Naritsa, Nebula, and Laria emerged from the portal of Jebaddon Island, stepping onto the physical world once more.
The air surrounding them was frigid and biting, immediately sinking into their skin, their outfits flapping violently against the relentless storm. A thick, spectral mist rolled across the landscape, swallowing the horizon in an endless sea of white.
They stood atop a frostbitten hill, its jagged edges coated in a thick sheet of ice, cracking softly beneath their shifting weight. Each breath they took turned to vapor, curling in the air before vanishing into the swirling white void.
Nebula wrapped his arms around himself, his body shuddering beneath the layers of his clothing. The cold gnawed at his skin, seeping deep into his bones. His gaze darted around, but the world beyond the veil of mist seemed bleak and endless, stretching in all directions with nothing but the relentless storm of snow.
"Where… are we?" his voice came out hoarse, his brow furrowing as he squinted through the blizzard.
Naritsa merely smiled. She was unfazed by the cold, her ruby-red eyes flickering with intrigue.
"Welcome to the Ghost Land," she announced, her voice carrying an eerie excitement. I've always wanted to visit here someday."
Nebula, however, was far from thrilled. "All I see is snow and wind," he grumbled, his vision struggling to pierce through the shifting fog.
Naritsa giggled softly, then gestured toward the depths of the valley below. "Look down there," she urged.
Nebula followed her pointing finger, and through the veil of icy fog, he saw it—a fortified stronghold, its blackened stone walls standing tall against the relentless blizzard. At its front, a pair of colossal iron gates loomed, half-buried in frost, their surface engraved with ominous runes. From their vantage point, dim lantern lights flickered faintly from the city within, struggling against the eternal cold.
His eyes widened. "That's… a city?"
Naritsa nodded. "A sanctuary hidden in the cold. And our next stop."
She then turned to Laria, brushing a stray lock of blonde hair from her face. "Do we have enough funds to last us a few days here?"
Laria smirked, brushing the frost from her sleeves. "More than enough, Your Highness," she assured confidently. "We're good to go."
Satisfied with the response, Naritsa turned back toward Nebula, a warm smile playing on her lips. "Come on," she beckoned, taking the first step down the hill, her boots leaving prints in the snow.
Laria followed close behind, her eyes scanning the mist for potential dangers.
Nebula lingered for just a moment longer, casting one last glance at the ethereal fortress below. The icy wind howled through the valley, whispering secrets long forgotten.
With a deep breath, he pulled his grey coat tighter around himself and trudged forward, following after the two girls.
The trio eventually came to a halt by the frostbitten roadside, their boots sinking slightly into the powdery snow as they awaited a passing carriage. The wind howled through the frozen expanse, carrying the distant creaks of wagon wheels and the rhythmic clatter of hooves against the ice-packed road. Flickering lantern posts lined the path, their dim, warm glow struggling to pierce through the thick, swirling mist.
Nebula shifted uncomfortably, rubbing his gloved hands together for warmth before shooting a skeptical glance at the road ahead. "Why don't we just walk?" he suggested with a shrug, watching his breath curl into the cold air. "Wouldn't that cost us less?"
His words had barely settled in the air before Laria shot him a death glare, her smaller frame bristling with outrage. With a sharp huff, she rose onto her toes, compensating for their height difference, before delivering a swift knock to his forehead.
"The audacity!" she barked. "You dare suggest that Her Royal Highness walks on foot like a commoner?"
Nebula winced from the sudden impact, rubbing the sore spot while his expression twisted into anger. Without thinking, he grabbed Laria by her collar, yanking her close with a scowl. "You unholy bitch—"
But before the situation could escalate, a melodic burst of laughter filled the air.
The two froze, turning their heads toward Naritsa, who stood gracefully under the pale light of a street lantern, her arms wrapped around her waist as she giggled uncontrollably, her melodious voice cutting through the icy air like a warm breeze.
Nebula, despite his irritation, found himself momentarily distracted—Naritsa's radiant smile, her rosy cheeks lightly flushed from the cold, made her look even more enchanting.
"You shouldn't fight him, Laria," Naritsa finally spoke between gentle chuckles. "It's really not a big deal to walk."
"What? No, Your Highness!" Laria protested, looking utterly betrayed. "Don't let him deceive you!"
But Naritsa was already on the move, her elegant steps leaving soft imprints in the snow as she made her way toward the massive entrance gate ahead. Nebula, still somewhat dazed by her laughter, quickly fell in step beside her, his breath forming soft clouds in the cold air. Frustrated but left with no choice, Laria huffed and quickly followed, ensuring she kept pace with them.
As they approached the city's towering frost-rimed gates, the sheer magnitude of the fortified walls loomed above them like ancient giants. The thick iron doors were etched with intricate carvings of ghosts, their metal frames laced with glowing blue runes that pulsed faintly under the icy mist. A group of fur-clad security guards stood vigilant, their breath steaming as they clutched their halberds tightly, watching every traveler that approached.
Unfazed by their scrutiny, Naritsa gracefully retrieved a royal badge embossed with a golden sigil from within the folds of her elegant attire, extending it toward one of the guards. The man inspected the emblem carefully, his sharp eyes scanning the intricate sigil before realization dawned upon him.
He quickly bowed, his voice firm yet reverent. "Welcome, princess. Ghost Land is honored to have you."
With a swift hand signal, he commanded his fellow guards to part the enormous gates. The towering iron doors creaked open, revealing the city within.
As they stepped inside, the landscape transformed from a desolate, icy wilderness to a thriving winter metropolis. The streets, paved with dark stone, stretched deep into the heart of the city, bustling with people despite the frigid temperatures.
Snow-covered rooftops loomed over bustling market stalls, their wooden beams creaking under the weight of icicles. Merchants, wrapped in thick furs, barked out deals from beneath makeshift tents, their breath curling in the air as they displayed everything from rare pelts to steaming, spiced drinks. Elegant carriages rattled down the cobbled roads, their wheels crunching through a layer of slush as they weaved between pedestrians.
Beyond the marketplace, luxurious bars and restaurants glowed warmly, their golden lights spilling onto the streets, inviting weary travelers to seek shelter. Tall motels and lavish brothels stood further ahead, their facades adorned with glowing signs that promised comfort and pleasure to those willing to pay the price. Even grocery stores were alive with activity, their glass windows frosted from the inside, revealing shelves stacked with exotic goods.
Naritsa took it all in with a delighted smile, her ruby eyes gleaming as she turned to her companions. "This place is even more exciting than I imagined," she admitted, watching as both Nebula and Laria's faces lit up with equal amazement.
"Looks alive for a Ghost Land," Nebula murmured with dry sarcasm, his gaze sweeping over the bustling streets. "I imagined a deserted wasteland crawling with actual ghosts."
Laria, ever poised, spared him a glance before responding. "Hold on to that imagination and stay vigilant," she warned smoothly. "Ghosts still roam these lands, but only when twilight falls."
Nebula raised an eyebrow at her words.
"They used to be far more rampant," she continued, her voice steady despite the grim topic. "But ever since the rise of powerful guardian hosts in this city, their numbers have dwindled. Still, they're not gone. Some say the oldest specters never left."
Nebula pondered over her words, his gaze flickering across the twinkling lanterns, the misty streets, and the lively figures bustling through the city's heart. So the city's name wasn't just for show. Ghost Land carried its truth, lurking beneath its deceptive vibrancy. But before his thoughts could venture any further, Naritsa suddenly cut through his mental wanderings.
"So, how are you truly coping upon learning the truth?" she asked, her voice gentle yet filled with concern.
Nebula blinked, thrown off by the sudden question. "What truth? Oh, you mean the ghosts—?"
"—No," she interjected softly, her expression unreadable. "I meant the truth about your situation." Her ruby eyes bore into his as she continued, "The truth about losing Sara... about the Smilodon replacing her as your guardian beast."
Nebula's steps halted mid-stride, his breath forming a cold mist before him. The weight of her words settled like iron on his chest. For a moment, silence stretched between them, the sounds of the city fading into a distant murmur.
"To be honest, I still wallow in grief," he exhaled deeply, his voice steady but distant, "But I'll heal eventually. One other thing is certain—" his fists clenched tightly. "The Gog Empire will ultimately pay for their oppression of the innocent."
Naritsa observed the hardened determination in his eyes. Without warning, she reached out and enclosed her fingers around his dark, calloused hand—his cold fingers warmed by her touch.
"... And I promise to see this through with you, until the very end," she assured him with a soft yet resolute smile.
Nebula's expression softened, his anger momentarily quelled by her sincerity. "Thank you," he murmured, his fingers unconsciously tightening around hers for a fleeting moment before letting go.
Naritsa smirked playfully. "Do thank me properly when we finally find a place to eat and settle for the night," she teased before gracefully turning away, making her way toward a nearby motel.
Laria, ever dutiful, silently followed behind her.
Nebula exhaled another deep breath before preparing to walk after them—but then he saw it.
His entire body went rigid.
His pulse pounded in his ears.
Across the busy street, a sight of sheer cruelty unfolded before his eyes.
A battered blonde-haired boy, no older than 14, was bound in rusted iron chains, his neck, wrists, and ankles all shackled. His frail form was dragged mercilessly along the icy ground, each sharp pull of the chains forcing him to stumble forward. Blood trailed behind him, fresh cuts lining his exposed skin.
The source of his torment was a yelling horseman, mounted atop a sleek black stallion. The rider, cloaked in fur, wielded a long leather whip in his gloved hand, the crack of the lash echoing viciously through the street.
Snap!
The whip lashed across the boy's back, tearing into his already shredded tunic. The child flinched violently, his choked cries barely escaping his lips as he staggered forward on weak legs—yet no one around even spared a glance.
The bustling city continued as if nothing was happening.
Nebula's blood boiled. His fists tightened. His jaw locked.
The fury inside him was instantaneous, raw, and uncontrollable.
Without a second thought—without even realizing it—his body had already begun moving.