The fog was icy, like a cold mantle over the entire body; were it not for the multiple heavy layers of fur covering her body, she likely would have already died of exposure.
"Master is truly mad if he thinks we should start the search here," Jingsa grumbled as she turned her head to avoid the violent cold wind striking her directly in the face.
"You know how Father is, he isn't someone who takes 'no' for an answer; he would even go to the underworld itself for answers," said the female voice behind him. Libang had her face completely covered in layers upon layers of fur, barely revealing the shadow of her eyes and the tip of her upturned nose.
Jingsa was afraid it would freeze and fall to the ground.
"Yes, I know," she murmured, "I know very well."
Libang turned, annoyed and irritated, as she observed the rugged hills, covered in green grass and hidden in the fog surrounding them. Then she managed to see a lake, and around that lake, various beasts playing and drinking, from deer to some wild boars.
Jingsa felt a great amount of excitement with this journey; finally, they could leave Midgard, perhaps go to Eden or lands further away, all to find the original book. The lost history of the Cycle of Ash and Iron. And the reason for being here.
Lord Chuhan's challenge to her master was quite simple: recover the stories of the Cycle of Ash and Iron, the foundational history not only of the province of Maeve but of all Midgard (before it was called Midgard). Probably the most legendary epic about the Fey race until the times of the Empyrean.
Unfortunately, the history had been lost. The records, mostly oral, had been broken and fragmented. Her master had tried to recover the history, summoning the more than fifty thousand Filiad Odham of all Midgard. But despite the hundreds of hours of recorded history, it was not complete. The Cycle was not complete.
Chuhan's challenge had aged her master several more centuries, as well as limited his influence. A Supreme Filiad once held the same power as a great king of Tara, but now they were challenged by a petty king. Times had changed.
Even she, who was young, could feel it: the time of the Filiad ritual chants was ending, being replaced by the prayers and Dharmic chants of the great Empyrean temple. Even so, she at least hoped this journey could serve to recover some of the ancient glories, not only of the Filiads but of the entire Fey race. She truly hoped for that.
Her master was resting by the fire, sheltering next to a few trees. He was resting, or perhaps meditating; the cold and the elements did not seem to affect him even though he wore only a light bearskin cloak on his back and did not cover his face or hands, unlike them. He was not a simple mortal; he was a noble.
"Master, I believe there is an abandoned house near the lake. Perhaps I should go check; I will return once I finish," she said while looking into the distance at the faraway lake.
"Very well, my disciple, go. But first, you know why we are here." Her master had kept his eyes closed all this time, but now he had opened them. His gaze was clean and pristine, like the sky before a storm.
"Because we are near the sea, a few days from here. We can go by boat or a spiritual carriage to the port city of Anivia and set sail."
"Perhaps," murmured the wise old man, observing the lake as if it were a mirror to an unknown truth only he was capable of distinguishing, "or perhaps because there is something in this place that allows us to achieve our goal much more easily."
"This place," she murmured.
She tried to remember the lake. In itself, it had no name until at least ten thousand years ago. She could see geographic changes all over this place; formerly, all this was underwater, the lake was at least ten times larger than it was now.
"Just go, Jingsa, but do not waste too much time." His gaze shifted away from her, and he closed his eyes again. "We do not want you to get lost as soon as the journey begins."
The fog was thick, too thick perhaps. Were it not for her special training and having been born with spiritual roots, she likely would have already been lost in the darkness.
"How beautiful," she murmured to herself.
When she arrived at the lake, she felt a strange peace despite being practically isolated from the world, like a solitary island in a chaotic sea, or a bird floating in a sea of clouds. And then she saw it: a small mound protruding from the damp earth, and a stone erected upon it. It was a burial mound, and that stone was a tombstone. She approached slowly as a dreamlike sensation flooded every step, until she managed to see the inscriptions on it. On it stood, with words eroded by the passage of time and the hands that had traced their fingers over it, a name that was barely legible. But even so, it could be read.
Ducanor Kal Arreus, rightful King of Ulheim and Champion of Maeve. If this were your royal rock, were it your own self, Kal Arreus stopped here with sages seeking a roof we would recover what is lost plain and perfect Ducanor.
The poem carved in stone next to the tombstone seemed to echo Jingsa's own thoughts, causing her gaze to flicker slightly in confusion, as if a strange mystery were unfolding before her eyes.
"Strange. This poem seems newer than the name itself; why would someone put it here?" she murmured confusedly, although the fact that surprised her most was knowing exactly where she was.
The Lake of Ediocles, the eternal resting place of one of the great heroes of the Cycle of Ash and Iron.
"It is because it is new," said an unknown voice behind her.
The sound of metal unsheathing resonated in the air as she stood on guard. Then her expression exploded with disbelief. The fog, which seemed as thick as the boiling vapors of a volcano, revealed—or materialized—a figure. He had a lean appearance, and approached her with a fierce majesty. He had hair of a metallic black almost resplendent as steel itself, wore a red cloak clinging to his shoulders and a tunic embroidered in silver and black, bronze sandals, and carried at his buckle a scabbard of a sword so large and with the same appearance as the sword Lord Chuhan had wielded, making her doubt if he had a replica.
"You... you are..." She knew his name; she had recited it dozens of times in songs and stories. She knew his history and could recite from memory every adventure and legend held by every scar and element on his body.
Trembling and almost on her knees, she tried to straighten up and fight against this illusion. He could not be alive; he had died in this place more than ten thousand years ago, but now here was his vengeful ghost, perhaps thinking of taking her to the other shore of life.
"The person you were looking for, it seems. For what purpose have you called me, woman of the Feynir lineage, or did you wish to keep a dead man company?" With those words, he revealed an almost mischievous smile that, despite the situation, embarrassed Jingsa, making her tense expression waver.
By God, I am over three decades old, I cannot act like a maiden, she thought as she straightened up.
"Your name is Ducanor Kal Arreus, the ancient King of Ulheim and great champion and first knight of the Red Branch sect," Jingsa exclaimed with an emotion she could not contain.
"Yes, to that name I answer, as well as to many more. And what do you desire, child? For what reason have you shaken my spirit from the depths of the earth?" Ducanor said while sitting on the stone of his tomb, where his corpse rested, with indifference.
"Ritual," she murmured, and then remembered the mysterious and strange aura surrounding her master; Han Qing seemed strangely interested in her arriving at this place, as if he had planned it. "That crazy old man," she grumbled with annoyance.
"So they made you part of a ritual without you knowing. It is not strange; I suppose they sent you because you are a woman," said Ducanor with a smile.
"What? Is there a price?" murmured Jingsa, a bit nervous.
"Yes, the blood of a virgin," murmured Ducanor while playing with the scabbard of his sword.
"I... am not a virgin," she defended herself, speaking without thinking out of panic before regretting it at Ducanor's sudden laughter.
There she realized they were making fun of her, although it wasn't just anyone making fun of her, but the legendary Ducanor Kal Arreus. What woman or maiden wouldn't have fantasies about this moment? After all, the Feysir blood was very thick in his veins; it was said that in life he measured almost three meters in height, and the reason was not lacking—she barely reached the chest of the enormous man even though he was seated.
Coughing slightly to relieve the strange air forming around her, she asked: "Does this ritual have a specific time?"
"No, it will last as long as the user can maintain it. I am simply a memory in the earth, a fragment of the true Ducanor Kal Arreus that separated from him in battle and clung to the air, to the stone and the earth beneath your feet, as well as to the tomb you are in. But it will not last long; perhaps a few days, perhaps a few weeks, but it will not be eternal. After all, I am dead."
"And the dead usually cannot return," Jingsa finished the sentence.
"Very well, child, what do you want to ask me? The location of a treasure, someone's fate, a secret, or simply a kiss from this legendary hero?" he said while looking up at the sky and the lake he was in now. "Ahhh... how strange it is to see how the world changes when you are not there," he sighed.
"I... want to know the story. My master was sent to recover the lost history of the Cycle of Ash and Iron, the true history. I suppose that is why he called you."
"The true history. Is there a truth? Interesting, I did not expect it from a Filiad, perhaps a Finn Ollam Erehn?" he murmured. "And Cycle of Ash and Iron... a good name. Only sages and poets are capable of naming such bloody events with those names."
"Finn Ollam Ere... No, no, that is a title already in disuse, now they are called..."
"It is not necessary," Ducanor replied. "The future is yours to write. I am the past, I do not need to know it. Just tell me where you want to begin," he murmured while looking at her with a lost expression on his face.
"The beginning," she commented. She had so many things to ask, so many to say; she had so much curiosity, perhaps too much, but decided to start with that question. "The beginning, I want to know the beginning."
"The beginning," murmured Ducanor. "The beginning of everything was..."