Dark seas are the bane of not just ships.

  The Leviathan Coast is not like Altine - separated from Tsanderos by the Riven Sea. That is a channel no more than a mile deep, with predictable weather and mostly uninterested wildlife.

  No, the Leviathan Coast is named with good reason. It is the bastion of Tsanderos, and generations of its rulers have shielded us from what lurks in the depths of the ancient oceans that split Tsanderos from the great continents to the west.

  Immeasurable pressure and unimaginable vastness are the breeding ground of leviathans, and they stalk the seas, cutting us off forever from whatever awaits beyond the ocean.

  Storm shields crafted over generations, ward-craft refined through centuries of study by the greatest minds that our continent can produce, have held at bay the horrors that lurk fathoms below the sky, where even light fears to tread. They deserve our thanks, and our utmost respect.

  Grain shipments shall not be halted, warriors will not be held in reserve. When the rulers of the Leviathan Coast ask, the Desolate Empire shall answer. As it has always been.

  - First Lector Flavius Sinteneali’s address to the senate following his appointment in .233

  “You’ve not lost another bleedin’ spear, have you, Lamb?” I heard Jorge proclaim in his thick brogue as we shuffled in through the entrance to the shared tent. His grin took the edge off his exasperated tone, and I turned a sardonic look his way after hanging up my thick cloak.

  “Oh no! My spear!” I said, patting myself down as if looking for something in a pocket. “I swear I just had it in my hand only moments ago!”

  I kept the act up only for a few breaths, but it was enough to widen his grin and make Nathlan chuckle from where he sat in the corner.

  I noticed a palpable sense of power emanating from the scholar that I hadn’t previously been aware of. My mana-sense had become far more attuned as I closed in on the final levels in the 1st tier, although it could have been as much due to use and practice as anything else. Even so, he definitely registered as more significant to my senses now.

  Sadrianna stood awkwardly to the side, and I realised that she likely didn’t know exactly what her new place was after agreeing to join our merry little band. I gestured to a plush chair in the corner, and she looked at me askance.

  “Grandpa over here likes to sit in a comfy chair on cold mornings on account of his old bones, so he lugs this thing around in his storage device wherever he goes.” I shot a look over at Jorge as I explained, and he grinned, nodding at her to show he didn’t mind as she slipped into the, admittedly very comfortable, armchair.

  “I did lose my spear again,” I conceded. “But I gained something much more valuable…” I continued, and Vera looked up for the first time from where she was whittling a wooden stump into something resembling a pinecone. “…Another spear!” I declared while holding up the amber root I’d been obsessing over all the way back from the Lost Grove.

  Jorge leaned forwards in interest before he stopped, gaze flicking down to the hatchet still looped through my belt and back up to the root once more. Every line on his face froze, and he seemed to grow in my senses, forcing my gaze to meet his with aura alone.

  He held my gaze steady with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine, and he spoke carefully, as if restraining himself with great effort. “How did you get that, Lamb?”

  I looked from the root to his now-stern face in puzzlement. “A baby tree gifted it to me, of course,” I said, as if it were an everyday occurrence.

  I saw his eyes flick to the hatchet once more and connected the dots, albeit several moments too late to prevent the misunderstanding. “Oh, no! Let me explain...”

  So saying, I gave them all a brief rundown of my journey into the sinkhole and what I had found beneath the grove. When I got to the juvenile Subakir, Jorge hung on my every word.

  “And it spoke to you as well?” he asked, genuine excitement in his voice.

  I waggled my hand from side to side and shrugged, and he stared for a few moments before leaning forwards to gesture menacingly at me with one gnarled finger.

  “If you don’t explain what that fuckin’ means” he waggled his hand aggressively in a rough approximation of my gesture, “then so help me, by all the gods above and below…”

  I laughed and waved him off. “Alright, alright. Someone’s got a bee in their bonnet today, aye?” I said to the others, and Vera grunted in amusement.

  “Don’t encourage the runt.” Jorge said to her, but she just turned a lazy smirk his way.

  “Don’t let him wind you up, you old git. It only gives him power” She drawled. She blinked up at me, slow and languid as a cat with a belly full of cream, and I looked at the others, about to ask them what had gotten into her when Jorge practically growled at me to explain again.

  Sighing, I explained the strange feeling of intent I’d received in the grove, but it was hard to put into words how it seemed to be the world itself whispering vague desires to me, rather than a single being delivering an easily defined thought.

  Nathlan grimaced when I spoke of the Parasitic Metamerite, and Sadrianna also looked a little disgusted, though it was the second time she was hearing of it. The two veterans paid it no mind though, and soon I had finished my tale.

  I spent a few moments demonstrating the root’s capacity to expand and contract at will – mana-willing at least – and Jorge examined it himself in more detail, eventually remarking; “Seems to have absorbed some of the properties of the Subakir itself. Powerful stuff. That will make an excellent haft for a new spear, Lamb.”

  I nodded, before turning to gesture towards Sadrianna, who was still sitting in the corner, staying politely silent through the last tenth of a bell our discussion had taken.

  “I did secure something more valuable even than that, though. May I present the first – and likely only – recruit to our little fellowship; Sadrianna, daughter of the mountain!”

  She rolled her eyes at my dramatic flourish, having grown somewhat used to my manner in the last few days.

  She nodded politely at Jorge and Vera, saying, “Good to see you again.” She turned to Nathlan and introduced herself more formally, and he shifted as if to rise and offer her his hand.

  Vera growled over at him though before he could move. “Don’t you dare!”

  Sadrianna and I looked over in confusion, and Jorge filled us in. “Lad snuck out to hunt monsters in the caves nearby and overdid it. His leg is still healing, and Vera thinks he’s set that process back by a few days now. She’s got him in mandatory time out till the new blood has managed to circulate fully.”

  He said the last with a chuckle, and I looked over to Nathlan to see his reaction. He grimaced, and I grinned at the admission.

  “I thought I’d noticed a change. You’ve levelled?” I asked him, and he nodded. I kept staring at him, and he reluctantly held up seven fingers. 6 fingers and a thumb really. But who’s keeping track?

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “7 levels in one day!? Fucking A, that’s solid progress, mate” I exclaimed, and he gave me a wan smile before grimacing as he shifted his weight.

  I turned back to Jorge. “Why’s he not talking?” I asked, meanwhile Sadrianna continued to sit quietly in the armchair off to the side.

  Jorge chuffed a laugh, removing his pipe from his mouth and pointing it in Vera’s general direction as he spoke. “Her rules. No talking till the blood properly mixes.”

  “How does that help with the healing?” I asked her.

  “Doesn’t,” she replied with a smirk. “But I’ve lost a lot of blood on this ungrateful bastard over the last few days. If I’m stuck here in recovery, then so is he, and I better not hear from him till I can leave.”

  Despite the harsh words, I could see the fondness that she had for the younger man in the way her face softened as she looked over at him. It was a nice moment, and I reluctantly pulled my thoughts onto other matters.

  “You said we’ll be here a few more days then?” I asked Jorge, and he nodded.

  “Aye, at the least. We still have some supplies outstanding. Vera cut a good deal with a hunter just left a few bells ago and due back any day now. A few commissions with the local armourers and tanners too. All in all, I reckon at least a week till we’re ready.”

  “In that case, I have a request.” I asked, leadingly.

  He narrowed his eyes at me, flicking his gaze to Sadrianna and back.

  “Out with it then, lad” he said.

  “Right, well. Sadrianna here was telling me of a cavern to the north. Whole network of caves, really. Filled with monsters and stuff, but the really good bit is that she thinks there’s a Heart of Winter somewhere within.” I grinned expectantly at Jorge, and the older man raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  “Now there’s a happy coincidence. You’ve got a shaft just waiting for a new head, and apparently there’s a powerful material that would make as fine a spearhead as any I’ve heard of just wasting away in a cave nearby. What are the chances?” the older man asked in wonder.

  It was my turn to narrow my eyes at him then. I spoke slowly, suspicion lacing my tone, “You don’t sound surprised, Jorge. How can you possibly know about that!? I only found out a bell past from an extremely well-connected local.” I gestured over at Sadrianna as I spoke, who was once again simply sitting quietly in the corner, watching us bicker like children.

  “Same way she knows, I’d wager” he answered evenly, matching my gaze with the same placid calm I would expect from a particularly dim-witted cow.

  Eventually he relented and took his pipe back out of his mouth to explain, “I spoke to Ventus. Said I owed you a crafting material didn’t I, lad? Figured I’d ask around with some of my contacts.

  “Her father,” at this he pointed at Sadrianna again, “was very accommodating. Even suggested sending you to the Lost Grove as part of your reward. I suspect he knows what’s there in all honesty, but hard to be sure with him. He’s…tricky” he said, though the statement sounded like one of admiration rather than condemnation.

  “So, you’d planned this all out already? Read the future, just like that?” I asked.

  “Aye, you could say that. ‘Course I’d just say it was forethought, but I understand that that can seem like magic to the young and foolish.” He popped the pipe back in his mouth and puffed away.

  “Well thank you for the lesson, ancient one.” I said as sarcastically as I could, but the smug bastard just puffed away, waving away my comment as if it was a genuine thanks that he wanted to brush aside.

  “Don’t fret, young Lamb. You’ll learn wisdom in time as well, I’m sure” he said.

  “You’re unbearably smug,” was my only reply.

  I shivered as we climbed higher still, the chill wind biting into our faces like a particularly violent beetle. That is to say, not enough to draw blood, but far from pleasant.

  Sadrianna was somewhat more insulated than me by her winter gear – she had come dressed for the occasion with a thick woollen jacket and sturdy fur-line pants and boots. She didn’t need to worry about being able to fight though, so could afford to be all trussed up like a turkey over a fire.

  I had my supple boots, greased with duck fat to keep them waterproof at least, and some leather and wool trousers. My armoured vest was worn over a furred undershirt, made from the hide of some mountain beast, and while it did wonders to keep the warmth in my body, my head remained bare. I had a bandanna protecting my neck and lower face, but my cheekbones were free to face the cold in battle with the rest of my head, and they were not winning.

  Even worse, I had asked Vera to shave the side of my head again, the stubble having grown too much for my liking. Bad move that, in hindsight.

  We had spent another half day journeying from the White-Sky encampment into the mountains, but this time had headed almost directly up towards the peaks that gave the titan’s Crown its name. Several bells of solid hiking up steep mountainous terrain was enough to warm anybody up, but once we’d taken a rest and given Sadrianna a chance to get her bearings, the cold had descended.

  The sweat had cooled against my skin and the wind had picked up, and now I was truly beginning to understand the need for real winter gear. I shouted to Sadrianna over the howling cry of freezing air whipping past the knife-edged ridgeline to our left, and she turned towards me, eyes barely visible beneath the heavy mantle of her fur-lined hood. ‘Jealously is an unworthy emotion’, I repeated to myself, willing it to sink in.

  “What?” she called back, and I stepped lightly over to her, navigating the heavy snows and slick rocks with relative ease.

  “How much further until we get there?” I shouted in her ear, the thick hood preventing me from deafening her. “I won’t last much more than a bell in these conditions as I am now!”

  She grabbed me by the arm, mittened fingers wrapping my bicep in steely strength and a gleam entering her grey eyes. “You can’t freeze when you run!” she said back, and then leapt backwards down the mountain.

  Such was the steepness of the boulder-field we had climbed up, that despite only leaping a meter or two outwards, she nevertheless landed a good 5 meters lower down the slope, twisting gracefully in the air to land with her knees bent and arms out to the side. I stared in shock for a moment, before she started to practically glide over the snowy boulders, growing more distant with each passing moment.

  I shook myself free of surprise and plunged down the mountain after her, trusting in Mountain-Born, and the Cloven-Hooved skill nested within it, to see me down safely. It didn’t take me long to close the distance; she wasn’t trying to get away, after all, and I found myself letting out a whoop of exhilaration as we ran. Side by side, we hurtled down the treacherous slope, navigating the deadly terrain with ease, both buoyed on by a lifetime of experience and further bolstered by specific movement skills suited to the terrain.

  Sadrianna shouted something, and I risked a quick glance over to see her pointing at a dark shape looming some hundred meters to our right – perhaps a shelf of rock jutting from the mountain side? It was hard to make out from here, especially considering I didn’t have the time to properly study-

  I whipped my gaze back to the ground beneath me in time to see the rock my left leg pushed from buckle, sipping off the one beneath it and sending me careening to the side. I had only moments to assess, but I had shunted mana to Check-Step the moment I felt something wrong, and so I felt the reassuring slowing of time around me for a few heartbeats.

  I extended my lead leg to catch on the lip of a boulder that I was heading towards, but I knew I’d slip if I landed with my weight askew. With almost instinctual speed, I used my stone-sense to rip through the boulder I’d targeted, searching for any exploitable weaknesses within it. Cut through with mineral tracts, mountain rock is notoriously heterogenous in form, and so I quickly found what I was looking for.

  A quick application of mana into Faultline, and as my outstretched foot hit the lip of the boulder in front, it cracked, tilting downwards. My other foot landed just behind my first, and I shrieked, half in fear and half in excitement, as I skidded down the surface of the man-sized boulder, riding a sliver of stone like a sled beneath my feet.

  I leapt off at the last moment, landing expertly on another rock further below and slowing myself down with a few judicious hops afterwards to bleed off my momentum. Sadrianna had turned at my excited squawk and had watched the whole thing. I thought I could just make out a smile squishing her cheeks up against the rim of her hood, but it was snowing too hard to be sure.

  We soon reached the outcropping the barbarian had pointed out, and I ducked gratefully beneath the huge mantle of stone, glad to be out of the biting snow. Sadrianna had given me a brief overview of the layout of the ice caverns that littered this hollow mountain peak, and so few words were exchanged before I was ready.

  A final gear check had me inspecting my spear one last time – the lanceolate head of my last artifact was now wrapped snugly in the xyloid embrace of my amber spear shaft. Not only could it grow in length and thickness, but so too could it mould its shape, with enough encouragement.

  I didn’t seem to have much fine control over the process, but when Jorge had suggested offering the old spearhead up to the root and focusing on what I wanted, the spear haft had grown its way around the metal casing, leaving me with a fully functional and slightly strange looking spear.

  My shield was strapped snugly to my left arm and my fang-dagger and trusty hatchet were looped through my belt on either side of my hips. My boots were tied tight, and I was ready to go.

  Sadrianna also looked snug, buried as she was in a cozy wooden chair with a small fire pit on the ground before her, no doubt soon to be filled with wood. She gave me a final nod, and I was off.

  Beneath the looming mantle of granite jutting from the mountainside, a tunnel of deep blue ice led down into darkness. Into the hollow mountain. Into the very bowels of the earth.

  I rolled my shoulders, weapons in hand, and committed myself to a journey of rock and ice and blood.

  Author’s note: needed a word that meant ‘wood-like’ so I googled it and learnt that Xyloid is a word! It sounds cool as fuck too, so even if it probably drags most out of the story, I’ve kept it in because why not? See below:

  Synonyms of xyloid include: arboraceous, ligneous, sylvan, wooded, and wooden.