Kael walked beneath trees that scraped the sky, blood crusted on his sleeves. Monster. The word echoed. Because I fought back? Because I'm strong?
The sound of rushing water pulled him forward. He pushed through ferns into a clearing where a river cut through jeweled rocks. Water so clear he saw fish like living sapphires dart below.
"No pollution..." Kael breathed, kneeling. This world breathes.
He stripped off his dark, bloodstained clothes – the same he'd awakened in – tossing them aside. Naked, he plunged into the icy current.
Blood swirled away:
- Goblin black
- Rock-Bear sludge
- Old guilt
He scrubbed skin raw. Clean. Almost.
After washing his clothes, he snapped branches. Blue flame leapt from his palm, igniting wood. He draped wet fabric near the heat, steam curling into twilight.
Survival. Washing. Fire. He watched twin suns bleed gold behind mountains. *Who knew killers made good campers?
Path to Velmora
Dressed and dry, Kael faced the darkening woods.
Anis. Nearest kingdom?
[Velmora – 79 miles northeast. '.]
Direction?
[Right. Follow the Stone River's song.]
Kael eyed the shadowed path. Two days? Too slow.
He crouched – muscles coiled.
WHOOSH!
Trees blurred as he tore through the forest at FAST:50 speed.
---
THE GLACIAL GUILD
Training Grounds
Fifty A-Rank hunters trembled in a ring of shattered stone. At the center stood Varric Armen – Guild Master, SSS-Rank Hunter, his presence a winter storm. Ice crystals glittered in his blue-black hair.
"Land one punch," Varric's voice froze sweat on brows. "Do it, and join my guild."
A brawny hunter charged. Varric flicked a finger.
CRACK!
Ice encased the man mid-swing.
They attacked together – fire whips, earth fists, lightning daggers.
Varric yawned. "Glacial Dome."
A hemisphere of ice sealed him. Spells shattered harmlessly.
He moved:
- THUD! A palm strike flung three hunters into walls.
- YELP! He lifted a swordswoman by her collar. "Ants." Tossed her through a training dummy.
- "Frostfire Rain." A thousand ice needles rained, pinning cloaks to stone without piercing skin.
The hunters lay groaning.
"Disappointing," Varric turned, adjusting his frost-laced coat.
Mia, his vice guild master, materialized from shadows. Her eyes were shards of polished onyx. "Guild Master. Urgent report."
Varric didn't slow. "If it's about goblins in the sewers again—"
"A talking monster at Blackroot Dungeon," Mia cut in. "Human-shaped. Wields blue fire."
Varric stopped. The temperature plummeted. Rime spread under his boots.
"Speech?" His voice was deadly quiet. "Not roars? Not hisses?"
"Words, sir. Clear as yours."
Varric's glacial eyes sharpened. "Bring the witnesses. Now."
(Chapter 8 Fin)