Prologue: the First Night of Winter

Ayil whimpered, sniffling and shuffling his body on the cold floor. The thin rags he was wrapped in did little to obstruct the chill seeping through the cracks of his decrepit hideout.

'Stop moving,' he told himself. 'You're making it worse, you idiot.' Quietly, his body seized trembling as he repeated these words internally.

Just then, as his consciousness was beginning to catch a sliver of sleep, a noise started him awake. "Footfalls," Ayil said, alerted, standing stealthily.

He moved to the corner of the room, the wall slowly sucking out the little warmth from his back. Gnashing his teeth painfully, he stopped himself from trembling and succumbing to winter's sinister winter's touch.

An annoyed breathe came. It smelled of rot. Of magic. "Are you certain this spot's secured?" the owner of the voice was thin, almost sickly in his size. The little light the man commanded in his palm illuminated thick strands of his greying hair. "By KalloSyth's Slimy Arse, if we get exposed because of your slothful nature, I will have your soul."

"If you would stop flashing that infernal speck of light," the old mage's companion said, clicking his tongue, "we could get straight to business. This is a good spot. Especially if there are rats lurking about."

Ayil's heart lurched, as the cold eyes of the second man swept the large room. 'Does he know I'm here...?' he thought, cold sweat pouring down his face.

Every cell in his body screamed at him to run far away from the two men. Those who knew of sorcery—even the most minuscule of arcane knowledges—did not live long in the North. And these two reeked of the worst kind. Kallomancy.

The ghastly mage snorted in disdain. "Damned beast," he said, head-snapping side to side, "just tell me. Did you bring my share? Well? Speak!"

"Why calm yourself, you rat. Be thankful, for your information was most useful during our little venture," the dead-eyed man said idly, rummaging for something on his person. "The Mother is most pleased with your help. Rejoice."

Grabbing a bag of some sort swiftly from his companion, the mage shone a dull light to inspect its contents. Ayil could almost hear the man's heartbeat with greed as he grinned, cackling gleefully.

"Rejoice, I shall!" the mage smacked the much taller man on the shoulder, he took a step to leave. "I assume with this our dealings are complete?" coldly he continued, "We are to never meet again. Understood?"

Long after the old crone of a mage left, did the second man answer. "...Of course. I don't have a hobby of indulging in necrophilia," he whispered almost too quiet for Ayil to hear. No, that wasn't right. It felt as though the man whispered straight into his ear. "What about you, boy?"

Ayil's breathe escaped him. Drawn out by the monstrous red eyes glaring through his very being. He felt his trousers drip with the last of his dignity.

"Oh my, ammonia? Did you lose control of your bladder?" the monster asked, taking long strides forward. He stopped, just in front of Ayil's pale face. It hummed appreciatively. "What a handsome lad. A bit on the lanky side, but I suppose I can work with that. And..."

The thing's expectant expression fell to melancholy, it sighed, breathe smelled of iron. But it didn't hold the same stink as the mage. "Ah, disappointing. How can you be this unloved by TaraLoth? You're even worse than that fool... You saw him, didn't you? That disgusting old man that dares to steal from God?"

Ayil stiffly nodded, his mind barely functional. He, for sure, was certain he was half-dead.

"Well," the thing said, smiling softly, "Dare I say, this is love at first sight? I fear I know not the reason, but I must have you. Or at least give you a chance."

Terror jolted down Ayil's body, 'No!' he yelled internally, as his lips and tongue failed to move, 'not again! Not again...!'

The smile on the monster's face widened eerily. "Fret not, boy. I assure you your chastity is safe... No. Our relationship shall be even purer than lovers, should you endure the hardship," it said, turning on its heel. "Follow. On this night, blood shall fall on your hands... though they are plenty stained already.

A thorough shaking away from fainting, Ayil failed to respond to the call. His skin simply seethed with the most primeval of fears.

The red-eyed beast paused, looking over its shoulder. "Come with, boy. Don't disappoint me further, lest you seek death," it said mirthlessly. "Hurry."

Ayil's knee buckled as he put a foot forward. Slowly, with swaying steps, he followed.

Outside, the winds howled with the dreadful sighs of winter. The cold bit through Ayil's skin, down to his bone, instilling some semblance of sense into his mind.

Trembling, he raised his head. There, in the distance, strolling through the silent street was his new owner. Should he run, escape might be possible.

'Stop your delusions,' he thought, adding pace to his steps. 'Death is certain if you run now.'

He was sure of it. Even if he were to escape the beast, the Inverted Souls were sure to track his scent now. He'd been too close to magic for far too long. He was Marked. Ayil could smell it on him. 'Did that monster-like bastard do this?' he wondered helplessly.

Turning into an alley, the beast finally spoke after minutes of mind-numbing silence. "Lad, what do they call you?" it asked, stopping. "I am Desoll S'aryj."

"Ah—" he choked but quickly managed to catch his breath. "Ayil. Just Ayil."

Desoll cocked a brow playfully. "Oh! Wonderful, no last name," he said, knocking on an ancient door at the end of the alley—or rather very shady street. "I like you, little Ayl. However, you are to refer to me as 'lord' henceforth."

Before Ayil could mutter a word in affirmation, a small opening slid open on the old door; letting out the dense rot within the building. "What business do ye have 'ere?" a voice so deep, it grated Ayil's ears came through the peephole. "Well? Speak. Or get lost, you zombie!"

"I assure you I'm not here for your elixirs," Desoll said, presumably annoyed by the fact that the man thought of him as another druggie. "I'm here for my friend, Frorah."

There was a brief silence, then a cold scoff. "The Master is busy, ye see," the man said dismissively, closing the opening.

Desoll gently placed his hand on the door. It creaked, as black distortions rippled from his palm, before falling to the filth wrought floor as a brownish-red mud.

Guarding himself against the harsh light coming from within the building with his arm, Ayil stumbled back. He was as surprised as the man Desoll had just conversed with.

"Let's try this again, shall we?" Desoll asked, scanning the room as he entered. There were three men, all sturdy in size, all equally surprised by witnessing such reckless use of magic.

One of the men soon snapped out of it. His face warped in anger as he shot toward Desoll, sword unsheathed and blaring to meet flesh. "Just what 'ave you done...!" he rasped.

Calmly, Desoll seemed to take a short step but seamlessly stood at the end of the room. Black tendrils slowly spiraled out of the monster's back, then blurred into a dark nebulous around the shop-like keep. Once the appendages slithered back into his body, everything in the room fell to pieces. Furniture became lumps of wood and metal, man turned to pools of blood and flesh.

Ayil gulped, wide-eyed. Never, in all his seventeen years of surviving in the ruthless streets of Milar, had he seen death that instant.

"Do you want to live?" Desoll suddenly asked, euphoria washing over his face. He pointed to a door just beside him. "If you do, kill everyone within the inner chambers."

Ayil cowered beneath Desoll's vibrant eyes. "I-I can't...!" he stood, prepared to run.

"I see," Desoll murmured softly, "instead of fighting experience men, you'd rather take your chances with Inverted? Interesting. Really. But do you truly believe I can't reach you?"

Ayil froze in his tracks.

"Let's stop playing. You know you cannot escape my claws, is that not why you followed?" Desoll said, opening the door. "You also seem to understand the terror Inverted carry. They're monsters, worse than any of my kind. Your only choice is through here."

A ball of bile crept up Ayil's throat. 'Is dying really that bad?' he thought, walking to one of the pools of blood and picking up a sharp shard of steel. 'No. I won't die. Not before I feel the touch of a woman or eat a meal that isn't barely cooked rat flesh, or float in the embrace of a warm bed!'

He passed through the door, behind him, he heard the monster chuckle about what a fun night it was. Ayil shook his head fiercely. The corridor he traversed was narrow and short. It seemed there was only one door further ahead.

Gently placing his head on the door, he listened for movement. Nothing. His heart thumped as he peeped through the keyhole. Though his vision was narrowed, he was sure the place seemed empty.

Ayil breathed, he just needed to confirm the room was truly empty and he'd be safe. The doorknob twisted open with a click. He pulled the door open and...

Empty. In the first place, this seemed to be where they cooked up their products, and they didn't seem to operate at night—strangely enough. 'Maybe everyone was getting ready to leave or already left and only the guards remained...'

With nimble feet, Ayil stepped forward but was flung back by a terrible force. Light exploded in his retina and his back crashed into the wooden wall, splintering it. The world upturned, blood clogged his lungs and throat.

Through blurred vision, he searched for his attacker. Unsteady images of a dark-clad figure stabilized to form the image of an unsightly old man. 'I should've guessed...' Ayil thought.

The mage spat on him as he sat leaning against the wall. Then turned to leave, but couldn't. He glared down his heel, which was being gripped tightly by Ayil.

"Bastard! Do you want to swim in Rithere that bad!" he opened his palm toward Ayil.

Using his dying strength, Ayil sliced through the old man's thin flesh with the razor he acquired. The mage yelled, falling to his back.

Without hesitation, Ayil lunged at the man's throat as though he were a feral beast, sinking his teeth into the man's skin; sinew; cartilage. And ripping it all off. Blood splattered onto his face as the mage fought for his life. His body trembled before stiffening.

Ayil heard Desoll's sprightly footsteps make way. Through the corner of his eyes, he saw him grin ear to ear. "Not bad," he said with some strange sense of pride. "But it would only be fair if I subtracted some points. See here, if I hadn't weakened our dear friend's first spell you would, without a doubt, have died. Secondly, I nullified the curse he was inflicting on you as he died..."

He grabbed Ayil by the arm and dragged him up. "Of course, because of that splendid finish. You pass the first test. Congratulations, even if it was just barely. Rejoice."

Groggily, Ayil vomited blood, staining his boots. "...Th-thank you, my lord."