Town That the World Forgot
Warmth. A slow, uneven warmth.
That was the very first thing Alain felt.
His eyes fluttered open to the sight of a dim ceiling, beams warped and splintered with age. The room was dark except for a single candle that laid on a nearby table.
He exhaled, throat dry. A voice broken through the silence behind him.
"You're awake."
Alain turned his head. Theo sat a few steps beside a decrepit fireplace, throwing some sticks into the calm flames to coax the embers back to life.
The orange glow illuminated his face: tired eyes, chapped lips, haggard clothing. His coat was still wet, with a sleeve torn.
"You've been out almost a full day," Theo said, poking the coals.
"You're a deep sleeper, even through all that screaming, you were still knocked out."
Alain sat up slowly, groaning. "Screaming?"
Theo glanced toward the far side of the room.
Kai'el lay on a torn cot, his left arm, the one that had been bitten, was wrapped in makeshift bandages and supported with a bone as a splint. Blackish-red veins ran from the wound up toward his neck, faintly glowing beneath the skin.
"Foul ether," Theo said quietly. "It's spreading."
He hesitated, glancing toward Kai'el's arm again. The calm he usually wore was starting to crack.
"Alain," he muttered, voice lower now, "I…I don't know what to do…We might have to resort to…emergency methods."
"Theo," Alain said quietly, "how bad is it?"
"Kai'el?"
"Everything."
"From my guess, it's gonna take another two days to reach the peak. And…however long it takes for my father to get here…"
"But," Theo sighed. "From the looks of it, he's got around two, maybe three days max before—before we have to do something."
Silence filled the room, only filled by the soft crackle from the fireplace.
Alain slid off the bed, boots scraping on the floorboards. He took in the room properly for the first time.
The walls were warped from years of frostbite and thaw. The furniture looked bare, like it hasn't been touched in years.
"Where are we?" Alain asked quietly.
Theo leaned back against the wall, rubbing his temples. "Foot of the ridge. This here's a settlement—or what's left of one. I found it while dragging you two down the slope."
Alain blinked, the words sinking in slowly. "You dragged us? Both of us?"
"Yeah, well," Theo said, shrugging, "someone had to."
The silence stretched, filled only by the faint crackles of the fire.
"...Thanks," Alain said finally.
"It's fine." Theo gave a short, exhausted laugh. "I owe you one after all."
"You do?"
"The lake, remember?" his tone softened, just a little. "You jumped in without thinking. I should've died there."
…Silence…
Gebo stirred.
A faint glow pulsed beneath Alain's skin.
Theo noticed the flicker and frowned, "You know, now that the moment has passed. Care to tell me how you learned Perthro?"
Alain blinked. "Huh?"
"Perthro." Theo leaned forward. "That new sigil you carved in the middle of a fight. The one that lit your sword on fire?"
"How'd you even know what it was? That's usually a second-year sigil."
"Perthro?" Alain echoed, frowning. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Theo's brow furrowed. "You're joking."
"No," Alain said quietly. "I've never heard that name before."
A sharp pain lanced behind his eyes, sudden and deep, like something splitting inside his skull. He gritted his teeth, clutching his temple.
Theo dropped his stick and stood up.
"Hey! You alright?"
Alain shook his head. The migraine had passed, but… It felt like trying to remember something important.
"Alain?" Theo asked, his tone shifting.
"I'm…I'm alright," Alain replied, tone soft.
"I'm going for some fresh air."
Theo's frown deepened. "Relax man, you're still clearly pretty weak. I mean, we're pretty much all battered and bruised."
"I'll be alright," Alain said, opening the door outside.
"Hmmm…" Theo thought for a while before sighing. "I'll stay with Kai'el then. Stay safe. Signal us if anything happens."
"Will do."
***
The streets were silent.
Alain moved through them with slow, careful steps, the sound of his boots echoing off loose stones.
The wind here carried no snow, not even chills.
The town felt ancient, not ruined but worn down by time itself. Lantern hooks still hung from posts. Curtains, stiff with age, swayed in windows with no glass. Every door he passed stood half-open, revealing nothing but hollow rooms.
Though it looked like everywhere he went, almost everything had some kind of wilted plant wrapped around it, almost like a charm.
He turned a corner and stopped.
A wide building loomed ahead, its archway still intact, its doors sealed tight under years of grime. Faded lettering curved across the stone above it, the script half-eroded but still legible enough for him to make out the last word.
Archive.
Alain pushed against the doors. They resisted at first, then gave with a long, brittle groan. Dust spilled into the air as he stepped inside.
The air was warmer here, heavy and stale.
Rows of shelves stretched into shadow, some collapsed, others still upright like skeletal ribs. Scrolls and books lay scattered across the floor, their pages curled and blackened by age.
Someone used this place. Long after the others left.
Alain stepped over a broken beam, his boots stirring a low puff of dust. Something crunched beneath his foot: a dusty book. He knelt, brushing aside the debris.
Its cover was split down the spine, the leather brittle to the touch. Most of the pages had fused together, but a few near the middle were still intact.
The pages were thick, their edges blackened and flaking. The handwriting was heavy, carved into the parchment as if written by trembling hands.
Alain brushed off the dust and began to read.
"The fires have not stopped for seven days.
They say the gods bring mercy, that the Aesir come to 'end our madness.' But I have seen their mercy. It walks in armor and burns everything it cannot understand."
"Old Jotran is falling. The sky itself bleeds. The children hide in the forges, thinking the stone will keep them safe. I told them the Aesir only want the Rune, not us. I was wrong."
"They came at dawn, shouting that we had raised Hagalaz against them. I watched them cut my brother down in his workshop. He was a civilian. They did all this under the name of revenge. What did we ever do?
"The fighting stopped three days ago. We still hear them outside. "The little ones don't cry anymore. The water ran out yesterday. We tried to melt the frost, but it's not drinkable."
"I keep telling them our Spirit will come. That he'll light the way out. But the mountain hasn't glowed since the second night."
"If anyone finds this… please don't let them forget us."
The last words seemed to crawl off the page.
Alain's throat went dry.
He stumbled back, the chair screeching across the floorboards. The book fell from his hands and hit the ground with a wet thud, scattering a cloud of dust that glimmered faintly red in the light.
Alain stumbled back, chest heaving.
Then, a faint sound.
Clink.
He froze. The book had split along the spine, its brittle leather cracked down the middle. Something small rolled out from between the pages, glinting faintly in the dim light.
He crouched slowly, every movement careful.
A pendant had popped out, obsidian. It was small and intricate, as if made with the desperation of someone wanting to leave behind their legacy.
On one of the sides, a single Rune was carved.
ᚦ — Thurisaz.
Alain stared, unable to move. The air around him felt heavy, expectant.
Slowly, he reached down and picked it up. It was unnaturally heavy, as though it carried the weight of a promise that had never been kept.
He didn't know what it was.
Only that whoever left it behind had meant for someone to find it.
And now—
—he had.