On the last day of the last month in the Dual Moon Calendar year 649, snowflakes danced in the sky, almost blurring one’s vision. Yet just like every year at this time, in a small town called Kolcha at the continent’s northern border, people were celebrating a carnival.

This carnival honored the passing year and hoped for next year’s harvest. Though Kolcha’s harvest had been poor this year, everyone forgot their hardships now, drinking heartily.

“Uncle Graice! Tell us about your dragon-slaying adventure!”

Clad in a grayish-white, tattered robe, beneath his cloak lay a face carved by time’s blade. His voice was slightly hoarse, but whenever a child asked about his past, his words unconsciously carried a trace of pride—like a child boasting about acing an exam.

“Back then, I…”

Like an old man reminiscing under a sunset, he rambled on. The children soon grew impatient and ran off, leaving Graice alone at the bar’s entrance, watching snowflakes drift beyond the steps.

“Lord Graice!”

Not long after, an elderly man with graying temples pushed open the bar door. At first sight of Graice, his expression twisted as if spotting a revolting insect he longed to crush. But duty as Kolcha’s mayor forced him to mask the disdain, his tone shifting to respect.

“…”

Graice didn’t respond, staring blankly at the falling snow as if asleep.

“Lord Graice!!”

The mayor raised his voice sharply when met with silence.

“Ah… Huh? Mayor?”

Graice didn’t even know the mayor’s name. He’d only recently been exiled here.

Yes, Graice was exiled. As a mage, he’d made a minor error during a divination that enraged the king. It was a ritual guaranteed to succeed—yet he failed.

“Mage Graice is too old to divine anymore. Time to retire!”

Though not officially exile, it was nearly the same. Unless he could restart his life, he’d die in this town. Here, his lifelong skills were useless. To survive, he labored, but his mage’s frail body lagged behind others. While farmers rested after work, he’d barely begun. He survived only on the mayor’s charity.

“Lord Graice, I heard snow wolves appeared east of town. Could you handle it, Mage?”

Snow wolves roamed the northern border, especially fierce on snowy days. The heavy snow camouflaged them perfectly, letting them sneak into unwalled towns for winter food. They weren’t strong—two or three farmers could drive them off. Sending Graice was pure humiliation.

But Graice couldn’t refuse. This wasn’t the Empire’s capital; he was no longer the famed archmage. Now, he was just an ordinary magic-for-hire—or less.

“Understood!”

Graice stood up, trembling slightly. His thin robes offered no warmth. The cold air seeped in instantly, chilling his body.

“Alright, Mage?”

A sharp voice cut through the wind. Graice calmly shook his head, pulled his hood lower, and walked into the freezing snow.

“Is he really okay? Graice looks ready to collapse…”

The bar owner had listened behind the door. Seeing Graice’s frail frame, he worried aloud.

“Dead? Good riddance! He eats my food but does no work! And this isn’t snow wolves!”

“Huh? Not snow wolves? Polar bears?”

“Who knows? It’s freezing—let’s go inside!”

***

Unlike the lively bar, Kolcha’s east side was desolate. Designated farmland, it lay buried under endless white snow—a blank plain hiding a greater danger than wolves: irrigation ditches. Shallow and dry now, they vanished under the snow, ready to trip the careless.

Such a fall was the worst risk when facing wild beasts.

“Fence?”

Near the field’s edge, Graice spotted a toppled fence, barely snow-covered. These fences prevented falls—but now broken, they signaled intruders.

After inspecting closely, Graice realized it couldn’t be snow wolves. Their tracks resembled dogs’, but these were broad, bear-like prints.

“Polar bear?”

A winter beast, far deadlier. Villagers’ weapons couldn’t pierce its hide. Unlike wolves, it fought fiercer when attacked. Only seasoned mercenaries could handle one.

Graice drew his staff from his cloak—a short, wooden rod of common firewood. But the runes he’d carved made it a functional mage’s tool.

“Detection Spell!”

He chanted an obscure incantation. Nothing changed visibly, but to Graice, the world shifted. Footprint heat glowed as dark stains; scents became visible trails.

With few people around, he easily traced the bear’s path—to Kolcha’s slums.

“A bad omen…”

At the slums, a massive polar bear sniffed a low house. Though expecting a bear, its size shocked him. Lying down, it towered over the rooftops. If Graice guessed right, it was nearly his age.

This wasn’t just a polar bear. In Gloria’s mercenary guild, it was the Storm Bear King—a bounty rivaling a mass murderer’s. Hunts always ended in bloodshed.

“Arcane Missile!”

Graice swung his staff. A purple, translucent bolt struck the beast. It whirled around, distracted from its search.

The attack did little damage. Graice only aimed to drive it from the slums. Through the Detection Spell’s lingering effect, he saw human scents mixed with the bear’s—poor folk exiled here by the mayor, barred from the carnival. Fighting here meant casualties.

Not out of pity—Graice’s conscience wasn’t that cheap. But casualties would give the mayor leverage to worsen his exile.

The bear fixated on this easy prey. Goal achieved, Graice turned and ran.

Its interest flared instantly. With earth-shaking steps, the Storm Bear King charged after him.

Graice knew he couldn’t outrun it. Bears were faster, and this one had a snow-swift passive magic.

“Magic Shield!”

A blue, eggshell-like barrier formed around him. He stopped, heart pounding. Running further would exhaust him—no strength left to cast spells.

He turned just as a giant maw lunged for his head. No time to dodge, he covered his skull and dropped.

“Boom!”

The impact shook the ground. Snow sprayed meters high like white waves.

“Cough!”

The Magic Shield held, barely. But the bear gave no reprieve. Blood-soaked jaws snapped at the barrier. Each bite sent mental shocks through Graice, making him cough blood. The scent excited the beast. Its red eyes glowed like the Grim Reaper’s.

“I won’t… die so easily!”

Graice struggled up, staff aimed. As the shield shattered like glass, he finished his incantation.

“Arcane Blast!”

The bear’s open mouth caught the massive projectile. Instinctively, it swallowed.

“Roar—”

It reared up, clutching its throat. Magical energy erupted from within, engulfing half its face. Blood splattered like crimson fireworks.

“Boom!”

The lifeless Storm Bear King collapsed, motionless.

“Seems my strength remains…”

Graice sighed. Then blood gushed from his mouth like a breached dam.

“No… can’t!”

"I can't die here..."

He tried to stand but had no strength left. The battle had utterly drained Graice's life force. Though barely forty, he now resembled an old man with one foot in the grave, unable to even lift himself up.

Struggling to rise but failing each time, Graice finally gave up. It was just like after that failed divination, when he'd abandoned all defense.

"Dying here... heh... what a disgrace!"

Fireworks lit the sky, reflecting in Graice's eyes. They reminded him of his first carnival in Gloria. Back then, young and naive, he'd soared to the top ten of the Magic Council with his magical talent. He'd been so brilliant, but who could have guessed such a glorious start would end like this?

"I wish... I wish I could start over..."

After whispering his final wish, his hands fell limply to the ground. His self-crafted staff rolled far away.

Graice Rhode, hailed as the most prodigious mage among the Ten Mages and known as the Prophet of Hope, drew his final curtain in a place so obscure it barely appeared on any map.

But true endings never come for those blessed by the Fate Goddess!