Side Story: What Happened Before the Road to the Snow Country (XIII)

A long stone road ran down at a thirty-degree slant, like a gray river pouring into the earth.

“This is…” Eli stared at the uncanny architecture ahead, the danger rising like a storm tide in his gut.

He kept quiet. For a small, selfish reason, he didn’t tell Varna. The thought sat in his chest like a pebble under the tongue.

Greed shone on the faces ahead, glittering like coins in torchlight. He couldn’t halt the march; forcing a stop would kick a hornet’s nest of resentment.

He knew that sting. As a kid, he had waded through that crowd-hate more times than winter winds.

Back then, the old Headmaster wrapped him in calm words, a blanket in a drafty room, carrying him through those loneliest years. Now…

He didn’t care about these gazes much. Still, a fox lives longer by stepping soft. Caution kept him warm.

So he layered more defensive spells on Edlyn, like quilts before a blizzard.

Edlyn felt his little weave against her skin. Confusion pricked her like cold rain. “What are you… doing?”

“Mm. Protecting you, silly.” Eli smiled, a hearth-fire in the dark.

She rolled her eyes, the gesture a tossed pebble in a still pond. She didn’t argue. Her freedom had been cinched to Eli’s side like a tethered kite; what voice did a kite have in the wind?

The deep road ahead tugged at old memories, a cave-breath from the Abyss. The same bones in the stone.

She rubbed her temple, chasing a thorn. “Don’t tell me this was modeled after that.”

Edlyn sighed and shifted her gaze, like moving a lantern to a new wall.

If this place took that thing as its mold, the path would be long as winter nights. With human legs this slow, the deepest point was an hour away at least. The idea made her yawn, a cat in a sunbeam. She looped an arm around Eli’s neck, natural as rain finding a river.

What could she say. Habit was a creeping vine; once it climbed the wall, it owned the house. After all that happened, after living together, after last night sleeping in someone’s arms like a drowsy fox, the sharp-edged Edlyn now dozed with her cheek on Eli, careless as a kid.

What could she do. Call him a walking stove and be done with it.

No real loss… probably.

Eli felt the small shift, a leaf turning toward light. He smiled, a silent agreement. He steadied his hold, a firmer hand on the reins, so the road’s sway wouldn’t jostle her dreams.

The deeper they walked, the more regular the tunnel grew. Stone shaved itself clean, settling into a perfect triangle. Strange drawings crawled along both sides like sleeping snakes. The slanted walls pressed in, like mountains leaning to listen, and a weight sat on every chest.

They stepped into a flat plaza, a stone lake after the channel.

As they entered, the torches around them flared in the same breath, like a ring of eyes snapping open. The place whispered wrongness.

Zack’s hand slid to the hilt on his back, a wolf baring teeth. His gaze prowled the edges. He moved closer to Eli. “Master Mage, do you think…”

“It’s strange.” Eli’s voice was a low bell. “I warned you. Now get ready. We don’t know what will crawl out.” He tapped his staff to the floor, a knuckle on a door.

“Everyone, please don’t panic,” Varna called, voice cutting like a whistle in fog. “We’ll keep you safe to a point. Work with our commands.”

“Mm.” Eli watched the setup and nodded, a small stone placed just so. At least this guy did his part.

They’d packed wards and talismans, charms against rot and ghosts, like salt on a windowsill.

After some prodding, the truth uncoiled. Other ruins of Birand had done this too.

Miasma sometimes seeped up, a black mist with cold teeth. It didn’t always kill. But if you let it sit, it burrowed like a worm and left ruin behind.

Eli glanced at Varna’s helpless face. “Your Mit chases these ruins just to fatten itself?”

The stray question hit Varna like a thrown pebble. He blinked, then peeked at Zack in the distance.

Zack gave a small nod, a signal lantern in the dark. “It’s no big secret. The high seats across the continent know what Mit wants. You didn’t, Master Mage?”

Eli scratched his head, a boy caught napping.

The Mit royal family… he honestly didn’t care. Too far. Before awakening, he never read Mit’s records. Why would he? A high mage drowning in research barely had air; who had spare breath to track every country’s gossip?

“Heh. It’s fine.” Varna hurried to smooth the moment, words like oil on water. “It’s not a secret, really. The royals just don’t want it shouted from rooftops. They tacitly allow it, but they don’t approve.”

“Oh? What’s so weighty?” Eli eyed his solemn face, a judge about to read a verdict.

“We want to know how Birand died,” Varna said.

“…,” Eli paused, a string snapped in his mind. He had forgotten that thread.

Come to think of it, he had no clear memory. Histories wrote it with a fogged brush.

Across nations and races, the books sketched the holy war’s end with bare bones. The Hero defeated the Demon King, rallied everyone to raze Overlord City, purged the Demon Race, and peace returned. Then the Hero’s trail vanished like footprints in rain.

Varna’s words pried open a box. Eli felt curiosity flare. How did the him-from-before die?

“Mit’s records are the fullest,” Varna said, voice like a candle steadying. “After the Hero cleared the Demon Race, he hid in the countryside with his lover. But the nations kept stirring. Land disputes burned like brushfires.”

“So they kept seeking the Hero for help. And then… nothing.” Varna sighed, an autumn leaf letting go.

Yeah, right.

One extra sentence over the others, and that’s “fullest”? Please.

Give me a break.

——

In her sleep, Edlyn frowned, a petal closing against cold.

Mist wrapped all sides, a gray sea. She walked as if on black liquid, a quiet mirror holding her weight.

She felt lost. Emotion came first, like a child in a crowd. Then the action followed. She stepped toward a clear dripping sound, a silver metronome in the dark.

It was her only thread in this world, a single star above a night field.

As she drew near, the fog thinned like old lace. The left side opened first: her days as the Demon King, Pandora—power like thunder in the palm, cities broken with a turn of the hand, authority sharp as a crown of knives.

On the right, the years as Edlyn unfolded like clothes on a line. A stubborn little girl, chin up, washing and cooking, tending her sister, carrying life like a bucket of water.

Edlyn went hazy, a candle wavering.

The two scenes drifted closer, two rivers joining, until the edges touched and ripples crossed.

Two thoughts braided into a towering him—the same bold cut of a blade, the same martial grace—but with eyes cold as winter stone.

Pandora crossed her arms, iron over silk, and watched the Edlyn-self with a chill gaze.

Edlyn said nothing. Emotion surged first, a bitter wave. She clenched her teeth and stared at herself.

A soft laugh chimed nearby, a glass bell in fog, and tugged her head around. Another Edlyn stood there, younger by a touch, dressed as in that carriage day.

Denim shorts. A white top flashing a sliver of snow-pale skin. A lively single ponytail. A girl’s bright smile, spring sunlight over water.

Edlyn fell quiet. Thoughts crowded her skull like birds in a cage. She pressed a hand to her head, unsure which to release.

The two figures shifted again, a stage changing scenes, forcing her eyes up.

Pandora—her Demon King self—now stood with one horn broken, body cut with a dozen wounds, sword-pierces and spell-burns, a storm’s aftermath. Blood ran from her brow, stinging her eyes red. She roared, a last thunder, and a sudden figure cleaved off her head. Death came like a falling gate.

The savior of all races smiled a stomach-turning smile. He wiped his blade clean as if it were a ritual. He lifted her head high, then waded into her army, a meat grinder chewing through flesh and hope.

Facing Birand’s clowning grin smeared with blood, her anger and fear rose like twin fires.

On the other side, the younger Edlyn nestled in the arms of a boy with the Hero’s same face. They looked at each other like two halves of a moon, eyes full of tethered longing.

When danger leapt, that boy stepped in front of her like a shield of oak, taking every arrow meant for her skin.

They held each other. They soothed each other. Two moths sharing one lamp.

Edlyn felt a click inside, recognition tapping the door. But the feeling slipped like a fish; she couldn’t grip the tail.

She studied the two endings, her face clouding like a stormed-over lake.

Something slid out of her heart, a shadow fleeing. Something else flowed in, warm as tea in cold hands, a care that filled hollows.

She turned. Behind her stood her parents, both with gentle smiles, lanterns lit in their eyes.

Edlyn froze. She reached out, hands like leaves seeking sun.

They faded, slow as snow melting. They blurred, then reshaped into Eli. He opened his arms and caught her before she fell. His chuckle was a small fire. “Silly girl. I’ve got you.”

Edlyn closed her eyes and let the warmth seep in, a quilt after frost. Maybe… she understood.

This would be where everything ends.

So she thought.