Dry and oddly warm, the cave was spacious enough to fit a carriage, and the opening was just large enough for me to enter. Looking back at the blizzard outside, a part of me thought that god was looking out for me. That, or they wanted me dead.
Both seemed likely.
Sighing and walking to the back of the cave, my gloved hand grazed its smooth-grainy walls, feeling the warmth that flowed within. The temperature was hotter at the back. Taking off my cloak and turning it into a blanket, I sat down and leaned my back against the warm wall of the cave.
Looking at the blizzard outside, the situation felt familiar.
…
It was silent and peaceful, and yet I felt something missing. Turning my head side to side, there was no one around. I felt a cold inside me, and I pulled my legs closer to my chest.
It's been a day since Reilya, and I have gone our separate ways, though the memories of what we did that night will remain forever a part of me. At first, it strangely felt fulfilling, like an invisible task that every man should achieve. Though knowing that there is a small possibility that we would not see each other made me feel different.
Pushing the thought out, I thought of more productive ways to pass the time.
Pulling out a map along with a light crystal from inside my coat. I spread out the map in front of me and held the light crystal over it. A clear and smooth hand-sized ball of glass, caged in silver. A magical tool that apparently worked by touch…
Taking off my glove, the crystal was cold to the touch, and something in my hand was being sucked. Weird, like the sensation of drawing blood, but without pain. Inside the crystal, a flicker of white light appeared, glowing, growing, tracing a pattern of runes as it grew brighter and weightless
It was too bright. Shining like a small sun, it illuminated the whole cave, and that made me realize that it was not a cave to begin with, but rather the inside of a tree, and my hand let go before I could think.
Another set of runes flickered on its silver cage, and it stayed precisely where it was left as if held by invisible strings. Its brightness soon dimmed to a less eye-searing intensity. Manageable, though unpleasant to look straight into.
I moved it high above my head.
Looking down at the map, it showed the messy region of Antirno. Up north was the living woods, a sea of trees and waves of mountains with islands of white fields; it was an estimation of what was seen and never explored, though still good enough to guide travelers. Following the routes I have plotted, down south, the sea of trees soon bleeds out into a tundra, and at the bottom of the tundra was my destination.
The northern front village of Higala.
An old frontier village that was once believed to be a stepping stone to better lands. It would take roughly two weeks to reach, but with the current weather, it was uncertain whether I could even leave this shelter. Looking outside, the snow seemed to fall more heavily as if to spite me.
"This is the worst," I said, letting my voice fill the air and hang indefinitely…
The silence somehow made things worse. I folded the map and placed it back in my coat, and for a while, stared at the blizzard outside, then at my hand.
'Open,' I thought, and it did. Skin peeling from invisible vertical cuts, dermis and muscles pulling back like pages from a book, until it revealed bone. Moving it and feeling the air grace bones with an electrifying sensitivity was uncomfortable yet interesting.
Crackling and shifting, my testing reached my other hand as well. With both hands tangling, braking, fusing into each other like messy lovers. 'Cage,' I thought, and with a mushy crack and pop. My hands transformed into one connected cage, a bigger, near-perfect copy of the crystal sphere silver cage.
'blades', another grotesque chorus, and my hands separated into flat, cleaver-fused hands. Short and peculiarly disappointing, for some reason, I hoped they would have been longer. I flicked them back into my normal hands.
Maybe with enough material, they could be longer and more practical, but the amount of flesh that I could fully control was still restricted, and with current conditions, creating more was impossible when most of my body was still being reformed.
Staring at my hands and thinking of the possibilities. The best use for them as weapons would be if I had nothing else, I still had my knives, though it would be better if there was something longer.
But what if?
Grabbing my left wrist. I let out a breath and concentrated. Hardening my grip, letting skin fuse, and relaxing the flesh of my left. Imagining a long edge.
'blade,' I thought, and drew.
Like a sword, my arm was cleanly pulled out from the sleeve of my coat, its flesh rapidly writhing into shape. Fusing into my right hand, it began to grow longer and thinner, flatter, until it resembled a two-edge blade. Crimson and white. Red muscles made the core of the blade, with its edge gleaming with bone.
An extension of my hand, it moved with unexpected normalcy. Flexible, then solid it the blade worked just like any hand. Closing a fist, the blade turned rigid, and letting go would make it flexible like a flat tentacle.
Standing up, sharpness was the next logical thing to test, after all, what use would a weapon have if it could not kill?
Eyeing the wooden wall in front of me. I let out a breath and struck it while the blade was flexible, using it like a short whip rather than a sword. Snapping at the wood, it left small but deep marks along with a burning feeling on the tip of the blade. It worked better than expected.
Hardening the blade and taking a proper stance. Slashing with a wide sweep that reached behind. A wide horizontal tear appeared on the wall. It was too shallow, and I tried again.
'Sharper,' I thought, refining the edge with each strike.
Again, and again until the edges bled crimson.