The Crimson Snow (A Realm of Chaos and Void #1)

Chapter 6

The Lonely Wolf

Born of agony, Agony etched in veins,

None could discern the hue,

Whether crimson or something cruel,

Pale as ghostly clouds,

Blue as the abyss that devours.

Retrieved from The Great Love Story of The White Fox

by Illyra Everdawn, Ch. 8, p. 35.

Three Days Before the Incident

Seraphine Ashcroft

The Grim Wanderer nestled in the space next to her, the deep snow crunching beneath him, and began, “Before the realms were born—before humans, creatures of the Otherworld, and those of the Underworld emerged—the Eternals of chaos and voidness created three Ancients, magical, god-like entities, each charged with a crucial task to maintain the delicate balance of life. Among them is Brannon, whom you know as the guardian of the human realm. Interestingly, some legends claim he molded humans from crows. His fundamental responsibility was to oversee life.”

Seraphine was enraptured. Although she knew the tale well, having read it in history books at Coldhaven and the Otherworld’s library, hearing him recount it added a magical resonance to the familiar words. It was as if she were experiencing the magic herself, woven into the fabric of reality.

The Grim Wanderer continued, his voice tinged with nostalgia, “Then, there is Nemera, the Ancient of the Otherworld. She was tasked with overseeing life in the form of nature. That’s why creatures of the Otherworld spring from animals or elements of the earth. Much like Nemera herself, they are prone to mischief, yet they invariably strive to maintain and protect life to a certain extent.”

Then, his voice turned distant, as if he were drawing from a well of personal memories. “And then there is Aurum, the lord and Ancient of the Underworld.”

The Grim Wanderer sighed softly, the frosty air visible with each breath. “Aurum was tasked with overseeing death—not in a sinister way, but as a crucial element of balance. His creatures, much like those of the Otherworld, are drawn to death, feeding off it to sustain the equilibrium of nature. It’s a natural and necessary function.”

A mix of seriousness and intrigue surrounded him as he elaborated on his tale. “Thus, the three realms coexisted. The Otherworld and human realm lay side by side, interacting frequently. Humans would come to us seeking deals driven by their desires, and in turn, we’d offer protection and prosperity to their lands. Meanwhile, hidden portals connected the human realm to the Underworld, handling souls and the afterlife. Some interactions were harsher, of course. After all, the Underworld has quite the reputation.”

His voice took on a somber note as he continued, “Everything seemed balanced, the world vibrant with colors. What they hadn’t foreseen was the day a lonely creature from the Otherworld fell in love with a mere human. The real tragedy of the story was their belief that love conquered all. He even petitioned the arcane courts of the Otherworld, pleading for permission to age alongside her, to grow old and eventually pass into the Underworld as a normal soul. But, alas, even a creature of the Otherworld can be deceived.”

The Grim Wanderer seemed to look at the sky, the weight of the tale heavy in his voice. “The arcane courts, perhaps driven by their own hidden agendas, presented him with a quest. They promised that if he succeeded, they would grant his wish. If he failed, he would face severe consequences. Unbeknownst to him, his task was to hunt a peculiar and very cunning animal. Reluctantly, he pursued the creature, despising the very idea of taking a life, even if it meant fulfilling his heart’s desire.”

He paused, and Seraphine followed his gaze toward the starry night sky. “In a cruel twist of fate, they had transformed his beloved into that very animal. So, in the end, he unknowingly killed his own love—the person for whom he was willing to challenge the very fabric of his existence. She was just a human, caught in a twisted game of rules and power.”

“What happened after that?”

she whispered, her heart aching with sorrow.

He shrugged slightly, his tone laced with irony. “It’s said that the three Ancients, horrified by the cruelty of what had occurred, clashed with each other, each defending either the human or the Otherworld creature. To maintain peace, they decided to establish the veil, restricting movement between the realms. As you can see—”

The Grim Wanderer gestured to the stark, wintry landscape around them. “The consequences were far-reaching. The imbalance led to the destruction of cities, eternal winters, and unfulfilled desires. Underworld creatures struggled to maintain the balance between life and death, sparking political turmoil with the Otherworld. The human realm was left isolated, eventually forgetting our existence entirely, which in turn wreaked havoc in the Otherworld, culminating in chaos. So, yes, it ended up ‘greatly,’ didn’t it?”

His sarcasm was palpable.

Seraphine couldn’t help but wonder if he had been alive back then to have seen all that.

“But this tale isn’t just about the veil or the realms. It’s about him. The Otherworld silly creature. After he accidentally killed his beloved human, he was devastated. Heartbroken, he wandered into this very forest. He pleaded desperately for someone to revive her, but it was impossible. Then, he prayed for death, but killing a creature from the Otherworld requires more than mere magic. Finally, he begged for his heart to be frozen, to numb all his pain.”

Seraphine watched him intently, absorbing every word of the story unknown to her.

“And so,”

he continued. “A creature from the court of Sorrowspring, which governs the water beings, heard his plea and granted it. He didn’t understand the full consequences nor what would be demanded of him, but he asked for it. At first, he felt relief. There was silence in him, no pain, no tears. He thought perhaps he could move on.”

“But then the water creature revealed that to maintain his frozen heart, he must continuously hunt and kill the same type of animal his beloved had been transformed into. Without pain or feeling, he pursued the creature. Yet, as he was about to deliver the fatal blow, memories of his beloved flooded his mind. Not even a frozen heart could shield him from the resurgence of such deep pain.”

“He couldn’t fulfill the hunt, so the deal was undone. After that, the poor creature chose to wander the realms in solitude.”

Seraphine, moved by the story, pressed, “What happened to him?”

“He was a creature from the Otherworld, so his fate remains a mystery,”

he replied softly. “Some say he became a lone wolf, roaming indefinitely. Whether he lived or died is unknown. But remember, deals are perilous, and a broken heart cannot be mended by freezing it. And sometimes, love is a precursor to pain and grief.”

As he spoke, the Grim Wanderer gestured gracefully, causing snowflakes to swirl around the trees, each flake brushing against Seraphine before dissolving.

Seraphine laughed, the snowflakes tickling her nose, the cold air making her breath visible. “And is it all true?”

she asked.

“Perhaps some parts are true, perhaps not. But it’s a good tale, don’t you think?”

he concluded with a slight smile.

She marveled once again at his dimples and how human-like the Grim Wanderer seemed.

As Seraphine pondered the story, she understood that not all dreams were what they seemed, not all good tales had happy endings, and not all nightmares were purely terrifying. Some are valuable lessons. Wrapped in the wintry forest’s embrace, she had never felt so warm, even as sleep began to envelop her.

Grim Wanderer

He watched Seraphine sleep, her chest rising and falling with each breath, peaceful yet unknowingly ensnared in a web of fate he had woven.

“What a pity,”

the Grim Wanderer murmured. His hand trembled as he held the countdown magic paper, now displaying just three days.

“Still as clever and cunning as ever,”

he mused, recalling her spirited defiance, unchanged despite the centuries. Not that she can remember. As he watched her, his heart ached with ancient sorrow. Leaning closer, his breath mingling with the cold air, he whispered, or more, he pleaded to her, “I am bound neither by creature nor human norms, yet you’ve always been the exception. I am truly sorry for the pain to come.”

With practiced ease, he lifted the pearls from her pocket. Everything was unfolding as planned, yet nothing felt right.

I am a monster.

Seraphine had lost her job, her heart was shattered, and soon, her world would crumble entirely. The whispers of her bad luck, spurred by her unusual eyes—red eyes that he had falsely claimed mirrored those of Ancient Aurum—were nothing but a ruse to isolate her further.

Now, the whispering and playing with her head was something he did not plan. He just could not help himself. The Grim Wanderer wanted to be closer to her.

As the moon climbed higher, casting silver light through the trees, he knew time was slipping away. “Time. Time. Time,”

he whispered, each word a heartbeat, each heartbeat drawing closer to the inevitable.

He draped his white-furred cloak over Seraphine, shielding her from the chill. From his pocket, he produced a rare sea leaf, its edges shimmering. The leaf, a bargaining chip from the Shadowmarket, was meant for moments like these. He placed a small piece on her lips, ensuring her sleep would be deep and undisturbed for a couple of hours.

Releasing his cat sith, the creature’s eyes briefly glowed as it materialized. “Guard her well. I must finish this before dawn,”

he instructed, his voice steady yet heavy with unspoken regret.

You are a monster. You are a monster. You are a monster.

With a final look at Seraphine, the Grim Wanderer turned and walked back toward the town, his steps rhythmical but silent on the forest floor.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Seraphine Ashcroft

Seraphine awoke in a dense forest full of flowers, roses, and green. How did I get here? The Grim Wanderer was nowhere to be seen.

Spring.

That’s impossible. Seraphine had been living in an eternal winter since birth. She was only familiar with the seasons from her books. The Otherworld seemed like a possibility, but she knew that whatever the weather was, it was not a regular spring.

Before she could dwell on that, a raspy, mournful, and terrifying howl echoed in her ears. Her heart pounded as the sound of pursuing paws thundered, getting closer and closer to her.

“Run,”

a voice whispered in her head, and for the first time, she decided to take the advice and took off.

Each step was desperate, fueled by a primal fear she could not understand, the ground beneath her feet a blur of roots and fallen leaves that were turning black and red.

The air was thick with an ominous chill, and with every breath, she felt a presence drawing closer, its howls a haunting melody of menace and despair. The forest seemed endless, a labyrinth of darkness and whispering trees that spoke of ancient curses and untold stories. She dared not look back. Even the flowers seemed to be crying and screaming for her to keep running.

Yet, in the depths of her terror, a strange sense of familiarity washed over her. This chase, this terror, they weren’t the first of their kind. She had been here before, running from the same inevitable fate.

Just when her strength waned and her resolve crumbled, Seraphine turned and looked at the beast, a massive wolf, its presence overwhelming. There was no escape, no way out. When the wolf opened its sharp mouth, the nightmare fractured, sending her spiraling back to the beginning of the chase.

“A nightmare… This is a nightmare,”

she realized.

An ethereal voice brushed her ear. “This is not a nightmare, but you better run from it—like you always do. Run from your destiny, from what you are, what you were.”

Then, it began again—the run, the chase, the fear, the same end. Seraphine tried to change it, but her body was in control. It was like a memory, unchanged, impossible to alter.

Trapped in this cyclical torment, Seraphine realized with chilling clarity that these weren’t mere dreams. They were memories, fragments of a cursed existence replaying endlessly in the depths of her slumber.

This realization did not bring peace but a deeper, more profound terror. As the nightmare reset again and again, beginning anew with her running through the darkened woods, Seraphine understood the inescapable truth of her situation. She was not just fleeing a predator. She was confronting her own haunted past.

When the wolf opened its mouth for the fourth time, she swore she heard it speak, uttering the same words as it closed its jaws on her.

“I am sorry.”