My body still aches, even two days after we got out of the Black Forest. I stagger as I leave the tent, my muscles protesting.
As soon as I step outside the old, broken-down tent, the cold breeze immediately slaps my face. The night sky is beautiful—the stars shining brightly overhead.
I sit on a stone nearby. For once, this is the farthest I've been from my sword. This is actually the first time I've felt safe since I arrived here.
In the distance are the gates of the town Draka and Kora told me about. And far across from it is the Black Forest, its dark trees acting as camouflage. I'm sitting on the hill overlooking both.
This world feels more refreshing compared to Earth. Somehow, the contrast of this world being both dangerous and beautiful is actually beautiful.
I can actually rest now. For now, that is. I get up, holding the stone for support, before walking back to the tent. A lot's going to happen tomorrow.
The next day, Draka, Kora, and I walk to the gates of the town. Two imposing guards stand watch, carrying halberds, wearing helmets with chain curtains covering the lower parts of their faces. They wear scale armor bearing the symbol of a bear—the same emblem as Draka's armor.
Kora gently pulls my arm, looking up at me. "Don't speak English. Just don't." I nod in response.
The men stare at us. "Virus, ruan di nask ho?" one of them asks.
"Virus, ongaron. Mi ro tengi kan tanru," Draka responds, instinctively stepping in front of us.
The two men eventually nod and separate, lifting their halberds. So we're safe. That's good to know. We walk past the gates and see the town firsthand. Buildings are too close to one another, each made of stone reinforced with wooden frames.
Children play in the streets. Vendors sell fruits and items. As we walk, it's like the town becomes more and more vibrant. The fact that there are places like this in this cold and brutal world—still smiling, playing, and going about their day—is remarkable.
Draka stops abruptly, grasping my shoulder. "We made it." I look up and see a wooden temple-like structure, wooden pillars around the doors carved with the heads of bears and runes. Over the massive door hangs the skull of a deer.
As I enter the temple, I notice Kora isn't joining us. "Why isn't Kora joining?" I ask, looking back at Draka.
"Women aren't allowed here, Zain. The Berserker ritual is for Berserkers and Berserkers only."
As soon as the door closes, I look around the temple. The smell of roasted meat, smoke, and other scents I don't recognize fills the air. Runes and carpets cover the walls. The skulls of animals are everywhere. The temple is barely lit—only enough light for unclear visibility.
We walk deeper into the temple. The place feels small. Men lie on the floor, twitching, their mouths foaming. Chanting echoes throughout the temple. Carpets cover everything.
We see a smaller door in front of us, its surface detailed with runes and drawings of figures. Draka opens it. Inside are multiple women in thick cloaks of fur, wearing necklaces of teeth and bones, holding staffs and chanting.
The women turn to look at us. Their faces are painted pale. All of them smile, like they expected me.
One of them walks toward me, grasping her staff. She gently grabs my chin, inspecting me, moving my head like I'm fresh meat.
"Shkaulla," she whispers.
I hear a slam behind me and look back. Draka is gone. He left me here?! With them?!
The woman pulls me toward a much larger carpet. Her grip is gentle as she guides me to the designated spot. The smell of smoke and roasted meat still lingers.
The women surround me, gently taking off my vest, revealing my scars and the bandages from my past battles. The pain still lingers on my body.
One of the women—a much older lady—approaches me carrying a wooden bowl of yellow liquid. My knees shake as I kneel in front of her.
"Rui rankata goini udri." The women begin chanting, slamming their staffs on the floor, creating a beat for their song. My mind relaxes. My mouth opens slightly. It's like my own body is controlling itself.
The woman pours the liquid into my mouth. The women start chanting louder, slamming their staffs harder—to the point where I feel vibrations from their consistent pounding.
The liquid tastes bitter and sour. I swallow it all. The taste grows stronger and stronger as I drink.
The elderly woman then slams the bowl down, shouting, and the women cheer. My mind starts spiraling. My head feels heavy. I can't think of anything.
I lie on the floor, looking up at the roof, seeing bright colors spiraling down toward me. Then I lose consciousness.
I wake up to a watery surface. I immediately get up and look around at the dim light in this black world. In the distance, I see a figure—a black silhouette slowly approaching me.
It's me.