You want to know about the past of this world? I'm not the best storyteller. Look ahead, friend. The titan of the sky, Jodcheim, always walks his usual path, soon to disappear into the distant mountains. There, according to legends, he will fight all the evils of this world and win the battle against Tlekorz the Apprentice. Remembering this name, the exorcist, and judging by his crossbow, it was exactly the killer of uncleanness, spat on the ground, revealing his protective mask.

You want to know why he's called the Apprentice? I have to disappoint you. I don't know. I was taken from my family too soon by the Order's minions, and they don't care about legends. All they care about is that we're good at killing the restless dead. So we don't die every time we meet a cold one in our path. But this isn't about the Order, it's about the legend. Where was I? Oh yes… But in that ancient battle, Jodkheim himself would die, only to be reborn across the sea and follow his own path, returning to the continent from the west of the Light Continent, where the first ships came from. Only he will walk along the blue vault instead of sailing through the Great Dark Frontier to light up the ancient island and the capital city of the same name – Amberesvet the Great – with his mane of hair from afar. The Chill Killer examined his gauntlet.

The first fork road led to the castle of a rebel lord who had decided to no longer serve the Crown of Grave Mohawk. And so his domain lay desolate, and his servants were cold and wandering among the ruins of the castle on a lonely cliff. Many small lords have sought to gain more autonomy, or even independence. Now that the gray earth is spreading so rapidly that I do not recognize even the blooming places where I once was, all has been devoured by the ruinous wasp. And so Fortress Rukh kills anyone who comes within ten paces of the Second Gate of Light. And this is now that the High Priest of Hotta has fled the islands from the amber capital to the Fortress of Rukh. He stole the Titan Child of Jodcheim with him and proclaimed the Thunderbird Lands as the Last Possession of the Light. Now that the dastardly Cult of Bones is influencing the mind of Emperor Retreat of Grave Mohawk, the ruler will only laugh back at the messenger and his troubles. And will drink more wine, looking through the rims of his glass at his subjects – small bugs with insignificant problems. Many have tried, but not all have succeeded.

Lonely walls and stones are what remains of this castle. The name of the local lord is gone from the pages of the annals, and now no one knows who lived there. Perhaps if the village near the castle had been alive, people would still remember, but it was not spared by the oser. People either left or died of starvation. "Perhaps the Light will be merciful to their souls," I thought angrily as I fired an arrow from my crossbow at the rebel who had carelessly approached me. He let out a cry of something akin to surprise and fell to the ground. The rebel lord's dead guard tried sharply to break free, pinned to the ground by the arrow. He flailed his arms, dislodging several emerald green mushrooms that came out from under the visor of his helmet. One of his gauntlets came off, exposing black, rotting flesh. The guard began to groan and lash out, but I knew he wouldn't make it.

"The hunter has decided on a path. The hunter will take the long way," the words of the prophecy of the oracle of Light Jodkheim's oracle rang out again. 'The hunter will go straight to the Dark Forest. There are still survivors there. The village is half a day's journey away.

Why did the hunter choose the central path? Because the last road led back. Through the desolate lands and the small bridge where he once grew up, and went to the dwarves and the Northmen. And the man didn't know it, nor did he guess why he was visited by the memory that the hunter had tried so eagerly to dismiss. Or rather, he knew, for it was at such a stone that he had been given to the Order. But whether it was this one or the other, the hunter couldn't remember. He hesitated, trying to figure it out, but he couldn't guess, too much had changed here. He jumped into the saddle and galloped towards the Darkwoods. There were many stones, and he was alone.....

…

I reached the clearing near the settlement with only two arrows in my quiver. The forest creatures ate them like crazy. They ate the horse, too. Quite ragged and tired, covered in dirt and small cuts, I looked more like a cold than a living person, especially after running away from a nocturnal predator – a Blue Claw, a large and dangerous forest cat. Why was I running away from a stalker? The answer is simple – I don't get paid for them. And there are many like him.

I staggered forward to the fence. From afar, the villagers noticed me and lined up on the walls with weapons. The old townsman didn't want to open the door to me at all, he didn't believe that someone could overcome the forest at night. He ordered the crossbowmen to fire a volley at me, mistaking me for a cold traveler – a common thing. But he changed his mind immediately when a black arrow struck a meter from his head.

"It's a hunter!" The old man shrieked as if for the last time. The liquid and sparse strands of hair that knew no shearer surged in all directions, and his eyes swiveled madly. I had already gotten close enough to get a good look at his image. The silly palming had stopped. The villagers weren't firing in the opposite direction except for the accuracy of their shots, so terrible was their accuracy. One of them had managed to discharge a crossbow into his leg. So in the background, while it was not up to him, one curly-haired boy with freckles kept reloading his crossbow and shooting arrow after arrow. The headman had to come closer and give him a cautionary slap and personally confiscate the weapon.

"Have you got fenugreek in your ears? Didn't you hear the orders?" the old man reprimanded the child.

The chains of the gate rattled, and I covered my heart with my black-gloved hand against the dust as they thudded to the ground. More on instinct than with any benefit. That's what we were taught in the Order. "Whoever covers his face with his hand is dead! You have to cover your heart!" The dust cleared and two men in half armor stepped out cautiously toward me. I thought to myself that I had only seen such armor in Feanoth Castle with the Count's dancers, and it didn't cover anything.

"Look, a living man!" exclaimed one of the guards. The golden-haired one even tried to poke his finger at me to make sure that he wasn't an obsession, but stopped halfway when he met my hard stare.

"He's a creature hunter, so he's already dead…" the other man said, but he had to stop halfway through, the crossbow bolt in his forehead. I was staggering, which made the picture even more graceful.

"Why am I dead?" I asked demandingly. "Oh! I was really very curious!"

Very slowly, as if reluctantly, the villagers raised their crossbows a second time and pointed them at me.

"Don't be angry, all of you who have been in the mountains, well… haven't become half-dead, that's why you cover your face," he was almost choking. He swallowed convulsively, threw a slanting glance at the comrade behind me, who waved his hands, confused. I scrutinised the sweat trickling down his forehead. He rolled his eyes out of his orbits, too. How he was shaking!

"No, they didn't." I unbuckled the mask from my face with my free hand. The lock clicked. The mask crunched rubber and paper, revealing my face. Then I tucked the crossbow into its mount on my back and entered the settlement. If the guards wanted to search me, they seemed to have already changed their minds.