Chapter One Hundred Fifteen: Fractured Sky

  The portal opened onto a windswept hilltop.

  Territory Discovered. Added to Map.

  The Southeastern Stronghold, Last Bastion of the Fallen City of Roandia.

  Beside Jace, two dozen other gateways flickered with vibrant energy, their surfaces swirling like molten glass waiting to cool into stories untold. He stepped forward, breath curling visibly in the frigid air, and took in the city sprawling below.

  Snow lay across the landscape like a jeweled mantle, each tiny frozen crystal reflecting the pallid sunlight and lending the world a cool, ethereal glow. Square edifices of glass, stone, and metal rose in the distance, proud beneath winter’s tight-fisted hold. Their edges blurred slightly in the shimmering frost, making the city appear both solid and strangely elusive, as though it hovered between dream and waking.

  Far below, at its heart, the city defied the season’s icy decree. Smoke drifted upward from countless hearths and chimneys, carrying with it the rich scents of roasting meats and burning wood. Vibrant life throbbed there, a warm pulse against the stark quiet of surrounding snowfields. The city center spread out like a half-remembered reverie, spires coated with glittering rime that caught the faint sunlight and turned it into scattered hints of starfire. At the core stood the Sapphire Tower, its azure glass splintering daylight into a thousand tiny rainbows that pirouetted over slick cobblestones. Above and between the buildings, floating platforms hummed softly, arcs of arcane energy ferrying cloaked figures from spire to spire. Some travelers gestured and chatted animatedly; others observed the scene below with calm detachment.

  Scents drifted upward in subtle symphony: charred sweetness from caramelized nuts, the sharp kiss of exotic spices, a faint acrid tang from concoctions no doubt brewed in half-hidden workshops. Yet Jace found his gaze inexorably drawn upward. The sky itself had cracked—split down the middle. On one side, blue and silver hues danced serenely, reflecting some quiet, hopeful magic radiating from the Stronghold City. On the other side, darkness intruded—a stark, shattered void that seemed cleaved by a colossal wall rising to unimaginable heights. It dwarfed even the Sapphire Tower.

  Darkness loomed on the horizon, a cruel presence that felt far too close. Jace hadn’t realized how near they were to the Dark One’s domain. The Tower, luckily rising on the light side of the divide, radiated a raw, unyielding power. As Jace’s gaze lingered on its jagged form, whispers stirred in his mind. As he stared, strange murmurs brushed the edges of his thoughts, wordless whispers that refused to share their meaning, leaving only a prickle of unease along his spine. It was as if the Tower was speaking to him in a language he couldn’t begin to comprehend.

  A low hum broke through his reverie as the surrounding portals flared to life. The hush that followed was thick, the muffled crunch of footsteps on frost sounding like distant drums. Figures emerged, shoulders cloaked in foreign furs and woven scarves that sighed as they moved. Some walked as if the cold were a trivial rumor, their eyes fixed on goals hidden over the horizon. Others stumbled, disoriented, casting backward glances at portals whose luminous edges had dimmed to silence. Jace’s pulse throbbed in his ears. He studied the arrivals, attempting to guess kingdoms and histories by their stances, by the subtle tilt of a head or the hush in their laughter. The Winter Games drew them all, but he sensed an undertow beneath the spectacle—something darker, coiling unseen and waiting.

  The wind lashed the hilltop, sharp as broken glass. Snow crunched like brittle sugar beneath their boots. Without hesitation, Jace accessed his inventory, donning the warmest gear he owned. The dark robes of Hades settled around him like a shroud of shadows, their ominous sigils hinting at ancient power. Nearby, Alice tugged her lilac robes tight, the runes stitched into them glowing softly with each movement. Dex’s emerald cloak bore frost-warding runes along its trim, and Marcus moved confidently under the white and gold regalia emblazoned with Zeus’s lightning crest. Ell’s attire, a swirl of purple and rainbow hues, shimmered with a vibrant life of its own. And Molly, well, she stood apart in her simple black dress, its thin fabric fluttering indifferently against the biting wind. She never once flinched at the chill, eyes wide and unblinking as they drifted over the beautiful and mesmerizing scene. Her face, caught between awe and quiet disbelief, mirrored the uneasy questions stirring behind every watching gaze.

  The portals poured forth a steady stream of arrivals, a thousand brilliant threads weaving a tapestry across the brittle air. From the northern gate, huge Norse figures trudged forward, breath steaming in clouds beneath helms adorned with twisting knots. Their cloaks, rough-hewn from bear and wolf pelts, caught the wind, flaring like captured storms. Weapons etched with pulsing runes hummed at their sides, and at their feet stalked wolves the size of small horses, heavy paws sinking into the snow with deliberate menace. Laughter rolled from their chests, a deep thunder rattling distant treetops.

  From the east stepped Egyptians swathed in robes the color of desert twilight. Gold filigree glinted at their collars and wrists, the metal seeming to trap sunlight and cast it back in fluid waves. A lithe priestess strode ahead, flanked by dusky felines whose gaze burned with an ancient knowing. Behind her loomed a crocodile-headed sentinel, its skin dark and glossy as river mud, each step shaking the ground as though testing the world’s foundations.

  Nearby, elves drifted through a portal framed by silver branches. They seemed to materialize rather than walk, cloaks embroidered with shifting leaves that whispered against one another in a hush of wind. Their eyes held emerald and silver reflections, catching distant fires and turning them into quiet galaxies. Their laughter was a low, rolling music that smoothed sharp edges from the chill air, filling it with a sense of calm that needed no words.

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  From another gateway poured Celtic warriors, faces flushed by wind, hair as red and coppery as autumn’s dying leaves. They carried axes that winked in the pale light, their edges telling stories of battles fought in endless forests. Voices rang out in bright bursts, challenging the cold and the silence. Their boots crunched through the snow with sure purpose, as if the world itself shifted to welcome their stride.

  In a swirl of incense and shifting shadows, spirits emerged, fox-tailed and masked figures gliding over snow without leaving footprints. A young serpentine dragon—young by dragon years at least—coiled lazily in the air, pearl-like eyes serene and patient. Its whiskers drifted like fine brushstrokes, while beneath it, a cluster of robed monks passed in silence, their lanterns painting delicate patterns on the ground. Strange and monstrous creatures followed behind, tusks gleaming, rattling clubs that emitted sharp, crackling sparks, their laughter neither cruel nor kind, but something more inscrutable.

  From a distant portal came the whisper of flutes and rattles, followed by beings whose markings recalled jaguar spots and hummingbird feathers. The air tasted of damp earth and fresh rain as shamans stepped forth, skins patterned in spirals of teal and ochre, feathered serpents twisting around their ankles. A hooded figure raised a hand, conjuring a swirl of incense that tasted of cacao and chili, and the world seemed to tilt, acknowledging some older truth.

  Yet not all arrivals were framed in warmth or stately grace. Another opening revealed a huge serpent coiled protectively around a silent, hooded traveler. The serpent’s emerald scales caught distant fires and sent them dancing across the snow, while the robed figure’s measured steps needed no companion other than the reptile’s quiet, watchful presence.

  No voice governed them. They fanned out into the cold clearing, old myths and new stories pressing against one another, forging an uneasy harmony of flesh, fur, scale, and steel.

  Jace watched this congregation, his gaze darting from group to group. Words in a dozen accents overlapped, laughter and murmurs forming a tapestry of sound. Cultures collided here, drawn by the promise of the Winter Games, and stood together beneath the fractured sky—one half of it a serene winter poem, the other a black, broken cry.

  It was then that another figure claimed his attention. A portal shimmered and she stepped through. Her stride was fluid, unhurried, as though time itself bowed to her passing. Her skin glowed like polished bronze under distant suns. Her features were chiseled and striking, balanced as if shaped by wise and ancient hands. She wore obsidian textiles threaded with gold filigree, patterns that teased at meaning. They spoke of civilizations old as time, of powers that never truly slumber.

  She stood among the Egyptians, yet something set her apart, as if she were the calm axis around which all others turned. While a gaggle of female companions chattered and laughed, their voices weaving melodic strands in the frosted air, she remained silent. That silence was not emptiness; it had weight and presence, a gravity that drew Jace’s attention as surely as the Tower in the distance.

  Then she looked up and their eyes met. For Jace, it was as if the world’s noise faded, leaving only the quiet spark that leapt between them. Her eyes, dark and deep as the sea, held something ancient—knowledge older than the stones, deeper than the endless snows. Silver hair shimmered under the bright daylight, each strand catching the sun as if woven from threads of light. It framed her face in a radiant contrast to the deep, sunlit bronze of her skin.

  A resonance coursed through him, a quiet chord plucked at the core of his being. It went beyond beauty; it suggested vast landscapes hidden beneath calm waters. The moment stretched, and in it he sensed an inquiry or a challenge. For an instant, he thought he saw something flicker—though he couldn’t tell if it was approval or wry amusement—before she turned away, releasing him as though he had never held her attention at all.

  The crowd thickened, shifting and swirling toward distant gates. Order emerged from chaos as lines formed almost instinctively, those from other kingdoms already headed down toward the city. Some flew, others walked, and even more vanished, using some form of teleportation magic.

  A voice cut through the Olympian gathering. Dranice, sharp and clear: “Students of Mount Olympus, you’ll want to go and secure birthing. The district is marked on your maps. Brutus and I have other matters.” His gaze swept over them, as unflinching as the frost underfoot. “The Welcome Ceremony begins at dusk tomorrow evening. We will see you then. Good luck and don’t get into any trouble before then, eh?”

  As the final words faded, he felt a soft chime in his mind. A glowing prompt hovered at the edge of his vision:

  New Quest:

  Find lodging.

  Meet for the Welcome Ceremony at Dusk, Tomorrow Evening.

  No instructions beyond that, no gentle mentorship to ease them into a foreign city. Just a challenge placed like bait. Jace scowled, scanning the faces around him. He saw confusion and resolve reflected back. Before anyone could complain, Dranice and Brutus dissolved into shimmering motes, leaving the hilltop and its pilgrims behind.

  The students shifted restlessly, boots crunching in the snow, breath smoking in the chill. Soon they began descending toward the sprawling city, clusters forming and drifting apart, some studying enchanted maps, others simply following the crowd. The lanterns below promised warmth and shelter, but made no guarantees.

  Jace lingered a moment, feeling the icy wind nip at his cheeks. The city stretched out before them like a puzzle box waiting to be opened, streets glowing with lantern-light, rooftops dusted in pale gold and silver. Smoke curled into the sky, carrying hints of charcoal and promise.

  “Come on,” Marcus said, breaking the silence. A confident grin split his face. “Unless you fancy sleeping out here. Personally, I’d like to get lodging before all the good rooms are taken.”

  Jace couldn’t disagree. He fell into step, the crunch of snow beneath their boots a steady companion to his circling thoughts. Other students jostled by, some laughing, some fretting, the air filled with swirling voices. The lanterns along the path flickered welcomingly against the encroaching twilight.

  At the crest of the hill, he paused to glance back. The portals flickered faintly, their glow dimming as the last of new arrivals moved on. He wondered who that woman was, and if their paths would cross again. Then he turned to follow his friends down the slope, his boots biting into frost that had yet to yield to daylight. The chill settled through his coat as if testing his resolve, reminding him that no warmth was free and no journey certain.

  He pressed on, each footstep carrying him closer to whatever waited in that vast, glittering city beneath a sky broken in half.