A few weeks earlier – Epoch of the Early Middle Ages – Frozen Wastelands, Home of the Vikings
Tick.
The ticking of a pocket watch echoed through the storm. Ashfall nervously glanced at his frost-covered wristwatch. The minute hand had already reached 56.
He and two others were sprinting through a relentless blizzard, bundled in thick fur suits.
Tick.
Again, Ashfall glanced anxiously at the barely visible dial—its second hand frozen at twelve, pointing them like a compass toward their exit.
"How much farther?!" one of the others gasped, pausing briefly for breath.
"Shouldn't be far now—but we only have three minutes left, so let's keep moving," Ashfall replied, adjusting his layered scarves and pulling his shawl tighter around his face.
After only a few more steps, a faint red light flickered before them. The closer they approached, the brighter and clearer it became.
"That's the exit point, right?"
"Correct. We only have—" Ashfall wiped the ice from the gently heated glass with his leather sleeve.
The hour hand still pointed to IV—indicating their current position in the Epoch and thus the world of the Early Middle Ages.
The minute hand had now turned to 59, just moments away from striking 60.
But something was wrong with the second hand. It pointed in the opposite direction of the glowing red light—away from what they thought was the exit.
"I think this wasteland messed with my watch. It's pointing the wrong way," Ashfall said awkwardly, glancing up at the others.
All three exchanged uncertain looks before slowly turning toward the red light again.
"If that's not the exit... then what is it?" one of them asked, reaching out to touch it.
"WAIT!" Ashfall shouted—but it was too late. The light dissolved on contact and vanished.
A low, rhythmic sound began to rise—like a battle chant repeating over and over.
All three of their watches began to vibrate violently. The minute hand had struck 60—their cloaking was gone. The Demigods would now be aware of their presence.
"Shit! WE NEED TO GO—NOW!" Ashfall yelled, sprinting in the direction the second hand indicated. The others scrambled to follow.
The once-distant chant had become a full chorus now, its language unknown to any of them.
The real exit point finally came into view. The red light, now in the correct place, glowed like a lover's embrace waiting to welcome them home.
Then, the storm suddenly ceased.
Sunlight struck the icy landscape, blinding them momentarily with its brilliance.
When they lowered their hands, a black figure stood in front of the exit. A long hood veiled a silver mask. A black robe and cloak billowed around them in the wind.
All three began to tremble—but not from the cold.
It was the presence. The overwhelming threat.
"Th-the Demigod o-of Death…" stammered the calmest of the trio.
As if that wasn't enough, the war chant had now arrived—accompanied by dozens of Viking airships hovering behind them, awaiting the command of their leader.
"They must've been drawn by the trap we triggered," Ashfall thought, turning back toward the Demigod.
The entity raised its left hand. A cloud of black smoke erupted outward, swirling with snow to create an even deadlier storm than before. The Viking ships struggled against the fierce gusts.
"Oh Death, become my devouring blade once more," the Demigod whispered—and absorbed the entire storm into his longspear-like axe.
With the blade aimed at the ships, he unleashed the fury like a colossal projectile.
Screams echoed across the skies—agony that burned itself into the minds of the three survivors.
The Viking warriors crumbled to dust mid-air, their bodies swept away in the cyclone.
The chant was gone. All that remained were the screams.
"Who are you?" the Demigod's dark, resonant voice finally asked—directed at the three, now paralyzed by fear as the ships began crashing to the frozen ground.
None responded. They were forbidden to reveal their identities.
"Silence is also an answer… filthy terrorists."
The Demigod materialized before them like a living shadow.
In one motion, he cleaved one agent in two and crushed the other's skull with his bare hand. Ashfall was the only one left.
"Even death is too kind for those who disturb the balance," he growled—and with one devastating slash, he tore through the left side of Ashfall's face, nearly splitting his skull.
Everything turned black.
Ashfall was so gravely injured that he couldn't even feel the pain anymore. He was moments from death.
"So this is it… even though I was once considered one of the best Inspectors—time has caught up to me..."
Some time later
Ashfall heard voices, yet felt no limbs—nothing at all.
"He still has a faint pulse? Despite that injury… and that environment?!" someone gasped in disbelief.
Three weeks later – Present day
Aethra Prime – Center of the Great Clock
"The next thing I remember was the searing pain on the left side of my face..." Ashfall ran his fingers across his newly restored skin, feeling the cold, metallic surface of his cybernetic implants.
"I see... Are you still taking your prescribed pills regularly?" a doctor asked, jotting something down.
"Yeah, every day—once in the morning, once at night…"
"Unfortunately, there's nothing else we can do. Just keep taking them. Time's up, and I need to see the next patient," the doctor replied hastily, clearly waiting for Ashfall to leave.
Irritated, Ashfall exited the sleek, high-tech hospital.
He straightened his gray suit and climbed into the shuttle waiting outside.
"NTS, anything new?" he asked the NeoTech System—an AI assistant installed in every wealthier citizen's shuttle.
"Welcome back, Ashfall. Currently, the annual Memorial Festival for the victims of the Ash War is underway."
"It's that time again? The gods are probably in town too… great. The city's probably packed," he muttered, leaning his head against the window as the shuttle soared farther from the city.
Eventually, they reached a quiet, affluent residential area just outside the capital.
The shuttle pulled into the driveway of a sleek modern home and parked.
Ashfall stepped out slowly, heading toward the door.
Inside, he went to the open-plan kitchen and poured himself a glass of water before taking his medication.
"Shall I activate sleep mode upstairs?" the NTS asked.
"Yes, please... I just want to sleep tonight," he answered, walking through the hallway and ascending the spiral staircase in the spacious living room.
The windows upstairs darkened automatically to simulate nightfall.
Ashfall passed the bathroom and entered his bedroom.
He lay down without changing clothes.
"Tomorrow's the memorial for Erat and Uka… and after that, they'll probably send me out again," he murmured, then closed his eyes.