Observing Ashcar distance herself to fill up the canteens, Erion played a bit with the baby. It was a peculiar little creature that seemingly didn’t feel any cold or fear. His short hair was blueish-gray, his tiny hands and feet ended in powerful claws. There was something else about him, a mystery that the troll couldn’t decipher. Concerned, Erion focused on his soul, trying to find something that could explain why the spirits ordained that he were protected, instead of his own race.

His curiosity ceased suddenly. Erion felt a numb formication taking over his body and an energy going up his guts. He almos dropped he toddler and ended up squeezing him too hard, making him cry.

– It’s only a matter of taking you to Old Pulley and all will be done, won’t it? So why does it seem that I am still going to hear from you, little wolf? – pronounced the shaman.

He got startled when Ashcar called his name. He hardly had time to move and the net fished him. Erion used all his strength to rip it open, but it was useless. He noticed they were being dragged into the airship. He tried to remain calm even when the shadows of the hunters surrounded him in shouts.

– Hand over the child! – the leader pointed a carabin to him. He couldn’t be seen, hid in darkness.

– Never! – Erion replied, getting shot right in his forehead as an answer. The bullet ricocheted on his hard skin and zipped against the wall. No one dared shooting again.

– I don’t know what you are, creature, but hand over the child, now! – the leader insisted.

– For you to kill him? Never! – the troll bent over the baby, protecting him even more. He transformed into a thick armoured carapace around him, and not even the mightiest of human weapons would have been able to hurt them.

– Kill? What father would want that for his own son? – the hunter stepped forward, unveiling his lupine traces. Almost identical to Ashcar, he also had cleft eyes, but blue and grey. He winked the right one to the troll, who loosened his clasp.

– What? – he inquired. Before he could be answered to, the airship jounced, throwing the hunters’ leader agains the fishnet. Taking advantage of the impact, Erion strained his imprisonment. His weight helped him tear apart the fishnet ropes and break the ship gate under him. He, the baby and the leader plummeted. Erion held the enemy and embraced him too, transforming into a sort of rolling boulder. The three rolled through the snow until they crashed onto a tree, thumping it uprooted.

Now he didn’t know how to proceed. To escape the hunter, he would have to kill him, but he didn’t know what was happening. Had Ashcar lied, or was the child’s father trying to trick him?

– Hand over the child - he asked again. This time he didn’t wink.

– Old Pulley is his destination – the troll explained.

- You don´t understand, do you? Our people will never accept this child! - the hunter despaired.

The arur hurled onto the man before he could continue, and both rolled on the snow exchanging sharp blows from their claws. A stream of blood rolled down the woman’s face; the man bled from his chest. It was like the fight of two giant wolves.

– Enough! – imposed Erion. The warriors stopped, as they felt the troll’s power restraining them from going on. – My spirit is seizing your bodies. And your souls will tell me, after all, what is going on here.

He stood between them, laid the child to his feet and pointed the palms of his hands to Ashcar’s head, as well as to her husband’s.

– Fader Ymer drack fran urkon – he recited.

The world around them waved as if it were in water. The landscape of the mountains turned into a dense forest, where hundreds of humans awaited somebody. It looked like a copy of the troll’s Drömma. However, on the trees, one could see the sigil of the Fifth Empire: the Tree of Life. They were all soldiers.

Two beings walked up to the middle of the circle. Ashcar and her husband. She brought her son in her arms, and exhaled fear. She raised her offspring forth, and pronounced:

– My son was born four week ago, but so far he has not been godfathered by any of you to become a legitimate bnei shoah and serve the Kabalah. Who shall be my son’t godfather?

All the heads in the circle faced the floor. Erion was familiar with the feeling, shame. He saw the same expression as his brothers’ when he decided to save the strangers in the mountains.

– He cannot be godfathered, Ashcar, we warned you when this child was born. We saw the evil inside it. But you don’t want to listen to us, you think you can save it from its destiny. You will doom everyone if you insist on this mistake – decreed an old man with black long hair, purple eyes. His clothing consisted of a tunic of thick raw fabrics of many sorts.

– It is your act that will define who he is, not prophecies - Ashcar was determined to be heard. Erion felt proud of her, she was a true warrior and the love she felt for her son overcame by far the traditions of her people.

– You have betrayed me!

– They’ve seen it, Ashcar. Our son will become a monster if he survives. We must do the best for the Empire. Hand over the boy – he apologized, reaching out to the baby. Ashcar gave him a snarl in return.

– I will godmother the boy! – who’d spoken was a blond woman, with a lean body. Over her white leathered armor she wore a black stole whose tips were adorned by golden claws. She also carried a spear on her back.

– Yoresh Beatrix, I must remind you that you are here as a guest – meddled the old man.

The yoresh were other soldiers of the Kabalah elite. Their abilities involved hunting and espionage.

– Do not forget, Dran, that even though I’m a guest, I am still a representative of the Empire and am above you in the hierarchy. Thus, I repeat my pronouncement, declaring myself as the godmother of this child.

Dran, the old man, sought support in his fellows. They all knew that Beatrix was right. She, being an effective yoresh of the Empire, had more authority than any of them and could be the child’s godmother, although the prophecies said it was a menace.

– You cannot... – he turned his back to the circled, leaving it. An utter outrage, but one that passed by unnoticed in such tense atmosphere. The rest followed him, except for Ashcar and Dhalgren Grey.

The images blurred again. Then, however, only Ashcar and Beatrix talked. There was much tension in the air and sorrow in the arur’s voice.

– I thank you for your intermission, Beatrix, but they will attack at night. We are not going to survive until your fellows arrive to rescue me from here.

– There is a possibility, arur. – Beatrix explained – You must get to Old Pulley, where my husband is. His name is Dante, and he’s the captain of an airship. Find him there and give this to him – Beatrix pulled from her neck a silver amulet with the same golden claw as her stole’s adornment.

– What about Dhalgren? – the arur feared.

– We have already talked about this. Trust your husband and his love for you both – Beatrix replied.

A rustle from the woods gave away the enemies’ presence. Beatrix pointed a direction for escape, drew her spear and vanished in the darkness. Moments later the hull of the hunters’ airship appeared, trying to follow Ashcar’s tracks.

The images became blurs again; Erion was in the mountains. He released the two, allowing them to fall on their knees on the snow.

– Is that it, then? Why did you lie? – inquired the troll, raising Ashcar’s head with one of his hands and looking for the silver amulet.

– I thought you would have change of heart – she answered in tears.

– The prophecies say that my son will destroy the Kabalah, but I cannot kill him. Beatrix asked me to pretend to hunt him down, and that’s what I did, diverting the hunters as much as I could. But they grew impatient and acted on their own, finding the targets – explained the arur.

– Dhalgren... I didn’t... Forgive me – Ashcar interrupted.

– It is all right, my love.

– Now that you’ve learned the truth, Erion, will you leave us? – Ashcar inquired. Even without his help, she could then count on her husband again.

– The spirits have ordained me to save you, and nothing shall make me change my resolution. – Erion helped the woman stand up. But before they could leave, a shot hit him.

– You will not stop me, this child must die! – from yonder, the old man who’d incited the others to kill Diren approached. He aimed a carabine to the group, triggering for the next shot.

– Father, enough! – retorted Dhalgren.

– Father? You dare call me “Father”? My seed, my flesh, wouldn’t generate a monster! – Dran charged. A swift man, for his age. He hit his son in the chest with the weapon, grabbed his arm and broke it with a sharp and precise blow. He roared, kicking Dhalgren out of his way. He pointed to his grandson, growling.

– Hand over the accursed!

– No! – Ashcar lacerated Dran’s nose with her claws, and his blood cascaded, making him gasp.

– Stop, Ashcar! – ordered Erion, but this time his spirit was not strong enough to hold back the combatants. Ashcar went on attacking until she was tired. At last, she lifted her father-in-law by the collar and faced him up.

– This is your fault! You could be beside me, now! We used to be a family, Dran! The proud Seolferwulf! The White Wolves!

– Your son is a demon, he cannot live – murmured Dran.

– Mine and Dhalgren’s; your grandson. – Ashcar raised the other hand, ready to deliver the final blow.

– Your son. I will never be the grandfather of a monster – the arur spat the words in her face, mixing hatred and blood.

– Assume your offspring, Dran.

– I would rather die.

– Don’t do it! You will become just like him, Ashcar! Love life! – Erion begged, picking the baby up.

She delivered the blow. Dran collapsed and a crimson blotch spread over the snow.

– I didn’t kill him out of due respect to you, troll – she answered, releasing the old man, who only bore a wound in his face.

The troll, still with the amulet in his hands, put it around the baby’s neck.

– They told me the fate of you son. As you said, it doesn’t matter what has been prophetized, but what he will make of his life.

– So? – Ashcar supported her husband, without lifting her eyes from the senoi.

– The spirits, they have finally told me why I must save you. I saw it in the spirit of the amulet.

– I don’t know if I wish to learn it, Erion – still in tears, Aschar hugged her offspring with even more affection.

She had never had time to reason or think straight; all her actions thus far had been moved by sentiment. Perhaps, had she stopped to reason, she would have given up her son to Dran. Remembering the sacrifices she had undergone, the baby caressed his tiny hands on her face. Ashcar’s heart softened. – I don’t want to learn it, Erion. It doesn’t matter to me why my son is seen as an evil entity. I will teach him to fight his destiny. I will take him to Old Pulley and find his godmother, Beatrix. She will raise and educate him under the rigid laws of the Kabalah, and my little wolf will be the most famous arur of Nordara – and without waiting for a response from the troll, she walked towards the river and continued her journey for the sake of her son’s life.

– Thank you – murmured Dhalgren, who had remained quiet.

– Are you going with her? – inquired the troll. He laid his big stone hands on the broken bone and prayed.

– Yes, they need me. I only wanted to thank you for sacrificing yourself, for leaving your own culture for ours. One day, troll, the races of Nordara will not hate one another any longer, the Titans will cease being enemies and the frontiers shall fall – sentenced Dhalgren, as his arm went back to normal, engulfed by a reddish light projected from the tohat. As soon as he felt better, he hugged him and walked away.

Erion, even if he had wanted, wouldn’t have been allowed to tell. The secrets of the dreaming realm belonged to it alone. He looked at the old man, fainted on the snow.

– Dran, Abaris, Arur, after all: who are you? – he asked, though acknowledging that the answer was a secret molded in the reverie. But there was one last thing to be done, before departing.

– I godfather him! – he shouted with his hands cupped. Dhalgren and Ashcar turned over, and raised their son.

– Now he has a godfather? – confirmed the woman, to reassure what she’d heard. Erion consented with his head.

– My godson, Diren Grey – and after all, he knew what the trolls should live by and die for, and why his people decayed by the year, becoming just stone and ashes over Nordara. He took the way back to Drömma: there was a story to be told.

Perhaps that one would be able to soften their hearts of stone.