And thus the winter festival of Araya came to an end. The flags of celebration and lush fields of cheer subsided, quiet once again reigned north of the winter border.

Asael sat resting by the belvedere, a book in hand yet looking down upon the departing carriages and birds of winter, carrying dignitaries to their homelands. Listening to the soft chiming of leaves he lazy flipped through the pages, his mind elsewhere. 

For upon nightfall the news of the autumnal land of Ahsara’s conquest had arrived. Although it was more fitting to be called an alliance than conquest, for everyone knew that the king of Ahsara was quite fond of swaying whichever way the wealth of power flowed. 

Still, Ahsara’s neutrality during the war had provided to be a source of great comfort and strength for the Nimyi. The small nation was situated in the middle of the silk road of the northern continent and was a vital point of trade between allied nations of the south and the lands of Araya.

“ It is time to depart for the north is it not?” The gossamer parted and the guardian, Serein entered. Even in times of peril her visage remained in unchanging peace.

Asael closed the book and stood up, following her along the long viaduct.


“ Has Arelle and Reven arrived in the garrisons?” He inquired. 

“ Indeed they have”

“ As we have lost Ahsara, I feel that my company is needed in the garrisons as well”


A tranquil smile etched onto Serein’s face, “ Astara will be displeased if I were to withhold you in Ariansyll for long, the refining ritual draws closer does it not?”


Asael sighed and did not speak. They had gifted the last of the blue moon elixir to the Drugan warrior and the winter blossoming season during which it is refined was fast approaching. 

“ Return to Isryx, the refining of the blue moon elixir is vital for the longevity of our magic and shall not be impeded even in times of war” 

“ I understand” Asael lowered his head. 

“ Good” Serein placed a hand upon his head, “ Raglar and the winter birds will soon arrive, prepare to leave now”




Leaving him behind, Serein glided down to the valley,  silver hair splayed behind her and dispersed with the wind. She looked upon his face once before turning to converse with the gate sentry. Asael returned to collect his books and scriptures and left the belvedere. 

On the third night since the winter games, Starlight fell upon Ariansyll once more. The second prince’s figure gracefully glided down the stairs, the veil obscuring his face undone. The company of Raglar the governor and two winter birds, awaited him by the west end gates. 

He had arrived in Ariansyll in a hurry and now it was time for him to leave. For his duty during times of peril lay in the northern mountains of Isryx. This was something only he could do. As it was he who carried the seed of the blue moon within him. 

“ Will we travel by west?” Asael asked as he climbed atop the bird.


“ The frost has overtaken the northern forests and the terrain is difficult to pass, we shall use a byway through Wengen your highness” Raglar supplied helpfully as he covered Asael in the bird’s soft blue feathers. Then he jumped onto his own bird and guided them past the gates.

Asael nodded and hugged the gentle creature tightly,  It chirped happily and fluttered it wings, jumping a few feet midair. 

As they prepared to depart he glanced towards the palace and saw the figure of Serein approach.

“ Your highness!” Raglar hurried to dismount.


Serein lifted a hand in dismissal, “ I just wish to pass a message . . . if you encounter migrating merfolk, let them know that Astara awaits them in Isryx”


Asael’s eyes widened, migrating merfolk at this time of the year? Were things much more grim than he had thought? Serein looked at him and sighed pointedly.


Then she turned to Raglar, “ Please ensure the second prince’s safety thoroughly, an entourage shall welcome you at beginning of the Isryx forest”


“ Yes your highness” Raglar bowed reverently, then he hung a small opal lamp by his bird. Bathing their surroundings in a soft cerise light.

“ I shall pass the message”  Asael smiled and gathered his hands in farewell “ may the universe be with you”


Serein retreated to the eaves of the palace. The sound of flapping wings  rustled the wind along the trees, within moments the cold white of the west forest enveloped the two departing figures. 

Boughs of great hyperion and fields of silene stretched before them. The branches of snow willows brushed wetly against his skin. As they travelled near ravine and stream,  Asael picked flowers and vines and tied them to his waist.They were gifts for Astara. Who in various disgruntled letters had penned her desire to find specific varieties of blossoming fungi.

And as Serein had foretold, as their paths diverted along the great Aibus river they encountered a group of merfolk migrating north. Their glassy forms dipping behind the shadows of deep waters and emerging upstream.

Asael dipped his hands into the river and beckoned them closer. They spoke in tongue indiscernible to Raglar, this way exchanging words of caution and danger.


“ It seems that Ahsara truly had fallen” Asael whispered regretfully. “ May you find peace in Isryx. The high priestess of the night Astara, awaits your arrival”

The merfolk dipped below the shadows, luminous viridian eyes blurring under the clear water. With bubbles of breath dissipating, they streamed past Asael and Raglar to the north. 

For awhile they travelled in comforting silence, Above them winter birds flew and snow owls perched upon pine trees. Under the eaves of willow boughs white foxes approached and dispersed westward, chasing after a snow hare or bird.

The Wengen border shrouded over them, as the wind began to pick up Asael covered his face with a fur cloak. Soon the familiar forests of Hyperion about them will wane and then the journey shall be turbulent. Whence they shall travel under moonlight and the stars awaiting the land of Isryx. 

Yet instead, a drop of warm rain fell on his cheek. What was this? Asael held his hand against the sky, it had grown blue with rain and thunder. And the layers of frost on the leaves melted and dropped wetly to the ground. Where were they? What lay before them compared to the unchanging frost of Araya was foreign to him. Had they taken the wrong path?

 Raglar covered the opal lamp tied to his bird and quickened his pace. The faint light that had kept him on the teacher’s trail was lost. It was all well, for he bore the blood of merfolk and was quite adjusted to moonless nights. Asael blinked. . . shadows crawled at the edges of his eyes and his vision plunged into impenetrable darkness.

“ Teacher?” Called Asael, “ Have we taken the wrong path?”

Why had Raglar extinguished the lamp? What danger had he sensed? 

Wet rain clung to his lashes and dripped onto his eyes, he could not see Raglar, “ Teacher. . . . could we perhaps take shelter from the rain?” 

His voice cut through the wind, yet his calls were left unanswered, unable to see or hear the presence of the teacher, Asael slowed his bird. It felt as if an impassable darkness had fallen over his senses, his hands faltered. Only the touch of the winter bird’s soft feathers anchored him down.

He called for Raglar once more, yet could not hear his own voice, alongside him the forest had also fallen silent. He yearned for the cold safety of home. Slowly he felt around the cold feathers and found them melting. Had the rain worsened or was his  touch also growing numb?

He rubbed at his eyes fiercely hoping for a sliver of sight, yet the darkness did not recede. He manoeuvred the bird around the forest carefully, feeling bark and leaves under his palm.

He conjured a small sliver of his core onto his palm, yet he did not feel its boisterous energy, it shrivelled in his palm and withdrew back into his chest.

There was a great possibility that he had been poisoned and a greater danger of dwelling into an unknown forest. They had travelled along the Wengen border but now he was not so sure where they were. The forests of the north and west were deep in frost and the evergreen wilderness extended only along the eastern and the southern boundary. If he was near the southern boundary then he would be found by his brothers’s soldiers, and if he was near the east, he would be as good as dead, as Ahsara was now under Drugan rule.

Suddenly a sharp pain pulled him back, the winter bird’s melting feathers slipped beneath him and he roughly collided against a tree. With trembling hands he reached for his shoulder, he had been shot by an arrow. It’s head pierced through flesh and bruised bone and had lodged into the tree behind him. Frantically he tried to pull it out, but could only feel the searing pain of its stem stirring his flesh. 

Attempts of pulling it out were futile. His hands slipped from the pouring blood and his faltering senses delayed his actions.  Mustering the remnants of his depleting strength he broke the arrow behind his shoulder and stumbled to his feet. Just as he thought he had freed himself he felt the distinct touch of fingers tearing into his chest. One person? Perhaps two? He could not tell, he caught one of the hands roughly, carving his grip down the attacker’s arms. Then there was a jostling movement by his left, a moment later  he was stepped on and violently slapped. But he did not stop, he grabbed the hands prying into his chest and punctured his nails into them retrieving the shrivelling moon wisp back, but this too only delayed his demise for a brief moment.

A scraping pain clawed at his chest and he felt the wisp’s energy deplete. With the loss of his core, Asael’s strength wavered. He staggered and was violently pulled back and nailed against a tree. He felt the growing dampness in his chest seep through his robes. He did not want to die here alone. If he could just find the winter bird, if he could just find Raglar . . . if only he could just go home. He felt around his shattered bones and shredded flesh and struggled to break the second arrow.

He awaited the return of the attacker, yet was met with silence and numbness. Asael choked, they probably thought he had died upon the loss of his moon wisp, and they were not wrong. His only life line was the blood of merfolk that flowed through his body. But he did not know whether it would be enough to keep him alive. A terrible sob broke through his throat as he slipped and fell onto the forest floor. Feeling around with his bleeding fingers he moved away from the tree, fearing that he be nailed once more.

He walked for a long time, unknowing where his feet landed and where the faltering touch of his fingers carried him. Then he felt a persistent tremor by his feet. An irregular pulsing and heaving. He knelt and felt the winter bird’s feathers on his skin and a stream of wetness, blood trickled past his hands.


The creature convulsed terribly, it’s throat had been slashed and under his’s shaky hands it exhaled its last breath. Asael keeled by the deathly coldness of the bird’s body. Afraid to move and afraid to linger. Where could he go? Tarrying in this darkness would he not be walking to his death? Yet if he stayed his tormentors may return once more to find him still alive. 

And he needed to retrieve the moon wisp, even if he was to die, for the sake of Nimyi it must be saved.


He recalled his last memory. He had stopped the bird near a lavender myrtle tree or what had looked to be a myrtle tree. He crawled around the parameter of the bird’s body yet found no trace of such a tree. It was possible that the bird ran away frightened during the first attack. And if so he had no way to find out where he was. . . . Tears spilled uncontrollably from his eyes. He wrapped his torn and soaked robes around his shivering body and crawled under the bird’s drooping wings.

It was a winter bird and in this humidity and wet wilderness it would not have survived for much longer anyway, come winter it would rise again from the snow of the very earth that had taken its life. 

“ I’m sorry. . .” Asael whispered softly to the bird, “ Please. . . stay with me for awhile”


“ Just. . . a little while”


If he was to die now, would this not be the last trace of home he could reach? Asael fell limply against the bird, a wisp of smoke arose from him and Asael smoothed a hand over his body, feeling a soft snow like powder grow over his skin, 

       . . . he was dying.