No matter how much longer he walked, dragging his shattered body, driven by the last remnants of his resolve. The once fresh forest scent was gradually replaced by a different smell. A smell he knew. The sharp saltiness, the fishy odor, and the sticky tar.
He had arrived at a harbor.
He stood still at the edge of the deserted pier, gazing at the vast ocean stretching before him. Its deep blue water seemed calm, reflecting the moonlight like an endless mirror.
The rhythmic sound of waves crashing felt somewhat soothing.
Then, he shifted his gaze to himself, to his reflection in the puddle of seawater on the wooden pier planks.
He saw his fox mask, now cracked in several places. He saw his dirty and torn clothes. And he saw... the emptiness on his left shoulder.
As he stared at his empty, dangling left sleeve, all the anger that had momentarily subsided now exploded with even greater force.
His jaw tightened, his breath quickened again, and his remaining hand clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palm, drawing fresh blood.
The image of the Raiden Shogun's cold and emotionless face flashed in his mind again. She took it from me... She tore it away... SHE WILL PAY FOR THIS!
He wanted to scream again, to vent his rage at the indifferent ocean. But he managed to hold it back. He took a deep breath, a trembling sigh, and forced himself to calm down.
Anger wouldn't get him anywhere. What he needed now was power.
And a way out.
He limped along the pier, his sharp eyes scanning every docked ship. Most were small fishing boats. But at the end of the pier, a large and sturdy cargo ship was preparing to depart, its massive sails being unfurled.
On the deck, a man with a thick beard and a weather-beaten face was shouting orders to his crew. The captain.
Charles walked toward the ship. The crew, busy lifting cargo crates, paused momentarily upon seeing his menacing figure—a man in a fox mask, with one arm, and clothes smeared with blood.
"Where is this ship going?" Charles said, his voice hoarse and deep, almost like a growl.
The captain stopped shouting and turned. He looked Charles up and down, his gray-blue eyes narrowing, assessing every detail of the strange figure before him. "Fontaine," he replied curtly, his voice heavy like gravel. "And we're not looking for passengers who'll die midway at sea."
Charles ignored the insult. He looked at the ship again, his sharp eyes noting how fully loaded it was with supplies. He looked back at the captain. "Can I hitch a ride?"
The captain chuckled softly, a dry laugh without humor. He stared at Charles, then his gaze shifted to his empty left shoulder. He was silent for a few moments, his expression unreadable.
Then, he turned and walked toward his ship. Before climbing the gangplank, he stopped and turned back, looking at Charles once more.
"As long as you pay a fair price."
...
For days, the ship they were on was tossed by the waves from the remnants of Inazuma's storm, every crash sending intense vibrations that pierced straight into Charles's wound.
He spent most of his time in the captain's cabin he had claimed, lying on a spread of old maps, battling fever and infection that threatened to claim his consciousness.
Every heartbeat sent waves of dull, burning pain from his now empty left shoulder. The bandage wrapping his remaining stump, changed by the ship's captain in exchange for a large pouch of Mora, was always soaked with blood and pus.
He thanked the crew, not for their kindness—because there was no kindness on the open sea—but for their transactional professionalism.
They treated his wound using a needle heated over a lantern flame to stitch it and pouring cheap alcohol directly onto the exposed flesh to kill the infection, all while he held his groans between clenched teeth.
Now, after a journey that felt like forever, the ship's violent rocking finally slowed.
The constant creaking of wood and the weary groans of the masts began to be replaced by something new: a deep and heavy KRAK... KREEK... sound, as if their ship was scraping against something.
Charles forced his weary body to rise. The pain in his shoulder had dulled into a constant throb.
He stepped out of the cabin, his remaining right hand gripping the door handle tightly for balance.
The outside air was so cold it felt like inhaling shards of glass, instantly freezing his breath in his lungs and making his wound throb painfully.
He stood tall at the edge of the deck, his tattered ronin cloak fluttering in the biting wind. His empty left sleeve was neatly tied with leftover cloth. He looked ahead, and the sight that greeted him sent a cold silence down his spine.
This wasn't the Fontaine he remembered.
This was an ice tomb.
The harbor that should have been bustling with steamships and music was now eerily silent.
The water in the bay had frozen into a thick, uneven gray ice layer, their ship now trapped on its surface, creaking and groaning as its hull rubbed against the ice.
The beautiful buildings of Fontaine City in the distance looked like ghostly palaces, blanketed in thick snow and adorned with massive ice stalactites hanging from their grand roofs.
No smoke rose from the factory chimneys, no ticking sounds from clockwork machines.
Only silence.
A total and deadly silence, broken only by the howling wind roaring between the aqueducts now frozen mid-flow.
No scent of freshly baked bread, no perfume from the nobles.
Only the sterile smell of long-dead ice and a faint ozone aroma that reminded him of the purple lightning that had taken his arm.
The other crew members had gathered on the deck, their faces deathly pale, their eyes wide in horror staring at the dead city.
They had survived Inazuma's storm only to find themselves stranded in a new frozen hell.
At that moment, Charles's eyes caught a movement.
On the snow-covered pier below, a small figure moved with difficulty.
The figure was bent over, trying to lift a heavy-looking cardboard box from atop a pile of ice.
The figure wore thick, layered winter clothes, a thick scarf covering half their face, but their movements looked so familiar.
Charles's heart felt like it stopped beating.
The figure, seemingly hearing the creaking sound of their ship trying to dock at the icy pier, stopped moving.
They looked up.
Time seemed to slow.
The wind blew back the figure's hood, revealing hair as white as snow, streaked with faint glowing light blue strands under the gray sky. And their eyes... those eyes. One eye clear sky blue, the other soft lavender purple.
It was Furina.
At the same time, Furina also looked up, toward the foreign ship that had suddenly appeared in her dead harbor. Her heterochromatic eyes narrowed, trying to see who was on the deck.
Her gaze locked on one male figure standing silently at the bow, a tall figure in dark clothes she recognized all too well.
The cardboard box she had been holding tightly now slipped from her suddenly numb fingers. It fell with a soft thud onto the snow, its contents—several cans of food and frozen vegetables—rolling everywhere.
Furina's gloved hand rose, covering her gaping mouth, unable to make a sound.
Her eyes widened in horror, filled with shock, disbelief, and something else... hope so great it felt painful.
She began to tremble, no longer from the cold, but from the wave of emotions crashing over her.
On the ship, Charles closed his eyes for a moment. A strange and unexpected relief flooded him, so strong it nearly weakened his knees.
He turned and walked toward the ship's gangplank.
Charles descended the wooden stairs, each heavy and measured step echoing in the pier's silence.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
He stopped a few steps in front of Furina, who was still frozen in place, staring at him as if he were a ghost. His remaining right hand slipped into his cloak pocket. A thin smile curved his lips.
"How have you been, Furina?"
His hoarse and deep voice shattered the silence. Hearing her name spoken, especially in such a casual tone without honorifics, seemed to act as a spell breaking the curse that bound her.
The emotions that had been held back inside Furina now exploded.
Hot tears began to flow down her cheeks, freezing momentarily in the cold air before falling onto her scarf. A wide smile full of relief etched across her face.
She wanted to run, to hug him, to shout in joy.
But as her tear-filled eyes moved downward, her smile froze.
She saw it.
Charles's left side. His cloak dangling empty. His sleeve neatly tied in a knot.
Her face, which had been filled with happiness, now turned deathly pale, paler than the surrounding snow. Her smile vanished, replaced by an indescribable expression of horror. Her body began to tremble violently, this time not from relief, but from pure terror. Her trembling gloved hand rose, her finger pointing at Charles's left shoulder.
"Your arm..." she whispered, her voice choked in her throat. She swallowed, trying to find her voice again. "Charles... what... WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR ARM?!"
In an instant, the scene before her vanished. The icy pier disappeared, replaced by Inazuma's clear sky. She no longer smelled ice, but the sharp ozone.
She no longer heard the wind, but the deafening crackle of electricity.
And she saw it again—a blade made of pure purple lightning, slashing toward her with deadly beauty.
She felt again the burning heat sensation, followed by a cold emptiness as part of her was forcibly torn away.
Instantly, the smile on Charles's face vanished. The rare warmth in his eyes extinguished, replaced by an emptiness as cold as ice. His jaw tightened so hard that the muscles in his cheek protruded, and his teeth ground softly.
His right hand in his pocket clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palm, piercing the skin. His breath, which had been calm, now became heavy and sounded like a low growl held in his throat.
An aura of hatred and killing intent so dense and cold emanated from his body, so strong it made the air around them vibrate, and Furina unconsciously staggered back a step, her breath catching in terror.
Sensing Furina's fear, Charles snapped out of his memory.
He closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and forcibly pushed back the demons inside him into the darkest abyss.
When he opened his eyes, the storm in them had subsided, leaving only a calm and empty sea.
"It's a long story..." he said, his voice now flat and emotionless.
He deliberately turned his face away from Furina, breaking eye contact, and observed the dead city's scenery, trying hard to change the subject. "Where is Arthur?"
Furina, still trembling from Charles's terrifying emotional outburst, needed a few moments to speak. She hugged herself tightly. "He... he's not with me." Her voice sounded small and fragile. "I don't know where he is. It seems... since we left that world, we were all transported to different places. I... I was thrown back here. Alone."
Charles fell silent hearing that. So, just the two of them. He looked back at the destruction before him. Streets that used to be bustling now covered in snow, the fountains symbolizing Fontaine now just bizarre ice sculptures.
"It seems Fontaine has become a frozen land. Almost every place is full of ice."
He shifted his sharp gaze back to Furina. "What about your people?"
Hearing the question, something inside Furina changed. The remnants of her fear faded, replaced by a spark of new strength. She stood a little taller, her chin lifted.
"Some of them are safe," she said, her voice now stronger. "I... I managed to save many of them. Under the city, in the ancient pipe channels. We built shelters there."
A sad but proud smile curved her lips. "All thanks to you. What you did in... in that place... somehow, it gave us time. It stopped... something. And you also... saved me. I don't know how to explain it, but you gave us a chance to fight."
Charles looked at her. He tried to smile, tried to say something to encourage her.
But what came out was only a soft grimace as the pain from his old wound and the exhaustion from his long journey now hit him full force.
The adrenaline that had supported him was gone, leaving him with a trembling and empty body.
"Good," he finally managed to say, his voice hoarse from fatigue. "Then... I'll rest first."
He turned and began walking with heavy, unbalanced steps, dragging his feet over the snow, toward the silence of the dead city, leaving Furina alone on the pier amid the scattered food cans.
...
Charles walked through streets that should have been filled with laughter and music, now occupied only by oppressive silence. The fountain in the main square had frozen mid-spray, creating a strange and tragic ice sculpture.
The Melusines usually on duty as guides were nowhere to be seen. Cafes by the roadside were covered in thick snow, their luxurious velvet chairs now stiff and fragile like glass.
The only sound was his own dragging footsteps on the snow and the howling wind roaring between the tall buildings.
He leaned against a wall covered in ice, his body trembling violently. The pain in his shoulder now throbbed with a torturous rhythm.
Damn it... the pain... he thought, his teeth chattering. That damn miracle gave me 24 hours not to die. But the pain doesn't go away. It said nothing about the pain. The image of the Raiden Shogun flashed in his mind again, so majestic, so cold, so cruel. His jaw tightened again.
I will make you pay, Ei. I swear. I will strip away your eternity, piece by piece.
He saw a relatively intact building. An old luxurious coffee shop, with a sign still faintly readable behind the ice layer.
He kicked the door stuck with ice until it opened, creating a loud wood-cracking sound.
The interior was dark and even more silent. The air inside was stuffy, filled with the scent of long-evaporated coffee, mixed with mold and the sterile ice aroma. The neatly arranged velvet chairs were now stiff and covered in frost.
Charles dragged his body to the chair farthest from the window, a hidden booth in a dark corner.
An extraordinary exhaustion—not just physical from blood loss and the long journey, but a deep soul fatigue—finally engulfed him.
He dropped his head onto the cold table, and for the first time in what felt like ages, he let his consciousness fade.
He had just closed his eyes.
KREEEKK...
That wasn't the sound of wood. But the sound of ice being ground by something very heavy!
Charles jolted awake, his heart pounding. He held his breath, his ears sharpening, trying to listen through the silence.
DUG.
Silence for a moment.
DUG.
Footsteps. Heavy and rhythmic footsteps that shook the floor beneath him.
Damn it! His remaining hand immediately reached under his cloak, searching for his revolver.
In front of him, the cafe wall facing the main street suddenly began to crack. Not ordinary cracks, but large ones pushed from outside in. Plaster fell from the ceiling.
BOOM!
The wall shattered into pieces. Shards of ice, bricks, and plaster flew into the cafe like a bomb explosion.
Charles rolled from his chair, shielding his head with his only arm as the rain of debris hit where he had sat seconds ago. The air filled with thick ice dust that choked his breath.
As the ice dust slowly settled, in the gaping hole in the wall, a massive figure stood. Its body made of roughly carved ice blocks, bound by pulsing Cryo energy with a pale blue glow. Its eyes were two sapphire pieces shining with cold, emotionless killing intent.
The golem roared. Its voice wasn't like an animal's, but like a breaking glacier, deep and echoing. It raised its fist as big as a table and smashed it where Charles had sat. The sturdy wooden table and chair shattered into shapeless splinters of wood and ice.
Why won't this world let me rest, just once!
He crawled behind the sturdy wooden bar. The golem followed him, its blue eyes locked on him. It swung its arm horizontally, destroying the entire bar with one swing. Frozen bottles shattered, creating a rain of sharp ice glass shards.
Charles rolled to the side, avoiding the shard rain, the sharp fragments grazing his cheek and hand.
At that moment, he snapped his fingers. SNAP!
A small explosion occurred at the golem's right knee. The ice cracked, and some pieces broke, but it didn't shatter. The golem only staggered for a moment, then looked back at him, as if feeling nothing.
It doesn't work! The ice is too thick!
The golem raised both hands high and smashed them into the floor. KRAKOOM! A wave of pale blue ice spread across the cafe floor, freezing everything it touched in an instant. The wooden floor under Charles's feet began to crack and cover in frost. An extreme cold crept up his legs.
He jumped onto a still-intact round table just in time.
The golem saw him on the table. It charged forward, opening a gap in its face that should be a mouth, and fired a storm of ice shards sharp like thousands of daggers.
Charles had no choice. He looked up. A massive luxurious crystal chandelier, now frozen and snow-covered, hung right above the golem.
He snapped his fingers, this time directing the explosion at the iron chain holding the chandelier. SNAP!
The chain exploded and broke.
For a moment, time seemed to slow. The golem looked up, its blue eyes staring at the falling chandelier.
KRAAASSHHH!
The heavy crystal chandelier crashed onto the golem's head, shattering its upper body into thousands of ice shards and beautiful sparkling crystal fragments amid the destruction.
Silence enveloped the now-ruined cafe. Ice dust slowly fell.
Charles coughed, his body trembling violently from exhaustion, the pain in his shoulder now throbbing unbearably.
But the fight wasn't over.
The ice pile began to move again. The golem's lower body still stood. And from the rubble pile, new ice began to form, creeping upward, regenerating its destroyed upper body.
It's... regenerating? Charles thought, a new horror gripping his heart.
The half-formed golem turned toward Charles. And this time, in its chest, where its heart should be, a blood-red core began to pulse with a terrifying glow.
...
A/N: I hope this translation is correct... I really haven't been able to focus lately...
Btw, I'm still expecting comments!
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