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

Chapter 11

The Lonely Fox & the Sad Wolf

And so, as the world donned its veil, she fell deeply

in love with a mortal man.

A love so vast, so profound, no anchors could rend it asunder.

Yet, when it shattered, each left with fragments of

their once-whole hearts,

Yearning for a reunion—perhaps in the afterlife,

like two delicate butterflies.

Retrieved from Leander Ashcroft’s hidden letters to Seraphine.

Two Days Before the Incident

Grim Wanderer

The Grim Wanderer knelt in the snow, overwhelmed by regret. Tears carved cold paths down his cheeks. He had freed that monster to frame Seraphine but had not foreseen this tragic outcome. The deal was for the baobhan sith to hurt the fisherman, not to kill him.

The creature no longer existed. He had made sure of that after he realized what she had done.

Humans were cruel and weak. However, he was even worse, a facade, a ruse. Yet, for a moment, he thought they would let her go, that they just wanted her out, driven out from town. Still, this catastrophe had never been part of his design.

His hands stained in blood, the Grim Wanderer fell into the snow of the Wailing Forest and screamed into the bleak, white expanse. Seraphine did not deserve this fate.

The irony twisted in his gut—the catastrophe would likely ensure the success of his larger plan. He knew now that this turn of events was entirely beneficial. However, the cost was excruciating.

The Grim Wanderer hid again. He watched everything and saw when the crimson-eyed girl lost it, when the light in her eyes turned dark. The red rose turned black and venomous in front of his eyes.

The image of Leander Ashcroft, daring and brave, sacrificing himself for his daughter, haunted him. He had died a hero’s death. Meanwhile, the Grim Wanderer had done nothing.

As the stark realization settled in, he understood the bitter truth: he was no different from the wrathful townspeople. He was a monster too.

Seraphine Ashcroft

Seraphine woke up, dizzy, clinging to the faint hope that everything had been a nightmare. However, the throbbing pain in her head and the bruises marring her face told a different story. She looked around and noticed that it was dark, past midnight, and she was in her bed. Tears began to flow, her usual glass of sorrows spilling through her eyes. How could this have happened? Why would Dad do that? She knew the answer.

Love.

What a dangerous thing to feel, she realized.

Why have the townsfolk been so cruel? What had taken over them to go against a good man? I am no good, but him? For the first time, Seraphine yearned for vengeance for her father, for the ones who were trying to be ordinary like her, and for anyone who would have to face a crowd of frozen hearts and black souls, which were overwhelming in Coldhaven.

“You’re awake,”

Aeliana murmured from the corner of the bed, her eyes red from crying.

Seraphine had not even noticed her presence. She couldn’t muster a single word, so her sister opened her mouth to speak, no smile or shine in her eyes anymore.

“You passed out, so we moved you here. You were out for a whole day and more.”

Her gaze was distant, as if she no longer recognized Seraphine or anyone else. Maybe her sister believed that she truly was the cursed creature the townsfolk had accused her of being. Who can blame her? Seraphine was not the only one grieving the loss of Leander.

“The city is mourning. Folks have come to apologize,”

she said with a hollow laugh. “Of course, no apology is enough, no gift sufficient. Nothing will ever be enough.”

That’s right. Nothing in the realms would make up for taking the life of an innocent soul.

Finding her voice, Seraphine managed to ask, “Where is he?”

Thalassa appeared in the doorway, a picture of despair, tears streaking her face.

“We buried him near the forest border,”

she said, her voice thick with anger and sorrow—a storm of emotions Seraphine understood all too well.

Pain wracked Seraphine’s body with every movement as she started to rise from her bed. Grief weighed heavily on her every breath.

They hadn’t waited for her to bury him, but she needed to see his grave, see him. She donned a scarf and some boots. It was almost midnight, and she might freeze to death, but she was determined to make it for him—for her father.

As if Thalassa had read her mind, she whispered, “This is all your fault.”

The words struck Seraphine like a physical blow, deepening the chasm of guilt and sorrow that had already swallowed her whole. With heavy steps, she moved toward the door, each movement a painful reminder of the harsh reality that now lay before her. She felt it then, a tingle in her neck.

“Crimson Eyes…”

She heard the Grim Wanderer whisper in her ear, his voice ethereal.

Seraphine knew he was close, but she did not look around.

“No.”

With that, the tingle on her neck disappeared. Tonight, she didn’t need a hero or a friend or ghosts.

Seraphine traversed the city, enveloped in an eerie silence. The streets were somber, reflecting its inhabitants’ collective sorrow. With each laborious step, she felt the weight of the world bearing down on her, nearly causing her to faint.

Just breathe. Seraphine needed to find the strength to bottle all her hurt and move, and eventually, she managed to reach the edge of the forest. Unlike the rest of the city, this sacred place was untouched by snow, offering a stark contrast to the cold white blanket that covered everything else. It looked plain, dry.

Dead.

As she approached a particular clearing, she recognized the freshly turned dark earth. She knew, without a doubt, who that grave belonged to.

If Seraphine could describe pain, she could picture this moment here, a dry and cold piercing feeling full of solitude and desperation.

Drawing closer, Seraphine collapsed to the ground beside it, her hand instinctively touching the cool soil. “I am sorry, I am so sorry,”

she whispered as tears fell. “You were the one meant to outlive the shadows, not me. You nurtured me with love, and now, in your absence, the world feels unbearably empty. You deserved more, Dad. You deserved the ever after filled with joy—the kind you used to weave into my bedtime stories. In my heart, you remain undiminished, perpetually my hero, my guiding star.”

Her voice broke as sobs wracked her body, her tears mingling with the earth.

As she lay there, crying and cursing—the townsfolk, life itself, Brannon, Nemera, all of them—she spoke with a desperate clarity, talking to the only Ancient left. “In this vast silence, I turn to you alone, Aurum, solemn guardian of the Underworld. Hear my plea amidst the shadows: cherish his gentle soul in your eternal embrace. Please, let him find tranquility beneath your solemn watch...”

Her pleas dissolved into more tears.

Then, she recited a quick verse just for Leander, her own mourning words.

“My hero, the steadfast star that pierced the darkest skies.

I will miss you endlessly,

And I will forever chase your shadow,

Yearning just to be near you once more.

To feel your warmth,

To cherish your spirit,

You are the spring amid the winter,

The sun that banishes the night,

The goodness that triumphs over malice.

May your soul be gently shepherded homeward.”

The shadows around her began to flicker and stir, as if responding to the depth of her grief. Out of the gloom, ethereal figures emerged, flitting about with a spectral grace. She had seen the small, colorful dots before.

They were sprites and wisps, creatures of goodwill from both the Otherworld and Underworld, gathering in a solemn vigil around Leander’s grave. She attributed that vision to her state since they had never appeared in the human realm before.

Perhaps these magical beings were now openly paying their respects. Their soft, mournful weeping for the daughter of a man they respected added a layer of grace to the somber scene. Seraphine could barely watch them. They seemed to be dancing, singing, and mourning, like calling home, calling Leander home. Before collapsing, she swore she had seen snowflakes the color of diamonds falling under her and heard the sound of fluttering wings sing a soothing lullaby.

Please visit me in my dreams. I will be waiting… always waiting for you.

Grim Wanderer

The Grim Wanderer watched as a throng of small creatures gathered around Seraphine and Leander’s grave. They were singing songs and paying their respects with quiet prayers, safeguarding Leander’s cherished soul. The Grim Wanderer had not summoned these magical beings. They had come of their own accord.

Then, he opened his hand, and snowflakes began to fall over them, the most brilliant snowflakes he had ever conjured—like diamonds sparkling in the dim light.

This moment belonged entirely to Seraphine and her father. He knew she wanted to be alone, but he could not help but watch her. Then, he also wanted to ask Leander for his forgiveness. For what had happened.

For what is to come.

However, something caught the Grim Wanderer’s attention and froze him on the spot. Just as the crimson-eyed girl collapsed onto the ground, as if by magic, flowers began to bloom all over Leander’s grave—roses of every imaginable color.

Little fireflies joined into this defiant splash of life against the comber snowscape, their lights flickering softly in the dusk.

The Grim Wanderer heard the distant toll of the clock marking two days, but he paid it no mind. Delving into his pocket, he drew forth a pristine white leaf. With a breath as tender as a whisper, he released it to the wind. Before their eyes, it metamorphosed into a cascade of blue and white butterflies. Their wings, iridescent and ethereal, danced in the air, weaving through the night around the grieving girl and above Leander’s resting place.

This could never make up for what he had caused, but he hoped that somewhere in the middle of the sadness, his soul could return to where it belonged. At least, that was what they believed in the Otherworld.