Excerpt 9.5

  (Page 942, Section 1)

  On the far southern border of the Vartris Empire lies the Forbidden Prairie, a land infamous for its savage, unforgiving nature. During warmer seasons, giants of nearly every kind roam freely, reshaping the terrain at will and causing untold havoc. Yet when winter’s wrath returns, even these mighty beings risk freezing in place—left as eerie sculptures amid the endless snowdrifts—unless they’ve prepared for the biting cold.

  The Vartris Empire once attempted to tame this harsh domain, sending its elite fighters and skilled mages to secure a foothold. Although they made modest gains while the climate was gentler, they were forced to retreat as soon as the frigid season arrived, losing all the ground they had claimed.

  Meanwhile, savage Zamongarai tribes dominate vast stretches of the Forbidden Prairie, with some clans numbering in the tens of thousands—a formidable force even for the Empire. Ironically, they fend off the endless tide of invaders, effectively serving as a protective barrier on Vartris’ southern flank rather than posing a threat.

  Source: Geography of the Vartris Empire – Scholar Cayder the Exalted

  Excerpt 9.5 End

  Point of View Change (Caregiver)

  Animora watched her nephew sleep, his small hand gripping the base of his hornless head. She couldn’t shake the worry gnawing at her—a warlock had soul-read him at such a tender age.

  He’s just a baby, she fumed. How dare they pry into his soul just because they suspected possession? She shuddered, recalling how limp his body had been when Rokface brought him back. A single misstep during the spell could have corrupted his soul forever.

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  She also felt partly to blame. A little over a week ago, she’d casually told Rokface that her nephew was unusually bright—barely a two weeks old yet already managing unsteady steps. Rokface hadn’t believed her and even yelled at her to stop trying to comfort him, leaving in a huff after rousing the child with his shouting. But the next day, he returned and actually saw the boy walking, sending his foolish pride soaring.

  From there, Rokface insisted on showing the child off to the elder clansmen. Doesn’t he realize that’ll make him a target for enemies of our family? Animora thought bitterly. She had tried to delay him, but that morning he gave her no chance to argue and simply took the baby away. Unable to stop him, she could only hope nothing went wrong. Yet, as she feared, her nephew had been thrust into grave danger—nearly scarred for life.

  She remembered the day she’d agreed to take in the child. Her younger brother and sister-in-law had died in battle, leaving a newborn behind. Supposedly, he would be a handful—constantly crying and slamming into things like most baby Zamongarai. Yet she found him eerily calm, barely making a sound.

  He even snuck off to remote corners to relieve himself—unheard of for a typical infant. Sometimes she caught him performing odd “movements,” or sitting with his eyes closed as though meditating. Yet she never sensed any elemental or spiritual presence, making the notion of actual meditation seem unlikely.

  As for possession, it felt far-fetched. Despite his early walking and a few strange habits, his soul remained perfectly aligned with his body—shaped as a true Zamongarai’s—so any outside force seemed improbable. The warlock had confirmed as much, finding no trace of possession after searching his soul.

  Now, however, Animora’s concerns focused on the approaching winter. In recent years, the winter spirits had grown more distant, offering less protection against the cold.

  According to the chieftain—who had lived over a thousand years—last winter had been the worst in centuries. A month-long storm nearly consumed them, unleashing freezing gales and snow lightning so severe that all shamans, druids, elemental benders, and other spellcasters, myself among them, had to maintain near-constant casting the entire time to protect the clan. If it had persisted even one day longer, we might have been driven to the brink of death.

  A larger tribe in the south hadn’t been so fortunate, lacking proper preparations and suffering near-total destruction. At least other tribes seemed to have learned from last year’s calamity, agreeing to band together in hopes of surviving the coming season.

  Please let that be enough, Animora thought, running her hand over her nephew’s fur. Until he’s grown, I’ll shield him from tribal politics and whatever winter brings—it's the least I can do for my younger brother’s child.