten Gods

Chapter 15: Snow Frost of Dreams

”You there!” the guard boomed; his voice echoed in the silence between the walls. ”State your business. This is a restricted alley!”

***

The lead guard’s shout shattered the moment. ”Apprehend them! They are fugitives!”

The four guards surged forward, swords clearing their scabbards with a sharp, metallic sigh.

”Elara, get behind me!” Han barked, snatching up a loose piece of timber from a collapsed market stall. Grig lowered Mo Fei’s unconscious form against the wall. Then he turned with a roar, his massive hands curling into fists. ”Come on then, thugs.”

Han’s timber clashed against the sword of one of those guards; the impact jolted his arm. His defense was just a desperate series of blocks and retreats, like a newbie who never got any chance of defending himself. While Grig was a force of nature, naturally strong. He caught a guard’s wrist and twisted it before the guard could swing his sword.

Han behind him held the first guard.

Then from the left side of Grig, another guard glanced off his temple and rushed, attacking blindly.

Grig stepped back, retreating; his gaze lay on Han, who was struggling against two guards.

The guard held his broken wrist, screaming out of his lungs.

”We can’t fight them all. They are more in number, and we are only two,” Grig mumbled.

A guard broke past the two men, his eyes fixed on the vulnerable Mo Fei slumped against the wall. Elara threw herself in the way, holding the wrapped Glaive like a staff.

”D-Do not come closer; I have a weapon!” Her voice threatened, but the stutter made it useless.

The guard pulled her hand. He backhanded her, pushing her away and sending her sprawling at another wall. The Glaive fell to the ground with a clatter.

The guard raised his sword over Mo Fei.

”NO!” Grig bellowed, but two guards jumped at him. Han rushed desperately, but the guard ahead of him resisted.

The sword descended, aimed directly at Mo Fei’s wounded side, to ensure he could not run. Mo Fei’s eyes flickered, opening only to find the guard’s shadow looming over him.

Swish

Mo Fei moved just slightly. The blade bit deep, piercing through clothes and the torn flesh. It cut his side, avoiding any vital organs.

Mo Fei tilted his head up. The world blurred; shapes bled into shadows. But he could make out a figure standing over him, wreathed in blurry lines.

Mo Fei gasped, a wet, ragged sound. He coughed out blood, crawling away from the guard. His hand moved toward his side.

He forced his eyes to focus. Elara lay on the ground, frozen in fear. Behind her, a guard stood with a bloody sword raised. Han struggled with a guard, and Grig was overwhelmed by two men.

Move.

The guard rushed forward for another attack. Mo Fei rolled away, his throat letting out a sharp whimper. His hand scrabbled on the ice, finding the cloth covering the Glaive. He pounced at it quickly and immediately dropped it.

The metal was still hot from the ritual, a deep, residual heat. The Glaive hissed as it hit the ice.

Sssssssss-CRACK.

The ice turned into water. A small plume of steam erupted, and the fierce heat bled away. It took a few seconds before the metal cooled down.

Mo Fei snatched it, the cold hilt biting into the fresh wound on his palm. He pushed himself up, his free hand reaching toward the wall. His feet stumbled. He breathed hard.

”Mo Fei, stay back, don’t!” Han’s voice cut through, seeing him raise the Glaive. It was for a ritual, the weapon found in an abandoned temple; what if the cost to use it was vast? On the other hand, he was more concerned about the wounds of Mo Fei. If Mo Fei moved too much...

The guard sneered at the bloody, shaking boy with a strange, sharp double-bladed Glaive. The man leveled his sword for a final thrust to cut off his very connection to this world.

Mo Fei couldn’t lunge. Instead, his eyes turned faint silver. The same sight. The spirit threads of the guard, reaching toward the endless sky. The world seemed to focus only on them.

Mo Fei’s own threads covered the space. The threads wrapped his hands and legs, moving them as if something invisible fought for him.

With a grunt of effort, the threads pulled his hands and drove the butt of the Glaive’s haft down onto the land.

It was a precise hit. The haft struck the heel of the boot, just beside the 65-degree support point.

The guard’s thrust wavered, then his balance faltered... finally, his foot slid on the ice. The man went down with a shout. The threads wrapped Mo Fei’s legs, pulling him sideways.

The other guard looked at the man. Han used that distraction, pushing him down and crossing up his leg.

”Fall back. To the alley!” Han commanded and rushed toward Mo Fei, grabbing Mo Fei’s arm and pulling him. Mo Fei stumbled, the world tilting, his newfound sight flickering like a failing lamp. His vision flickered between clear and blurry. His hand twitched, almost falling off the Glaive, but he held it tight.

Already half dead at that point. Mo Fei’s shallow breathing came alongside whimpers. He pressed his lips together, eyes closing and opening.

Grig hurled the last two guards against the stone walls. They crumpled, groaning. Afterward, he quickly grabbed Elara from the ground and fled into the dark alley.

They staggered only a dozen steps.

The wind shifted again with the same melodic scent, filling the narrow space. That was close... Really close. The wind slowed, and the silence deepened.

At the far end of the alley, where it met a softly lit courtyard, a figure stepped into their view.

He was a tall man, dressed in robes of deep indigo and silver that seemed to absorb the faint light. His purple hair was perfectly arranged. The wind kissed his pale-skinned face, tousling his long hair. He had a sharp chin and a small nose. Lips twitched in an elegant smile. His soft and calm nebula-violet eyes twinkled with mild curiosity. A few moths sat on his head, like natural hairpins.

That was no brute guard. That certainly was the ’Royal Guard’ of the ’Honourable Court.’

The Dream-Weaver’s subordinate, but his eyes of self-centered ideals questioned his loyalty.

He did not draw out a weapon, only looked at them, his gaze lingering on the blood soaked Mo Fei’s side, then on the peculiar Glaive in his hand. Finally, he examined their faces.

”How... untidy,” the man said in a smooth, soft tone that resonated in the hushed silence. It was not loud, yet it carried perfectly, devoid of anger. It was the sound of pristine disappointment. ”What a pitiful situation. I have to admire you for your actions.” The man chuckled to himself.

”Congratulations, congratulations, congratulations for escaping!”

Mo Fei’s eyes widened, his chest rising and then shrinking again. How... How did he?

”I can’t hear anyone else, but his voice... How can I hear him?!”

The man took a single, graceful step forward. The ice on the ground near him suddenly bloomed with tiny flowers made of ice. He looked at Mo Fei’s wrist, at the ribbon wrapped around it. He blinked and then said, ”This untidy man, the bleeding light.”

The ’Royal Guard mused, his head tilting to the right side. ”So unlikely.” A faint, almost unnoticeable sigh escaped his mouth.

”You should have chosen a softer path. Or simply lie down waiting for death... In the end, that’d be another day for you.” His voice carried no venom. It was rather a statement.

”What?... How do you know this?” Mo Fei questioned, demanding an answer. ”Who are you? What...?” Mo Fei gasped, his lungs giving up. ”What do you know about these worlds?”

The ’Royal Guard’ unfolded his hands in amusement. He pressed one hand on his cheek, feeling the cold of his own hand. ”Isn’t it too cold? My skin, they should have sent someone else.” His voice complained.

”That doesn’t answer my question.” Mo Fei persisted once again.

The man’s sharp eyes locked on Mo Fei’s. ”I do know a little bit. But you seem weary. Would you not rather lie down in the soft grass of remembrance? This struggle is so... Unaesthetic.” He stared, his voice distasteful.

”No! Stop avoiding it. What did you mean by choosing the wrong path? And how do you know about the worlds?”

”I do not want to tell you.”

”Why?”

”Do you think I have any interest in a slave’s question?”

”Tch, a fucking narcissist.”

”I didn’t hear you right,” the man said, his voice sharper.

Mo Fei opened his mouth to speak, but Han interrupted.

”Why are you not catching us? You are our enemy, not an ally.” Han’s heart hammered. He had escaped the Overseer’s grasp once; he didn’t think he’d survive now. Grig and Elara stayed behind him, sweat dropping from their foreheads.

The man heaved a sigh of annoyance, as if explaining something obvious to a child. ”Catch you? You are already caught, don’t you know that? Your story just ended.”

His gaze swept over them. ”A runaway slave, a broken mason, a terrified girl... and an ascended splinter of an empty God’s authority.”

Suddenly, a clatter of armored boots emerged from the alley behind them.

The four city guards they had beaten stumbled into the courtyard, bruised and furious from the previous confrontation. Their leader pointed a shaking finger.

”There! The fugitives! Kill the–!”

His command instantly died in his throat. His eyes landed on the indigo-robed figure and widened in pure terror. All four guards immediately dropped to both knees, heads bowed so low their helms fell on the ice.

”L-Lord Xue Lan!” the lead guard spoke, his voice stuttering, barely taking it out as whispers of reverence and fear. ”Lord, forgive our intrusion. We did not know you were here. I beg, no, I request... no, I... I-” He tried finding words that wouldn’t kill him right there.

Xue Lan.

The name fell into the silence like a drop of freezing water. The Royal Guard ’Xue Lan’ didn’t even glance at the guards. His mild smile remained fixed on Mo Fei, as if sharing a joke that they couldn’t hear.

”You see?” Xue Lan said softly. ”Even the hounds of the empire know their place. They understand their role is to bark and then to kneel down.” Yes, that was the joke. He waited, almost anticipating a laugh or chuckle from Mo Fei.

Silence stretched; Mo Fei remained silent, staring with a deadpan reaction.

Xue Lan shook his head in mock disappointment. Finally looked at the guards, his tone shifting to one of gentle, final instruction. ”These are not fugitives. They are some interesting fellas. Damaged, but questionable. You will withdraw to your place. Ensure our conversation is not disturbed.”

”Y-Yes, Lord Xue Lan! At once!” The guards scrambled backward without raising their heads. They turned and fled, crouching away hurriedly.

Xue Lan’s attention returned to the group. The brief interruption had done nothing to ease the crushing, sleepy weight of his presence. If anything, the demonstration of his absolute authority worsened it.

”Now, where were we?” Xue Lan murmured, walking toward them. The frost flowers had reached Mo Fei’s boots. ”Let us end this conversation and think about the next step. Tell me, were you the one who interrupted the elders’ execution?”

”Elder’s execution? What do you mean?” Mo Fei raised his brows. That execution was interrupted?

”Yes or no.”

”No.”

Upon hearing this, Xue Lan examined their faces, his eyes moving to Han, Grig, Elara, and Mo Fei one by one, ensuring that they weren’t lying.

He lifted his hand up and clenched it into a fist. A paper appeared in midair. ”Interesting...” he said.

And from the rooftop above, a calm voice cut through the silence.

”A story only gets an end if you agree it’s the end, but Xue Lan. What if it was just a semicolon?”

They looked up.

A silhouette of a man appeared on the rooftop, his blade reflecting the light and briefly catching the attention of observers;