As the members of Altera Vita ventured further into the frozen expanse of the northern Wastelands, the landscape transformed into an endless stretch of ice and snow. The cold was biting, gnawing at their faces and fingers, even through the thick furs they had donned before leaving Arendale. The sun, a pale, distant orb, barely peeked through the overcast sky, offering no warmth or comfort. Each breath hung in the air, a misty cloud that quickly dissipated into the vast, white nothingness.
The first few days had been manageable, though the frost clung to everything. They followed a worn path—familiar to some, like Targeld, who had once tracked through these desolate lands—but soon, even the path became unclear. The frozen ground beneath their feet grew uneven, jagged ice protruding like sharp teeth from the earth, threatening to trip them at every turn.
The Wastelands were alive with an eerie stillness. There was no sound except for the crunch of snow beneath their boots and the occasional gust of wind that howled across the plains, rattling their nerves. Every now and then, a distant cracking sound echoed through the landscape—ice shifting far off, or worse, the warning of a hidden crevasse. But there were no signs of life. Not even a bird braved the icy sky. It was as if the world itself was frozen in place, waiting for something terrible to awaken.
Belisarius led the group with purpose, his eyes scanning the horizon, ever watchful. He knew the dangers that lurked in the Wastelands weren't just natural hazards—barbarians were out there, hiding beyond the ridges and ice-covered valleys. Their mission was to find them before the horde made it to Arendale. He glanced back occasionally to make sure his team was holding up. So far, no one had faltered, though the strain of the environment was evident on their faces.
It was during the second night when the first signs of weariness began to show. The group had found a small outcropping of rock to shelter beneath, though it offered little protection from the biting wind. They huddled together around a fire, the flames weak and struggling against the cold.
"I don't like this," Kael muttered, his voice low as he poked at the fire. His eyes scanned the shadows cast by the flickering light, looking more for assurance than threats. "It's too quiet out here. It's like the whole place is waiting for something."
"We all feel it," Targeld replied, sitting across from him, sharpening his blade with a steady hand. "The Wastelands have always been like this. Unnatural. You don't have to like it, just stay sharp."
Daeva sat at the edge of the group, his massive form only dimly lit by the fire. He hadn't said much since they'd left Aegisgrad, his golden eyes scanning the darkness beyond the camp with a watchful gaze. He could sense things others couldn't, his draconic heritage giving him an innate sensitivity to the energy around them. The cold didn't bother him, but something else gnawed at his instincts.
"Ikit," Belisarius called softly, knowing the ratman was never far, even if unseen. "Anything?"
A slight rustle from the shadows answered. "No-no barbarians," came the soft, barely audible reply. Ikit's voice was hushed, as though it, too, hid from the world. "Nothing close."
Belisarius nodded. The fact that they hadn't encountered any threats yet was both a blessing and a concern. The barbarians weren't known for staying idle, especially not in times of war. If they were quiet now, it meant they were gathering strength elsewhere.
"We keep pushing north tomorrow," Belisarius said, his voice carrying across the group as he stood, the flames reflecting off his dark armor. "I don't want to spend more time out here than we have to. The further we go, the closer we get to finding out what they're planning."
"Do you think they'll come south soon?" Azrael asked, his face partially hidden beneath his hood, the flickering firelight revealing a worried frown. He'd been quieter than usual, preoccupied with keeping his mind occupied on old maps, a distraction from the cold dread he felt creeping in. "The refugees said small barbarian parties were already moving on some of the outlying villages."
Belisarius sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "That's what we need to find out. If they've already begun moving south, we need to know how large their force is and where they're going to strike."
Thalric grunted from where he sat, oiling the joints of his gear. "Aegisgrad's not ready for a full-scale invasion. If the barbarians push south in numbers, Arendale's going to be overwhelmed."
"We're not going to let that happen," Belisarius said firmly. "That's why we're here. We're the only ones who can stop it before it starts."
The conversation quieted after that, the only sound the crackling of the fire and the occasional hiss as a gust of wind kicked up snow into the flames. They ate their rations in silence, the taste of cold, dry food doing little to warm their spirits. Even Corporal Horse, usually full of conversation, remained stoically quiet, his military discipline carrying him through.
Jon, sitting at the edge of the fire, looked uncomfortable and out of place as usual. He hadn't spoken much, but the fear in his eyes was evident. He fiddled with a worn piece of leather, his hands trembling slightly from the cold or perhaps something more. Targeld had vouched for him, but Belisarius wasn't sure yet if Jon would be an asset or a liability on this mission.
"How are you holding up?" Kael asked, leaning toward Jon, his sharp eyes studying him closely.
Jon shrugged, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm here, aren't I?"
Kael smirked. "That you are. Just keep your head down and don't do anything stupid."
The night passed slowly, the cold seeping into their bones despite the fire. Sleep came in fits and starts, each member of the group taking turns keeping watch, though the landscape remained still. Every gust of wind or shift in the snow made their hearts jump, but nothing came for them in the night.
The next few days were much the same. The group pressed further north, deeper into the Wastelands, and the landscape grew even more hostile. The jagged ice formations became more treacherous, and the wind seemed to howl louder with each passing day. The cold became a living thing, biting at their exposed skin, numbing their fingers despite the thick gloves they wore.
The group moved in near silence now, their breath misting in the freezing air, their bodies hunched against the relentless wind. Even Draxus, whose human-giant form usually seemed invulnerable, appeared wearied by the cold, his massive shoulders hunched as he trudged along at the rear of the group.
Every night they huddled together around a fire, the flames offering little warmth against the overwhelming cold. And every night, the conversations grew shorter, replaced by a tense silence. They were deep in enemy territory now, and every step felt like it brought them closer to danger.
The landscape around them was barren—an expanse of white that seemed to stretch on forever. Occasionally, they would come across the ruins of a long-abandoned village, its structures half-buried in snow and ice. The sight of these forgotten places only served as a grim reminder of what could happen to Aegisgrad if the barbarians weren't stopped.
"How much further do we have to go?" Azrael asked one evening, rubbing his hands together for warmth as he sat by the fire. His voice was tight with tension, the constant cold and isolation wearing on him.
"We'll know when we're close," Belisarius replied. He stood at the edge of the firelight, his arms crossed as he scanned the horizon. "Targeld?"
Targeld nodded, his eyes narrowing. "We're close to the borderlands of the barbarian settlements. The terrain changes around here—more cliffs, more valleys. Perfect places for them to hide."
"Great," Kael muttered, leaning back against a rock. "More places for us to get ambushed."
Belisarius gave him a hard look. "Stay sharp. That's all that matters."
Kael rolled his eyes but didn't argue further. He knew better than to question Belisarius when the mission was this critical.
Daeva, ever watchful, remained silent as he kept an eye on the surrounding darkness. His senses were heightened, his draconic blood alert to any sign of danger. His muscles were taut, ready to spring into action at the first sign of trouble.
"I feel it too," Maera said quietly from her seat, her dark hair falling over her eyes as she stared into the fire. "The air is... different here. Thicker. Something's coming."
Belisarius nodded. "We're in their territory now. They'll be watching us, no doubt. We need to be ready."
"Let them come," Targeld said, his voice low but fierce. "I'm itching for a fight."
"We're not here to fight," Zazz reminded him, his tone stern. "We're here to gather information."
"Fight or not, they'll find us eventually," Draxus rumbled from the other side of the fire, his deep voice carrying over the wind. "We just need to make sure we're ready when they do."
The fourth night in the Wastelands was the coldest yet. The fire struggled to stay lit, sputtering in the fierce wind. The group huddled closer than usual, their bodies pressing against one another for warmth. Despite the tension, there was an unspoken bond growing between them—a shared determination to survive, to complete the mission no matter the odds.
"Do you ever get used to this?" Jon asked quietly, his voice trembling slightly from the cold as he pulled his cloak tighter around himself.
"No," Targeld replied, shaking his head. "You never get used to it. You just endure."
Jon looked down, his hands trembling as he held them out toward the fire. "I don't know if I can."
Kael gave him a sharp look. "You'll do what you have to, Jon. Just like the rest of us."
Belisarius, standing at the edge of the firelight, turned to the group, his expression unreadable. "Get some sleep. We move at first light."
As the others settled down for the night, Belisarius remained standing, his eyes scanning the horizon. The weight of the mission pressed heavily on his shoulders. If they failed, Arendale would fall, and with it, the lives of thousands.
He wasn't going to let that happen.
The wind howled around him, the cold biting at his skin, but he didn't move. He stood there, watching, waiting.
The next morning came with a biting chill, colder than any before. The sky was a dull grey, a thin veil of clouds covering the sun, casting the Wastelands in a perpetual, eerie twilight. The wind had died down, leaving an oppressive stillness in the air. There was something ominous about the quiet, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Belisarius woke first, his breath visible in the frigid air. He rubbed his gloved hands together to bring some warmth back to his fingers, scanning the horizon. Nothing had changed—the same endless stretch of ice and snow, the same jagged peaks in the distance. Yet something felt different. It was subtle, but his instincts told him they were close. Closer than ever before.
One by one, the others stirred from their restless sleep. Targeld stretched his limbs, the movement stiff and slow from the cold. Daeva, ever vigilant, rose without a word, his eyes scanning the horizon with the same intensity as Belisarius. Kael muttered something under his breath as he wrapped his cloak tighter around himself, still fighting off the cold that seemed to seep into his bones. Jon was the last to rise, shivering despite the layers of furs he wore.
"We should move," Belisarius said, his voice low but commanding. "We're close. I can feel it."
Targeld nodded in agreement, his eyes narrowing as he looked out over the frozen landscape. "Barbarians don't stay idle for long. If they're near, they'll be on the move soon."
"Everyone ready?" Belisarius asked, his gaze sweeping over the group.
There were nods all around, though the tension was palpable. The Wastelands were dangerous enough, but the knowledge that they were venturing deeper into barbarian territory put everyone on edge. They moved quickly, packing up their meager supplies and dousing the fire before heading out once more.
The group fell into their usual formation, with Belisarius at the front and Targeld beside him. Draxus flanked them, his massive frame moving with a surprising grace over the uneven terrain. Kael lingered toward the back, his sharp eyes constantly scanning their surroundings. Ikit, as always, was nowhere to be seen, though his presence was felt in the shadows. The others followed in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.
They had been walking for no more than an hour when Targeld raised his hand, signaling the group to stop. He crouched low, his eyes narrowing as he pointed toward a distant ridge. "Movement."
Belisarius followed his gaze, squinting against the glare of the snow. At first, he saw nothing, but then, faintly, figures appeared—small and distant, but unmistakably human. A group of barbarians, perhaps no more than a scouting party, moving steadily across the frozen plain.
"How many?" Kael asked, stepping up beside Targeld.
"Six, maybe seven," Targeld replied, his voice low. "Small group. Could be scouts."
"Scouts means there's a larger group nearby," Zazz said, his tone tinged with unease.
"We need to follow them," Belisarius said firmly, his eyes never leaving the figures in the distance. "They'll lead us to their village."
The group nodded in agreement, though there was an unspoken tension in the air. Following a scouting party was dangerous, especially in these open, exposed plains. But they had little choice. This was the closest they had come to finding a barbarian settlement, and they couldn't afford to lose the opportunity.
They moved carefully, staying low and using what little cover the terrain provided. The barbarians were moving quickly, their furs and leathers blending into the snowy landscape. It was clear they knew the Wastelands well, navigating the treacherous terrain with ease. Belisarius kept his eyes trained on them, making sure they didn't lose sight of their quarry.
Hours passed, the cold gnawing at them as they followed the barbarians deeper into the Wastelands. The group moved in near silence, their breaths shallow and their movements careful. The terrain grew more treacherous, with jagged ice formations and deep snowdrifts slowing their progress. Yet the barbarians seemed unfazed, moving with an ease that only came from living in such a harsh environment.
As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the frozen landscape, Targeld spoke up. "They're heading toward those cliffs."
Belisarius nodded, his eyes following the direction Targeld indicated. In the distance, the jagged peaks of a mountain range loomed, their sharp edges cutting into the sky like the teeth of a great beast. It was the perfect place for a barbarian camp—isolated, defensible, and hidden from any would-be invaders.
"We need to get closer," Belisarius said, his voice barely above a whisper. "If they disappear into those cliffs, we'll lose them."
The group picked up the pace, moving as quickly and quietly as they could over the uneven terrain. The barbarians were still ahead, their figures growing smaller as they neared the base of the mountains. Belisarius felt a sense of urgency building within him. They were close—so close to uncovering the barbarians' plans.
It was nearing nightfall when the barbarians finally slowed their pace. Belisarius signaled for the group to stop, crouching low behind a snowdrift. Ahead, the barbarians had reached the entrance of a narrow canyon that cut into the mountains. It was the perfect place for a hidden village.
"They're going inside," Targeld whispered, his voice tense with anticipation. "Their camp must be in there."
"How do we get in without being seen?" Kael asked, his sharp eyes scanning the narrow canyon entrance.
"We don't go in yet," Belisarius replied, his voice calm and measured. "We wait. We'll observe them for the night, see if they send out more scouts or patrols. Then, when we know their numbers and patterns, we make our move, Ikit will go in on his own for now."
The group nodded in agreement, though the tension in the air was thick. They were deep in enemy territory now, and any mistake could cost them their lives. But Belisarius's plan was sound, and they knew better than to rush into an unknown situation.
As the last of the light faded from the sky, the group settled in for the night. They found a small outcropping of rock a short distance from the canyon, far enough to remain unseen but close enough to keep watch. The temperature dropped rapidly as darkness fell, and the cold became even more unbearable.
Belisarius stood at the edge of their makeshift camp, his eyes fixed on the distant canyon. The barbarians had disappeared from sight, but he knew they were out there, just beyond the ridge. His breath misted in the air, the cold biting at his exposed skin, but he didn't move. He stood like a statue, watching, waiting.
"Do you think there's a village in there?" Zazz asked quietly, his voice barely audible over the howling wind.
"There has to be," Belisarius replied without turning. "The scouting party we've been following wouldn't go to all this trouble unless they were returning to something."
"Could be a small camp," Targeld offered, his eyes narrowing as he looked toward the canyon. "Or a supply depot. Barbarians don't just settle in one place for long, especially not in a place like this."
"Either way, we need to find out," Belisarius said firmly. "We'll watch tonight, then move in closer at first light."
The night passed slowly, the cold seeping into their bones despite their layers of furs and the small fire they dared to build. Each member of the group took turns keeping watch, though the landscape remained still. The wind howled through the canyon, the only sound in the otherwise silent Wastelands.
Daeva stood watch with his back to the fire, his draconic eyes scanning the dark horizon. His breath came in slow, steady puffs, misting in the frozen air. He hadn't spoken much since they had entered barbarian territory, his instincts honed on the dangers that lay ahead.
"I don't like this," Azrael muttered from his place by the fire, his eyes darting toward the canyon. "Feels like we're being watched."
"Of course we're being watched," Targeld replied, his tone matter-of-fact. "The barbarians know we're out here. They've probably known for days."
"Then why haven't they attacked?" Zazz asked, his voice tight with unease.
Targeld shrugged. "Could be waiting for reinforcements. Could be testing us. Barbarians don't fight like regular armies. They're more... opportunistic."
"That's what worries me," Kael said, shaking his head. "Opportunistic means they're waiting for us to slip up."
"That's why we're not slipping up," Belisarius interjected, his voice calm but commanding. "We stick to the plan. We observe, gather information, and then we act. No mistakes."
The group fell silent after that, the weight of the mission pressing down on them like the cold itself. They were alone out here, deep in enemy territory with no backup, no reinforcements. If things went wrong, there would be no escape.
The biting chill of the early morning air was sharper than ever as the group readied themselves for the day. The sky remained a dull grey, and the Wastelands seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction, their desolate beauty punctuated only by the stark white of the snow. As the group broke their camp and prepared to move out, the atmosphere was heavy with anticipation. Ikit had promised important information, and they awaited his report with bated breath.
Belisarius was the first to approach Ikit as the ratman reemerged from the shadows. The group's anticipation was palpable as they gathered around him, their breaths forming misty clouds in the frigid air. Belisarius's expression was a mix of expectation and concern.
"Well?" Belisarius asked, his voice low but urgent. "What did you find?"
Ikit took a moment to gather his thoughts, his sharp eyes flicking over the assembled group. "Settlement different-different, not the barbarians," he began, his voice barely audible over the wind. "It's single tribe, not all of them."
Belisarius's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"Tribe preparing yes-yes, but not main force," Ikit explained. "Other tribes already on way south. Massive horde from Frostbane."
The realization hit the group like a cold wave. The scale of the impending invasion was far greater than they had anticipated.
"The capital of Frostbane," Belisarius repeated, his mind racing. "That's where the bulk of their forces are coming from?"
"Yes-yes," Ikit confirmed. "Frostbane central hub, all tribes uniting before launching attack. Lone tribe-tribe just small part of much larger horde."
Daeva's eyes narrowed as he processed the information. "How many are we talking about? What's their current status?"
"No numbers-numbers," Ikit said, "Gathering every available warrior and resource. Tribes consolidating their strength, massive push south-south."
"The urgency of this situation can't be overstated," Belisarius said, his tone firm. "We need to get this information back to Arendale immediately. The city needs to prepare for a full-scale invasion."
Kael, who had been listening intently, spoke up. "What's our next move then? Do we try to follow the main horde or try to get back to Arendale with the news?"
Belisarius considered the options, his mind working through the implications. "We don't have the resources to follow the horde directly. Our priority is to get this information back to Aegisgrad. We need to warn them and help them prepare for what's coming."
Targeld nodded in agreement. "We should move quickly. The longer we wait, the closer the horde gets to Aegisgrad."
The group began to prepare for their departure, packing their gear and making final adjustments to their supplies. The harsh reality of their situation was setting in, and there was an unspoken urgency in their actions.
As they set out once more, the landscape around them remained a stark, icy expanse. The snow-covered terrain was both beautiful and treacherous, and every step required careful navigation. The group moved with a renewed sense of purpose, their previous caution tempered by the gravity of their mission.
The journey back was grueling. The Wastelands were unforgiving, the cold numbing their fingers and toes despite their layers of clothing. The terrain was challenging, with deep snowdrifts and uneven ice formations slowing their progress. Yet, the knowledge of the approaching horde drove them forward.
Belisarius led the way, his determination evident in every stride. He occasionally glanced back to ensure the group was keeping up, their faces etched with the same mix of resolve and concern. The cold was relentless, but their focus was unwavering.
"Stay alert," Belisarius called out over the howling wind. "We're deep in enemy territory. We need to be ready for anything."
As the days passed, the group maintained a steady pace, pushing through the harsh conditions with grim determination. Each night was a battle against the cold, their campfires offering only minimal relief from the frigid temperatures. Despite their exhaustion, they took turns keeping watch, remaining vigilant for any signs of danger.
The landscape around them remained largely unchanged—an endless sea of white with jagged peaks jutting into the sky. The quiet of the Wastelands was occasionally broken by the distant sound of shifting ice or the cry of a lone animal. But overall, the silence was oppressive, a constant reminder of their isolation.
The group shared few words during their journey back, each member absorbed in their own thoughts. The enormity of the situation weighed heavily on them, and the urgency of their mission was a constant driving force.
One evening, as the group huddled around a small fire, the conversation turned to their mission and the impending invasion.
"I've never heard of anything like this," Daeva said quietly, his gaze fixed on the flames. "The scale of their mobilization is staggering."
"We're talking about a massive force," Targeld agreed. "Frostbane is the seat of power for three of the strongest tribes, and their consolidation of strength is a serious threat. Aegisgrad needs to be prepared for a full-scale assault."
"I hope the city is ready," Kael said, his tone tinged with concern. "We've heard of the strength of their forces. It won't be easy to defend against such a horde."
The group fell silent, each member lost in their own thoughts. The reality of the situation was sinking in, and the weight of their mission was a heavy burden. The cold was unrelenting, but the knowledge of the approaching threat kept them moving forward.
The journey continued, and with each passing day, the group grew closer to their destination. The landscape began to change subtly, with signs of civilization becoming more apparent. The harsh, barren expanse of the Wastelands was giving way to more varied terrain, and the signs of human activity increased.
Finally, as the group neared the edge of the Wastelands, the city of Arendale came into view—a beacon of hope amidst the desolation. The sight of the city, with its walls and towers, filled the group with a renewed sense of purpose. They quickened their pace, eager to deliver their report and warn the city of the impending invasion.
As they approached the city gates, the reality of their mission hit them once more. The cold, the danger, and the uncertainty of their journey were all behind them, but the challenge of preparing the human kingdoms for the coming onslaught lay ahead.
Belisarius took a deep breath as they reached the gates, his gaze fixed on the city. "We've done all we can. Now it's up to the city to act on this information."
The group moved through the gates, ready to face whatever awaited them. The journey had been arduous, but their resolve was stronger than ever. The impending invasion was a formidable challenge, but with their information and determination, they were prepared to meet it head-on.