The overarching shrine stands tall even among the walls of this putrid city. The six of us are still in a rush, as we race across the colossus of a bridge, in hopes to save the father of a girl we met less than an hour ago. Needless to say, Orbona did give us something to look forward to.

  “Hey, Orbona!” I interrupted, as she and Antarc were talking about perfumes or something.

  “So, what's it like being raised by a tribe of savages?” I inquire.

  I’m met by an almost unanimous sigh, excluding the confused Orbona.

  “Zadahn, I’m genuinely curious, do you believe every individual piece of propaganda you hear?” Antarc asks, chuckling.

  “Have you not heard the tales of the brutality of the Navaens?” I pause on the great bridge, stopping again to look over the old, yet fortified railings.

  Despite being built long before any of us were born, the structural integrity still remains sound, evocative of the true prowess of traditional Etrean architecture. I stand in a purgatory, in this timeless gate between almost two different lands entirely. My eyes shift down into the vast forests of the Etrean wilds, coated by rays of morning sunshine as our sun cheekily peeks over the horizon. The lush green of the towering trees is complemented by the coarse gray that lay on the mountain peaks surrounding the wilderness. Although mostly obscured, I make out the shape of a massive colony of tents, fortified by towering wooden walls, underneath the piercing viridian hue of the trees.

  I point down in the direction of the stunning view.

  “Don’t let beauty deceive you. These woods are home to tribes of war, tribes who would be quicker to sacrifice you to their deities than to greet you with any ounce of hospitality.” I say, an ominous pitch in my voice. This seems to have no effect, though.

  “Haven’t heard of the legends of The BloodFrost Imperator, Chief Raeis Fawra?” In all honesty, I scare myself a bit by just mentioning his name out loud, and the demeanor of everyone other than Orbona darkens.

  Chief Raeis Fawra is often described as more god than man, a divine soldier so-to-speak. He holds the title of War Chief of the Etrean Children of Navae. Described to be a towering but gaunt goliath, according to accounts of Aratel historians, he is said to have carved through legions of a Ministry garrison by the might of a fifty-man vanguard, mutilating every member of a 600-strong party almost single handedly, at the Great Rescue of Outpost Anumbra. Those who witnessed that battlefield's aftermath described it as a hoarfrost of Ministry gore and bodies, not stomachable to even the most seasoned veterans. It is said that Raeis is the closest link to the Goddess of Navae, possessing the capability to freeze cities, and armies to their utter foundations. Furthermore, he’s also described to be adorned with the skull of the 3rd prophet of the Ministry, though nobody knows how he managed to come across such a relic. Needless to say, Bloodshed lingers in the very blood of the Navaens.

  I snap back from my daydream.

  “Uncle Fawra?” Orbona asked, a gleam igniting in her eyes.

  Everyone's eyes enlarged in shock.

  “Uncle?” I ask, jolting past Charlie, Sevilla, and Alexandria, reaching Antarc who still holds Orbona tenderly in his arms.

  “He isn’t my uncle, I just like to call him that.”

  “Huh, that's peculiar. Since you call him uncle does that mean you like.. Know him?” I ask in awe, as I walk parallel to Antarc who leads our party.

  “Of course I know uncle Fawra, he’s our war chief!” She says with a tinge of sarcasm in her tone.

  “So then what about your father?” I ask. Her anxious demeanor returns at the mention of his name. Antarc, noticing this, pats her on her head, reassuring her.

  “Your father will be fine, Orbona. We’ll make sure of it personally.”

  Somehow, Antarcs melodrama has a resounding calming effect on her.

  “Guys, we’re going for the whirlpo–” I’m cut off by a painful backhand to the back of my head from Sevilla, before I could finish my sentence.

  “Zadahn, shut up.” Charlie, Sevilla, Antarc, and Alexandria say collectively.

  “Understood.” I say, not quite understanding but shutting up regardless.

  Orbona speaks up, somberly.

  “My father is a Navaen fisherman, that's all..”

  “Being a fisherman is something to be proud of!” Charlie chimes in.

  “Really?” Orbona says excitedly.

  I let out a very faint chuckle, thankfully going unheard by my companions.

  “Of course, Orbona.” Charlie says.

  We approach the end of the bridge, reaching a massive stone ramp, and a view of a great viridescent grove complimented by a waterfall and a lush lake in the distance. The air gets tighter around us now greeted by the ominous winds of this unpredictable, and unfamiliar expanse.

  We begin following the unfamiliar stone traveler’s road that lies before us.

  “This is the right way, right?” Antarc inquired softly to Orbona.

  “Yes, please hurry!” She whimpered nervously.

  The sun cowers behind the colossal oak wood trees that line each side of the road, as the Etrean wildlife thrives in the bushes. We sprint silently along the path, nervous of being heard by any Navaen scouts. Charlie’s trying to say something.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “O-Orbona, if we’re caught by any N-Navaens we’ll be safe, R-Right? Because we’re with you, R-Right?”

  “Oh brother.” I sigh.

  “Our people don’t take kindly to Home-landers, but I won't let them hurt you guys, since most of you guys are really nice.”

  “What are you trying to say, brat?” I angrily shift my gaze.

  Noticing Antarc’s animalistic eyes veering in my direction, I relent.

  “T-Thanks Orbona!” Charlie says, attempting to calm himself.

  As we approach the end of the stone road, We reach the top of an ancient-looking rock staircase, and pause in our tracks, as anxiety befalls our entire party.

  The deafening shriek of a Navaen war horn ruptures our eardrums, as we look towards the bottom of the stairs.

  A party of what looks to be six Navaen Nomad Warriors, five men and one woman, stand menacingly. They are all clad in identical violet robes with a streak of white cloth running through its fabrics, jet black pants, brown combat boots stained red in the dried blood of their enemies, and a similarly blood red bandana wrapped around their necks. It is a Navaen tradition to never wash the boots worn during the taking of an enemy’s life.

  Seems to be a death-squad of sorts.

  I let out a sigh of relief, not seeing any trace of the Bloodfrost Imperator. The six of us stand shoulder to shoulder, at the top of the behemoth stairs, as we silently staredown the party of savages. They make the first sound.

  “Hand over our child, Home-lander.” The ominous woman at the forefront declares as she lowers the Navaen war horn from her tattooed lean arms.

  Antarc lets Orbona down from his arms.

  “It's okay, Auntie Zahra! These people are nice, they were trying to help me find my father!”

  A look of dawning realization resonates on the woman’s face, as she lowers her eyes in shame.

  “Orbona.. Your father is gone, you need to accept it. Nobody goes into those whirlpools and returns. We’ve told you. I know it’s hard, little one.” The battle hardened Navaen Nomad stutters.

  “Believe me, I know. Come home with us.”

  The remaining five of us look at eachother confusingly.

  “We’re looking for the whirlpool.” I shout down, interrupting their sentimental interaction.

  “Zadahn, not the ti-” I interrupt Alexandria turning towards Orbona, my patience reaching its threshold.

  “I’m sorry, but did your father think there would be more fish in there or something?”

  The six nomads draw their Gremorian Longspears, as the temperature suddenly drops.

  Orbona begins crying. I lift my hands up in an innocent gesture. “I apologize, I was just trying to lighten the mood!”

  “Gods below Zadahn, what have you gotten us int-” Charlie is interrupted as a cruelly shaped dagger of ice forms in the opposite hand of the Navaen woman at their front.

  She arches her arm back, and maliciously hurls the ice at my face. I narrowly dodge the daggers as they leave a frosty cut on my right cheek. I move my hand towards my face, rubbing it across the wound, feeling the warm blood. I draw my halberd, infusing it in thunder. Antarc’s hair shines red, as he cracks his fists. Alexandria draws her dual pistols from the holsters in her uniform, a flame igniting in her golden eyes. Orbona runs to hide behind a tree, as Sevilla draws her cerulean dagger, in one hand, and scoops Orbona up in the other, scaling a tree faster than the nomads could process.

  “Sevilla, wait! We can still talk this out guys!” Charlie tries to negotiate, not realizing that stage is long gone.

  Antarc Alexandria and I leap from the top of the stairs.

  “Gods below! Fine! Everyone, FIGHT!”

  The three of us are engulfed in a misty purple aura, following Charlie’s incantation.

  The Nomads scramble into their famed battle formation, wall of thorns, simultaneously planting their left feet down into the rough stone, aiming their frost-coated spear tips in the air. My electric axe makes contact with one of the men’s spears, as I land before them. I hold my axe with one hand, using my other to form a javelin of lightning to break through their defenses. As the javelin forms, I diagonally swing my axe into their weak formation, staggering them momentarily, as I pivot into a throwing motion, tossing the javelin into their defenses. The woman from earlier parries it, countering with a vicious thrust towards my abdomen that I very narrowly avoid.

  Alexandria rains bullets covering Antarc, as he attempts to flank their spiky guard. He winds his gauntlets into the air, slamming the ground they stand on, leaving a momentary gap in their defenses. Taking advantage of this, I unleash a devastating front kick to the chest of the woman, as blood spurts from her mouth, and she falls on her back. I wind my thunderous axe back, preparing to cave in her face. She begins to utter something unintelligible, my ears ruptured by the maelstrom of bullets, and thunder, and clanking swords.

  “Navae, please guide me.” She says contently, awaiting my crushing blow. Just as I’m about to unwind, the atmosphere becomes unbearably cold, and I freeze in my position. I am physically unable to move, each individual hair on my body standing up involuntarily. I make eye contact with a man in the distance, approaching by himself, needing no entourage.

  The Bloodfrost Imperator, Chief Raeis Fawra.

  The man’s deep-set striking red eyes pierce my very soul, as if he looks directly through me.

  “Halt, boy.” I follow his commands, remaining completely still, dropping my axe onto the floor. The Navaen woman immediately jumps to her feet, grabbing her spear and swiftly moving its edge to my trachea.

  “Zahra, lower your weapon. You have been bested, we do not foul.”

  She lowers it at his command. I sigh in respite, although it is short lived, as he focuses his eyes onto me.

  “The tides of war bless you, Home-lander.” Chief Raeis Fawra rumbles in a low tone, his voice itself seemingly engraved with battle scars of its own.

  Around members of his tribe, Raeis is no political figure, nor war chief, but to anything but, he is Blood incarnate. The point of his malevolent spear has probably seen more hearts than the most experienced of doctors in Lumen. Seeing him in person has its own gravity.

  I hate this feeling. The feeling of helplessness.

  He stands, his spear in his hand, its bottom planted on the rocks below his bloodstained white fleece boots.

  The horned man is adorned with the armor of a Navaen war chief, a cowl of fur covering his neck.

  His right arm is bare, covered in countless markings, which are said to represent victories in combat. Fur envelops his beige garments, along with the famed skull of the third Ministry prophet hanging from his belt. Also hanging from his belt is a weirdly shaped bell contraption. Maybe the Bloodfrost Imperator is a musician.

  Thankfully, there are no casualties from our battle. The six Navaens stand upright, shamefully avoiding eye contact with the chief.

  “Where is little Orbona?” He grumbled, worried, as he scratched the gray stubble on his gaunt face. His hair is straight and long, streaked with an icy shade of blue.

  Sevilla leaps down from the branch of a great cedar tree on our right, Orbona in her arms. She lets Orbona down.

  “Uncle Fawra!” The freakishly tall man takes a knee, a wide smile forming on his angular face.

  He opens his arms, embracing the little girl as she runs through the aftermath of our fight.

  “You mustn't leave like that again, little one.” He says in a paternal voice. Standing up, he shifts his gaze to the six of us, who now stand side by side, attempting a facade of confidence.

  “What purpose do thou have in these sacred lands, Home-landers?” He says, slamming the bottom of his Imperator’s Edge into the floor, startling all of us simultaneously.

  I stammer.

  “I-I apologize, C-Chief, we were just looking-”

  “Calm down, boy. If I wished you dead, you’d be long below these grounds.” He chuckled heartily.

  “Zahra, men, escort these foreigners to our outpost. We will discuss details on the grounds.”

  Antarc whispers in my ear.

  “You’re gonna get us killed, Zadahn.”

  The Navaen Nomads reach into their satchels, grabbing ropes. They sling the rope around our abdomens, restricting any arm movements. I could probably break these restraints in a millisecond, but I refrain in the presence of the Gremorian Chief.

  “Escort them to the camps.” Chief Raeis orders