All that wisdom for what...

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Arthur Ishviel POV...

I open my eyes again, laying flat on the ground. My eyes are looking to the side, a mild headache interrupting my thoughts. A small layer of snow has already piled up on top of me, letting me know just how frigid Avonrane Crag is. Delightful...

I can see a pair of sandals near my head, so I turn my head to look up. Huh... he kinda looks like the guy in my sword. Wait, no... that's definitely him. Old, decrepit, etc... his white hair nearly bleds in with the snow, but not as well as my own white hair.

"I had thought you required no explicit guidance from how you watched my technique. I assumed that since you possessed the aura I... we, possessed so long ago, that you were chosen," He starts, crouching down and gesturing up towards the top of the cliff. "I see now how I was wrong."

I cough lightly, rolling onto my back. The mans form flickers lightly, darting a few feet away. He's looking away, hands clasped behind his back as he looks at the sky. Like some wise old master... which guess he is.

Rolling on my stomach, I grasp at the ground in an effort to pull forward. I leave a trail of blood on the snow as I crawl, a red path of progress. It stings with a dull pain that reminds me of the immense cold which I'm surrounded by, as if I could forget.

The man seems... different, like he thinks less of me than he last did. Don't tell me I disappointed ghost-sword-master-grandpa-man!

"You don't have it in you to survive, child..." He says, turning around. Strangely, he doesn't leave footprints in the snow. "Wouldn't it be easier to just... give up? To let the soil of the earth finally harvest its claim upon you, surely it would be more graceful than this... struggling."

"You lack the luck of those chosen by god. You are simply an average man out of your depth. You can't prove anything other than ineptitude. I want you to succeed, but it's a fruitless endeavor."

God... 

I keep crawling, struggling onto my knees before roughly standing up. I don't need this, any of this. I left surrender in my last life... at least, I hope. He looks surprised that I have the strength to stand, as am I.

"Surely you don't intend to persevere. You don't know the path up the crag from here, nor do you know an alternative route. You will be stuck in this eternal winter for-"

I interrupt him with a left jab, causing him to take a step back. I had expected it just pass through him, but it actually impacted him. He stumbles back, as if he was of equal strength to me. Maybe... maybe he's just a hallucination.

"I don't care."

Regardless of what could happen, I trudge forth and deeper down the path. I believe that I'm at the bottom of the crag, although that consequently means that I'm furthest from where I need to be. A crag is an inapt description of this place... it just reminds me of a smaller canyon.

I walk forward more, tripping on a branch and falling down again. Every part of me hurts, although it's slowly getting more numb. I circulate my mana throughout my body to stop the possibility of frostbite.

My lungs feel heavy and tense as I stand up once again, as if the air inside them had become frosted. Even my hair is beginning to freeze. I resume walking, although with a distinct sense of urgency. My head feels cloudy, like I'm one step away from a good long nap.

I stumble slightly as I walk, feeling less and less of my legs. I send a pulse of mana through my body again to push off the frost, but I may already be too far to recover with mana alone. I need actual consistent fire, not a flash that lasts a second.

The mouth of a cave becomes visible in front of me, so I enter and walk further down. The cave ends shortly, a wall with a handprint indented onto it... kinda reminds me of the training dungeon. For ghits and shiggles of a dying boy, I place my hand on the handprint.

And, because everything I touch is cursed, it works.

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Tumbling down and falling on my back, I find myself looking at a clear blue sky. It's warm, really warm. I sit up, rubbing my head slightly and looking at the horizon. I appear to be in some sort of countryside, a town in the distance. The grass is darker than any I've seen in this world, a murky dark green.

I watch the man from the sword appear once again, his hands limp at his side. He seems to be looking into the distance as well, although I can't see his expression. 

"This place... I recognize it, boy..." He remarks, walking over to me. "This place long forgotten, captured into a single moment... home."

Hey, I can finally feel the frostbite fading. I stand up, channeling mana to fully be rid of the cold and kickstart my healing. It's about time!

I stand and walk over, holding my hand to my side. I look at his face, then at the horizon he's staring off towards. In the distance sits a castle surrounded by a city, almost like Cleras, although... older.

"By home... what do you mean?" I ask, looking over at him. He looks at me, then back at the horizon. "That, boy, is the grand city of Cleraster and epicenter of heroes."

"The fuck does that mean-"

Before I can fully finish my sentence, I pass out and fall on the ground.

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Gram POV...

Walking down the road, I find myself slightly confused. Familiar, yet different. Maybe I shouldn't have came here after seeing that streak of blood. I guess it's my fault for not taking the hint.

"System, where am I?" I ask out loud, looking from side to side.

[You are currently within the dungeon: Copy of Cleraster, ancient city.]

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