The group had been walking through snow for about two hours.
They were freezing.
The wind had been fierce from the start—howling through the narrow mountain path, biting at exposed skin, stealing warmth from their bodies.
At first, they hadn't paid much attention to surrounding environment, they were too busy fighting the monsters that kept attacking them.
But soon, as they kept walking, they noticed. A few metres ahead of them, the world turned white.
Kaiser held up his hand, signaling them to stop. He pulled out the map, his gloved fingers stiff and clumsy from the cold wind blowing. The road they needed to take was the same road now buried beneath the blizzard.
But what made him pause was the line.
Behind them—the half of the road they were currently on—was cold, yes, but still visible. Dirt and stone, scattered with patches of frost. Manageable.
Ahead of them—snow. Deep. Unbroken. As if the landscape had been cut in two by an invisible blade.
Levain stared at the boundary, his breath fogging in the air. "How is this even possible?" He shook his head, disbelief coloring his voice. "It doesn't make sense. None of it makes sense."
Kaiser's red eyes remained fixed on the white expanse ahead. "From the very beginning, this place has not made much sense." His voice was low, steady. "As per the legend, the wishes of the Paititian people regarding the weather differed. And as punishment, all came together to destroy them." He paused. "We just witnessed one that almost killed us all…"
Everyone fell quiet.
They knew what Kaiser was referring to. The flood. The churning water that had swept through the forest. The cliff.
The moment Ayumu had fallen.
Kaiser broke the silence. "The entrance is not far, judging from the map. But I suppose we cannot trust anything anymore." He folded the map and tucked it back into his coat. "We need to be on high alert. Everyone, bundle yourselves to keep warm. We do not know how deep the snow is."
No one argued.
They wore layers—whatever they had packed. None of them had brought proper winter coats. The expedition had been planned for a forest, not a frozen wasteland. They made do with what they had: extra shirts wrapped around their necks, spare cloaks draped over their shoulders, scarves tied tight across their faces.
Then they plunged into the snow.
The wind grew fiercer with every step. It howled like a living thing. The ground beneath their feet had vanished; now there was only the deep, sucking cold that rose past their ankles, then their shins, then their knees.
Each step was a battle.
Two hours in this dreaded snowstorm was like torture.
Rhea's teeth chattered—a constant, violent clacking that she couldn't stop. Her fingers had gone numb inside her gloves. Her face was pale, her lips tinged with blue. She stumbled with every other step, her legs heavy, her mind growing foggy.
From behind her, Drobar's massive form loomed through the snow.
He didn't say anything. He simply reached down, pulled her up, and swung her onto his back. Her arms draped over his shoulders—limp. He shifted his backpack to the front, the straps digging into his chest, and adjusted his grip beneath her thighs.
Rhea did not protest.
She was so, so cold. Her teeth chattered nonstop. She just allowed Drobar to carry her without a word, her frozen cheek pressed against the back of his neck.
Drobar slowed.
His usual fast pace had become a slog. The snow was deeper here—up to his thighs now. Each step required effort. Each breath sent plumes of steam into the freezing air.
But he kept moving.
Kaiser pushed ahead, his red eyes scanning the white wasteland. Then—through the swirling snow—he saw it.
A hole in the wall at the end of the road. Dark against the white. A mouth leading into the mountain.
The cave.
He looked back and shouted, his voice straining to be heard above the wind. "The entrance is just ahead! A little more! Come on!"
He trudged forward, faster now, his legs burning, his lungs aching. He knew his group members were already weak. He needed to start a fire for them to get them warm. They needed them to survive.
----------------------------------------------
They finally managed to get inside the cave.
The moment they crossed the threshold, the wind died. The snow stopped.
Drobar lowered Rhea gently to the ground, then simply collapsed beside her. His massive chest heaved. His breath came in ragged gasps. He lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, too exhausted to move.
That was the hardest thing he had done on this expedition.
Rhea curled up on the cold stone, still shivering, her teeth still chattering. Her frozen hand—trembling, stiff—reached out and rested weakly on Drobar's breastplate.
"T-t-t-thankkk y-uo," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Drobar, still panting, managed a smile. "You're welcome," he said between breaths. "Haa-haa… it was my pleasure. Haaa."
Fifi rummaged through his bag with numb fingers, shoving aside dried meat and spare socks until he found it—a small glass orb with a glowing flame trapped inside. The light pulsed gently, like a heartbeat.
"Since we don't have firewood," he said, his voice shaky from the cold, "I'm going to activate this fire orb. It will give us about two hours of warmth and fire."
No one replied. They just nodded—small, tired movements.
They just wanted to get warm.
Fifi smashed the orb against the cave floor.
Crack.
The glass shattered. And from the shards, a medium-sized flame erupted—orange and gold, crackling softly, spreading warmth in a gentle circle around it.
The cave filled with light.
And shadows...Shadows on the ceiling.
Thousands of shadows that made them all looked up.
The ceiling was covered in enormous black bats—each one the size of a grown man, hanging upside down, their leathery wings folded against their bodies. Their eyes gleamed in the sudden firelight. Their ears twitched.
Then they screeched.
A horrible, unified shriek that echoed off the stone walls and pierced through the exhaustion, the cold, the numbness. The bats dropped from the ceiling in waves—wings snapping open, fangs bared, claws reaching.
The group scrambled to their feet.
Even as tired as they were—even as their bodies screamed for rest—they fought for survival.
Some bats attacked. Others, startled by the fire and the chaos, simply fled—streaming out of the cave entrance in a dark river of leathery wings.
The fight lasted minutes, though it felt like hours.
When the last remaining bat fell, the cave fell silent again.
The survivors stood amidst the scattered bodies, chests heaving, weapons dripping. Then, one by one, they slumped back to the ground.
Exhausted.
Drobar didn't even bother to clean his sword. He just let it clatter beside him and closed his eyes.
Rhea curled up as close to the fire orb as she dared, her shivering slowly beginning to subside.
Fifi sat with his back against the wall, his head bowed, his glowing tattoos flickering weakly.
Levain stared at the ceiling where the bats had hung, his expression hollow.
Osmond sat in silence, as always.
Kaiser stood near the entrance, his back to the group, his red eyes watching the swirling snow outside.
They really wanted to give up.
Every part of them—every muscle, every bone, every exhausted breath—whispered the same thing: Stop. Rest. No more.
But they needed to push forward.
They no longer had Ayumu's barrier. They had no choice but to take turns on watch, eating their small dinner in shifts, huddling close to the fading warmth of the fire orb.
No one spoke. The cave was cold.
-----------------------------------------------------
Where Ayumu was, she was walking around in the large room filled with gold.
The chamber stretched endlessly in every direction, mountains of treasure rising like frozen golden waves beneath the warm amber glow of the crystals. Coins crunched softly beneath her bare feet. Gems glittered at the edges of her vision like scattered stars.
She, who was always so plain and white, was now adorned with jewels and gold.
It hadn't been her doing. She had not put a single ornament on herself. Wherever she walked, the djinn would suddenly appear and place something new upon her. A necklace here. A bracelet there. A crown woven from golden vines set with rubies. Rings that caught the light and scattered it like rainbows across the walls.
It was as if the djinn had found an amusing doll—a living, breathing doll—and was dressing her up with the abundance of his riches. Each new piece was more extravagant than the last.
Each appeared without warning, without permission, but she did not mind it. Ayumu never protested.
For a white magis, Ayumu never bothered with riches. Nor was she vain.
Shiny things did attract her eye—she could not help that; it was simply her nature, like a bird drawn to a bright feather. But it did not stir any negative emotions within her. No greed. No envy. No desire to possess.
The gold was pretty. That was all.
She walked casually around the chamber because she was bored. Waiting for her friends to come. Waiting to win the bet. The djinn had promised her friends wishes if they found this place—and Ayumu had every confidence they would. They were strong. They were determined. They would not let a little snow or monsters stop them.
She stopped at the base of a small mountain of gold—a modest hill compared to the towering peaks around it, but still taller than she was. She climbed it anyway, her bare feet finding precarious holds among the coins and trinkets.
Halfway up, she slipped.
"Ah—!"
She slid down the golden slope on her back, laughing as she went—a bright, carefree sound that echoed through the chamber. Coins tumbled around her. A jeweled goblet bounced past her shoulder. She landed at the bottom in a heap, still giggling, her robes dusted with gold dust.
She sat up, brushing coins from her hair.
And the djinn appeared again.
He knelt beside her—a towering shadow folding itself down to her level—and looped another necklace around her throat. This one had several colorful gems attached: emeralds, sapphires, amethysts, each one the size of her thumbnail, all set in delicate gold filigree.
Again, Ayumu did not protest.
But she was getting heavy.
She thought, perhaps, she needed to distract the djinn.
"Great Djinn," she said, tilting her head to look up at him, "are you good at telling stories?"
The djinn paused. His white eyes flickered with something—surprise, perhaps, or curiosity.
"I have never needed to tell stories before," he rumbled. "I would not know."
Ayumu smiled—warm, genuine, a little mischievous. "Then if I ask you questions, perhaps you could answer them? Whichever that you can, of course… Great Djinn."
She flustered slightly at the end, suddenly aware that she might be asking too much of such a powerful being.
The djinn pondered for a while.
Then: "If I can answer them… I would."
Ayumu lit up.
Her glow returned—soft and radiant, spilling from her like morning light through a window. Her smile widened. Her eyes sparkled.
The djinn chuckled—a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through the floor.
"My eyes are blinded by your light, Ayumu," he said.
Ayumu snapped back to herself. "Oh! I am sorry, Great Djinn." She cleared her throat, pressing her hands together, and forced her glow to dim. "Ahem. There. Better."
The djinn waited, patient, amused.
"How long have you been here?" Ayumu asked.
"About two hundred years already."
"Alone?"
The djinn laughed—a short, dry sound. "Do you see anyone else?"
"What about that?" Ayumu pointed at the shadow being that had been following them since before—the glitching, formless creature with white eyes that hovered at the edge of the chamber.
The djinn raised his hand.
The shadow being drifted toward him, shrinking as it came, until it settled into his palm like a wisp of smoke. He closed his fingers around it, and when he opened them again, it was gone—absorbed back into the darkness of his form.
"That is a part of me," he explained. "Something I made that can serve me for a moment."
Ayumu stared at his hand, then at his face. She thought deeply for a long moment, her brow furrowed, her lips pressed together.
"Great Djinn, forgive me for asking, but… you were summoned here by the people who used the Sun of Knowledge book, were you not?"
The djinn twitched.
His entire form seemed to still—the shifting shadows freezing mid-motion, the white eyes locking onto Ayumu with an intensity that made the air grow heavy.
His voice was deep. Almost angry.
"How did you know of that book?"
Ayumu did not flinch.
She responded calmly, her golden eyes steady, her hands folded in her lap.
"I have never seen the book, if that is what you are asking, Great Djinn." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "But my dear teacher told me about it. In Graitan—where my people originally came from—we are trusted to keep forbidden knowledge safe. The caretakers of that library of forbidden knowledge are usually white magis. Like me."
The djinn grew more interested.
Ayumu continued. "My teacher told me that she has read all the books in that library… but she could never even touch the Sun of Knowledge book. She said...it is as if that book is emitting evil energy. Those who read it will turn corrupt against their will."
The djinn leaned closer. His white eyes narrowed—not with suspicion, but with something else. Curiosity.
"What," he asked slowly, "is the book's material made of?"
Ayumu hesitated.
"...Human skin."