As the blizzard unleashed its fury upon the frost-veiled wilderness, the tiny cabin set amidst the Varangian Frostwilds provided a semblance of shelter against the wild cacophony of the night. Inside, under the humble wooden roof, Gill lay deeply asleep, his rest punctuated by heavy, rhythmic snoring. Despite the roaring storm outside, there was a peace about him, a rest deserved after the day's grueling trials.
Zabriel, ever the enigmatic mentor, stood beside Gill's bed, observing him with an inscrutable gaze. The fire from the hearth flickered, casting wavering shadows across Zabriel's stern features as he extended a hand above the sleeping apprentice. A soft dark green light emanated from his palm, a gentle glow that hovered over Gill's battered form. As the warm light touched him, Gill's bruises began to fade, the cuts sealing as if time itself reversed. Zabriel's eyes remained fixed, unblinking, as he channeled the ancient healing arts.
Outside, the blizzard raged with relentless vigor, the wind howling like ancient spirits disturbed. Undeterred, Zabriel stepped out into the storm, his form barely clothed against the elements, bare-chested and without socks or shoes. His skin, pale against the onslaught of ice and snow, seemed almost impervious to the biting cold.
'Going.'
Once in the open, Zabriel launched into a series of extraordinary movements. With uncanny agility, he darted about, his bare feet barely touching the snow-covered ground. Every snowflake and icy projectile that the wild wind hurled towards him was artfully dodged with an almost preternatural grace. His form blurred, weaving patterns of motion that couple only be described as a dance with the storm itself.
Zabriel's training was not just a physical exertion; it was a ballet of frost and flesh, a test of endurance and reflex. As he moved, each breath he exhaled mingled with the icy air, his body a silhouette against the swirling snow. The storm seemed to target him, growing fiercer, as if challenged by his defiance., yet he continued, undaunted.
'Eventually, a cult member or even Father himself will come. That figure from the sanctuary, they purposely led me to the Crow Arga. Those who have received Arga's blessing before can only access the room behind him. Father or someone involved with him conflicted Arga, Arga must've put up a fight, and they conflicted him, trying to control him with the Red Flame like I've seen the Red Flame do horrible things, but they still couldn't. Why? Because Arga has no soul, it's been created from a deity itself, so they can't control one. They left him there, knowing they needed him alive to get through the door. But I ended up killing Arga, to set him free from his struggle within. Yeah, he wasn't being controlled 100%, but he was fighting the chaos and rage within his body. I saved him. As an assassin, we are taught not to hesitate when approaching a situation, to be prepared to kill our own members to get to our target. But if they wanted to lead me there and maybe force answers out of me, why didn't they get me on the spot? Tch..bastards. They're probably waiting for the right time to get me. To catch me off guard.'
Snowflakes, turned projectiles by the furious winds, hurtled towards him like tiny assassins in the night. With a twirl, a pivot, a leap, he avoided each with finesse that belied the human form. It was as though he moved between microseconds, existing in slips of time barely perceptible.
Despite the intensity of his training, Zabriel's expression remained stoic, a mask of concentration. His eyes flicked from point to point, anticipating the direction of the next assault by the wind. This was more than practice; it was communion with the elements themselves, a statement of resilience and prowess under the most pressing of conditions.
'A cult member will want to know what I saw in those memories. I saw the beginning, how the Crow was created, and I saw someone who resembled Father, with that red sun head shit, but that wasn't him. That posture, that voice, it wasn't him. Who was the one who had the Red Flame first? What exactly is their connection with the Crow? And also…Father said I was a son of the Oracle..the first order of deities who paved the way for the Griffon/Griffin, the 7 deities, and Zepharion was one of the Oracle. My guess, Zepharion killed the Oracle, even when saying they killed each other off. Saying I'm the son of one of the Oracle deities. Who? For right now…finding the other assassins are my priority, alongside killing cult members. And also…finding out who my parents were, and what exactly the cult and Father want from the Crow Assassins.'
As the hours waned, the storm yet showed no sign of diminishing. Zabriel, however, had proven what he set out to demonstrate—to himself, to the unseen forces of nature,
Finally, as the first hints of weariness began to show in the slight slowing of his movements, Zabriel ceased his dance. Standing amidst the tumult of snow and wind, he took a moment to simply breathe, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. He turned his face up to the black sky from whence the snow fell, letting the icy kisses of the blizzard caress his skin, a warrior honoring his opponent.
'If the sanctuary was empty, the assassins moved out. But where to? Assassins are taught to hide their tracks, avoiding people following them. That was the first exam test we took. We were given 7 days to track one of our trainers. It was in this land. We weren't able to do it, and didn't even get close. We only passed the test because we killed some monsters out here.'
Turning back towards the cabin, he walked with measured steps, his body covered in a fine sheen of exertion and melted snow. Once inside, the warmth enveloped him like a cloak. He paused to add another log to the fire, stirring the embers into a renewed blaze that threw light and shadow around the small room.
Without a sound, Zabriel collapsed on hus makeshift straw bed, the exhaustion of his exertions finally claiming him as he surrendered to sleep. The storm continued to rage outside, but within the sturdy walls of the cabin, two warriors lay in restful slumber, each healed, each honed, ready for whatever the morrow might hold.
…
In the early hours of a fierce morning, the blizzard raged with unrelenting fury, thunder booming and lightning slicing through the gray skies. Gill, wrapped in his heavy furs, was stirred by the sound of approaching footsteps crunching through the fresh snow. A feeling of apprehension tightened in his chest as he moved cautiously toward the door of his modest cabin.
'Footsteps..who could it be? My senses were heightened because of the initiation I think. They're way better than before.'
Peering out, his gaze landed on a towering figure clad in striking red armor that gleamed ominously against the white landscape. The figure, Kelgade the Bloodhound Knight, stood with an imposing red sword in hand, flanked by three others wrapped in various cloaks to fend off the cold.
'He looks strong..' Gill thought.
Muffled chatter caught Gill's ears just as he edged the door wider; it was Kailan and Tazmel, grumbling to one another. With Raiya just standing to the side, just staring.
She thought, 'He looks weak.'
Tazmel and Kailan grumbled:
"Why exactly did Kelgade drag us out into this frostbitten wasteland?" Kailan whispered harshly, his breath forming clouds in the icy air.
"He's got some vendetta, has to," Tazmel hissed back, trying to shield his face from the biting wind. "I mean, look at him, charging ahead like a madman after this healer. And you're a literal fox humanoid, this is normal for foxes right?"
"You're a damn lie. Not this much cold!"
Their complaints fell into the whirling snow as Kelgade's attention turned sharply towards Gill. He pointed his blade directly at the undermined man, eyes narrowing under the rim of his helmet. "Where is Zabriel?" Kelgade's voice boomed, the name slicing through the storm as a command more than a question.
Gill, hesitating under the weight of the imposing figure before him, shook his head slightly. "Who are you people?" he managed, trying to mask his nervousness.
"They aren't important," Kelgade dismissed the question coldly, never lowering his sword. "Just a group of vagabonds," he added with a slight gesture towards his companions. "What matters is that Zabriel knows who I am, so he should come out to speak with me."
"I-I don't think so..." Gill stuttered, his voice nearly swallowed by the howl of the wind.
Kelgade's eyes then caught a glimpse of something - a mark etched upon Gill's hand. His demeanor shifted from commanding to outright furious. "That fool... made you one of us?! An assassin of the Crow?! A weakling like you? Look at you...!"
Gill's confidence faltered under the knight's harsh words, but a spark of defiance lit within him as he straightened up. "I'm not weak."
Observing Gill more closely, Kelgade's lips curled into a sneer. "You possess no magic, nothing but a pretender," he mocked mercilessly.
Before Gill could retort, Kelgade's hand shot out, grabbing him by the throat. With a swift movement, he brutally launched Gill aside to the right at a fast and destructive speed as if he was nothing more than a ragdoll. Gill, driven by instinct, managed a flip mid-air, his feet landing on a nearby tree, his right hand clawing into the bark to stabilize himself in a crouched position.
Inside the cabin, Kelgade kicked the door open with a metallic crash, his eyes scanning quickly for any sign of Zabriel. The room, however, was empty, devoid of the person he sought.
"Raiya, Tazmel, Kailan!" Kelgade commanded, turning to face the group he had brought with him. "Spread out, cover all areas and find him. But do not engage; he'll easily kill you."
Tazmel scoffed, "Huh?? You're not our—."
Kailan pushed Tazmel, "Don't start with him, he's one of those assassins, they have anger issues."
"Tch! We're vagabonds, we have no boss."
Raiya said, "Let's go."
As the trio hurried off, blending into the storm, Gill, with blood now trickling down from a wound on his head to his face, dashed forward from his position on the tree. Moving with surprising agility, he aimed a punch at Kelgade who anticipated and readied to counter with a swift slash of his sword.
At the last moment, Gill redirected his fist to the ground, causing a shattering impact that uplifted the surrounding snow and earth. The force blasted Kelgade into the air.
Kelgade said, "Pfft. Guess you aren't too powerless, but still are weak. Where are you hiding Zabriel? Was he scared to see me again after all these years-?!"
Twisting acrobatically in the air, Gill positioned himself above Kelgade, his foot arcing through the frigid air in a powerful roundhouse kick. But to his shock, Kelgade managed to catch the kick with one hand, the impact reverberating through the landscape and causing a moment of heavy, stunned silence, the force from the impact caused the ground under them to explode and crack open with snow and trees and dirt blowing up in the air alongside rushing rapid winds.
As the storm howled around them, Raiya, Tazmel, and Kailan dashed through different sections of the dense, snow-laden woods, each moving with purpose and their own unique style of advanced movement.
Blindfolded Raiya gracefully maneuvered through the frozen terrain, her feet barely making a sound on the thick carpet of snow. Softly, continuously, she chanted mantras under her breath—a litany of teachings from her parents about the art of confronting assassins. "Engage not unless the shadow chooses to emerge," she reminded herself, her voice a whisper lost in the blizzard's cry. "Assassins bide their time, shrouded in secrecy and silence." Even with her deep-seated hatred for assassins—who had cruelly stripped her of any emotion but love—she knew that facing Zabriel head-on would be folly. "I will not engage, I will not give in," she affirmed with disciplined resolve.
'Though…I want to kill him. And all assassins I see. All I have to do is remove my blindfold…but I would kill everything else around me. Assassins…are worse than anything I've ever seen.'
Meanwhile, Tazmel, usually raring to dive into battle, found himself curbed by the gravity of their current quarry. Deep within the shelter of dense firs that dimmed the day to twilight, he muttered to himself, reassurances mixed with strategic foresight. "I'm always ready to clash, but this...this is Zabriel. No ordinary fight, no ordinary foe." The knowledge that any confrontation with Zabriel could mean a swift, silent end kept Tazmel's usual bravado in check, his steps cautious and calculated beneath the vast, whispering pines.
In contrast, Kailan trudged through a particularly gusty quadrant of the forest, each step a battle against the deep snow and biting cold. "Of all the blasted, frozen depths to be in!" He complained loudly to himself, his voice carrying through the storm. "This blizzard's a curse! How are we even supposed to find anyone in this infernal storm?" His breath formed thick clouds of steam as he shook ice from his gloved hands, the chill seeping relentlessly into his bones.
High above the earthly complaints and strategic whisperings, Zabriel stood poised in an almost ethereal balance atop a thin, high tree. His cloak and hood fluttered wildly around him in the blizzard's grip, his eyes a piercing teal under his mask that cut through the swirling snow. There, in a crouch that spoke both of readiness and an unearthly calm, he surveyed the scene below: his adversaries' movements, the fierce duel between Gill and Kelgade, each detail laid bare beneath his glowing gaze. But rather than engage, Zabriel chose another path. As he took in the full tableau—marked by desperation, strategy, and harsh elements—a decision formed in the quiet vault of his mind.
With the storm raging as his silent accomplice, Zabriel vanished from his perch without a sound, leaving only the fluttering of his cloak's edge as testimony to his presence..