The crackling of the makeshift fire was the only sound filling the icy void of the mountains. Ethan, wrapped in tattered rags, huddled close to the unsteady flames. The fire had gone out so many times that he'd lost count—and along with it, his patience. The cold was a constant enemy, subtle yet relentless, stealing his warmth with a silent hunger. The thin air burned his lungs, and the snow beneath him felt less like a natural phenomenon and more like a funeral shroud.
He chewed slowly on a piece of meat—something that resembled a grotesque cross between a rabbit and an iguana. It was his first decent meal in days. The taste was vile, but his empty stomach left no room for complaints. The silence surrounding him was almost comforting… until the sound began.
A whistle.
Shrill. Offbeat. Completely out of tune. Not a melody, but a sonic provocation.
Ethan closed his eyes and sighed heavily.
— "Of course… it can only be that lunatic Sorcerer." — he muttered.
And sure enough, there he was. The Sorcerer floated into view through the frost-laden trees, his distorted silhouette bending in the cold mist. The whistling stopped as abruptly as it had begun, as if he'd just realized how irritating it was. His mask wore an exaggerated grin, mocking the very idea of peace.
Ethan said nothing. He kept eating, eyes fixed on the fire.
The crackle of burning wood was the only sound between them.
For a moment, the Sorcerer just stood there, unmoving, staring. But, of course, his patience with silence was nonexistent.
— "Ah, young one!" — he exclaimed, his voice overflowing with artificial enthusiasm. — "Your best friend in this desolate world has arrived! You won't believe it—or maybe you will—but I just took down a level 5 beast! We're safer now, right?"
Nothing. Ethan chewed in silence.
— "You know, there are some fascinating spots ahead. A frozen valley, for instance. And after that, a fortress! White told me about it—you remember White, the irritating crow? By the way, he's the one who locked the cursed book again. At least no one else will get hexed. Right, Ethan?"
Still nothing.
The Sorcerer sighed, dramatically.
— "You know, kid, you were way more fun when you got here. Wasn't that long ago either… what, twenty years? A blink in cosmic terms!"
That broke Ethan's resolve.
He looked up, eyes narrowing with confusion.
— "Twenty… years? Are you serious?" — His voice trembled with disbelief.
The Sorcerer's mask froze for a moment. Then the grin stretched even wider, and he burst into laughter—wild, uncontrolled laughter that echoed through the frostbitten trees.
— "HA! You should've seen your face!" — he gasped, clutching his sides. — "No, of course not. You've been here for… let's see… 1,246 years!"
Ethan's mind shattered.
— "What?" — the word escaped as a whisper. The half-eaten meat slipped from his numb fingers.
— "Oh yeah!" — the Sorcerer continued, nonchalant. — "The Magnalith loop? We were trapped in that mess for centuries. I thought you knew."
The words struck like ice to the skull. Ethan couldn't breathe.
1,246 years.
It was impossible. It had to be impossible.
The Sorcerer stretched, cracking his neck audibly.
— "Anyway! Let's get moving." — he clapped his hands. — "Now that I've dealt with the beast, others might come sniffing around. And trust me, we haven't seen the worst this world has to offer. Magnalith was basically civilized compared to what's out there. Where there are imps, there are demons. And trust me… we've seen plenty of imps."
The Sorcerer's words blurred together as Ethan sat frozen, thoughts spiraling in freefall. He barely registered when the maniac grabbed his collar and dragged him across the snowy ground.
— "Come on, kiddo! Can't waste time sulking. Time waits for no one, except us… apparently."
Ethan's body was too shocked to resist. His mind circled the same horrifying thought:
1,246 years.
Could it be true?
No.
It's a lie.
It has to be.
But the Sorcerer's nonchalance was absolute.
The ground gave way beneath them, revealing a vast frozen valley. The snow stretched endlessly across a glass-like surface—a lake frozen solid. Below the ice, dark shadows drifted lazily, their movements unnatural.
The Sorcerer stopped, releasing Ethan with a careless thud.
— "Welcome to the Silent Ice Valley!" — he declared, arms wide. — "Don't worry, Ethan. If the ice breaks, we'll freeze to death before we drown!"
Ethan lay there, sprawled in the snow, staring at the sky's featureless gray expanse.
— "One thousand… two hundred… and forty-six years," — he whispered, the words tasting like poison.
The Sorcerer smiled beneath his mask.
And the world kept spinning, indifferent to their shared madness.