THE ICE WALL-Chapter Five: The Thread
The sun was still a red spot in the sky, striking the body of the shadowed figure, who stood facing the window as though he were looking through it.
The shadow moved only from its upper half. Its top half shifted in a wrong, unnatural way, as though it were descending with its belly at an angle whenever it changed position.
The wolf howled.
But this time, the howl slowly receded into the distance, its voice growing fainter and fainter.
And the shadow on the window...
There was also the shadow of a sword in its hand.
Suddenly—
There came a sound like the air splitting apart, as though something that had been whole had suddenly cracked.
Then came a loud boom, like a storm, followed by a faint roar, as though it were merely a response... nothing more.
The wolf bared its white fangs and ground its teeth together, its nose drawn tight, as though it were in an intensely alert predatory state.
Suddenly:
"AWOOOOOOOO!"
The shadow outside pulled back slightly, as though it had retreated.
The sun's rays were still rising.
Most of the room was drowned in darkness and silence.
Ice lay asleep on the bed, turning onto his right side.
He woke with a start.
"What is it?"
He shouted the words in shock, rubbing his eye.
He looked through half-closed eyes fighting sleep, as though he had not slept for hours, or as though his body carried hours of sleep he had never gotten.
He looked at his wolf, curled up beside his bed near the wall.
Then he looked at the window.
His gaze froze.
His chest rose sharply, and his breath nearly vanished like that of an asthma patient.
He screamed hysterically:
"Nooo! Not again!"
Then:
"This time... who's going to die?"
He grabbed his head and pulled at his rough white hair, his bewildered eyes narrowing until even the tear in them could not fall.
His body was fighting the fear.
Then a somewhat distant sound came.
Like a wave of air striking a tower, spreading around it, then returning again.
A powerful sound:
"Fwooooo!"
Ice noticed the sound and raised his head.
The wolf was still curled up, baring its fangs.
Ice looked thoughtfully at the window.
Then his chest returned to normal.
He was no longer breathing heavily.
There was only the shadow of a sword outside, with a few strands of the shadow's hair being toyed with by the wind.
Ice relaxed.
Then he looked at his wolf in confusion.
He had been hearing its growling even in his dreams for a long time.
As soon as the wolf's black ear moved like a beacon, it turned toward Ice and looked at him with happy eyes.
Then it jumped onto his bed.
Ice pulled the heavy blanket off himself at an angle, then grabbed the wolf in front of him as though lifting a heavy child.
He stood while still holding the wolf, then climbed down from the bed.
The wolf dropped from his arms as well.
Relief appeared on Ice's face.
His eyes were relaxed.
His nose was still.
His chest was even.
He took a matchstick from the drawer and struck it several times in haste.
Then a red light appeared, a circle without a line.
The sound of the storms still thundered outside, if it could even be called a storm.
But Ice's mind had not settled.
He took his golden dagger, its sharp gleam reflected as though its blade had split the light inside Ice's eyes.
The red color of the match reflected across the blade like a golden mirror.
Ice lit the candle that had been there since yesterday.
He opened his bedroom door.
His wolf looked at him.
Then it ran after him.
Ice quickly shut the door before the wolf could reach him.
The wolf's howl and its scratching against the door could be heard.
Ice remained silent for a moment.
He listened to the sound while leaning his back against the door, his hands placed behind him.
Then he walked through the halls.
He smelled the damp air.
He walked through the halls, feeling as though he might fall.
The blood had not yet reached his head.
The passage was extremely dark.
The floor was somewhat warm.
He walked step by step until he reached the living room.
There, he found the sunlight piercing through the barriers of the windows, illuminating certain places.
He saw the handle of the exit door.
It gleamed silver, though it was somewhat covered in rust.
Ice's heavy footsteps against the floor began to quicken.
Until he opened the door.
Its rough creak rang out sharply.
Snow poured from outside into the house like a wave.
Ice stood at the doorway.
The snow passed around him, then settled and hindered his movement until it reached his knees.
He clenched his teeth.
He raised his lips in anger.
The grinding of his teeth grew louder.
He suppressed his anger, lifted one leg, pulled it free quickly, and placed it outside the snow.
Then he pulled out the other.
He lay down and crawled up the slope where the snow had entered the house, climbing it despite how low it seemed, until he finally reached the outside.
The dawn sun was visible, while the sky was still dark.
People carried axes and yawned.
Women placed huge pots on their heads.
Everyone was heading toward work with laziness and annoyance.
But Ice...
He was heading toward something else.
Ice turned left, walking beside the wooden wall of the house.
Snow fell like iron filings, glittering despite their tiny size.
Ice entered the alley after turning left.
He walked slowly once inside.
He held his dagger in his usual weak grip.
And he walked like a duck.
One step...
Then another.
He was walking barefoot.
The vapor of his breath poured out like thick cigar smoke, as though he were a heavy smoker.
Ice reached the end of the alley beside the wall of the house.
Then he turned left, where the room he slept in was located.
He stopped.
He leaned against the wall like a criminal pinned against it.
He tilted his head to the left to take a look from the corner of his eye.
His eyes glimmered.
But he became afraid and pulled his gaze away.
Then he looked again, like a young man looking at a girl he admired but had never met, afraid she might notice him.
As he watched, he caught sight of a familiar figure.
Or someone he had seen before.
He could still hear the sound of the sword being swung.
He remained standing, frightened and embarrassed, fidgeting nervously with his fingers.
Then he decided to gather his courage.
He took a step.
And found himself standing before the shadowed figure.
It was the same teacher who had been training the children yesterday.
He was practicing in front of his house's window.
This time, he had tied his hair back so it would not fall over his eyes.
Ice stood there, embarrassed and stiff.
As for the teacher, he swung the sword once to the right.
A powerful rush of air followed.
Then once to the left.
The same sound came again, like a gas cylinder exploding.
Ice took a step.
Like a child who wants money from his father but feels embarrassed to ask.
The moment Ice took that step, the teacher's eyes were closed.
He opened them slowly.
His sword was halfway through its swing.
He stopped it.
Then placed it inside its black sheath.
He was four meters away from Ice.
Ice studied his movements, waiting for his reaction.
Then weak, frightened words escaped him:
"Good morning, sir."
He returned his dagger to his pocket.
The teacher turned and said:
"Good morning."
He smiled with confidence, as though pleased that something had finally come to pass.
Then the teacher continued in a deep voice:
"I saw you yesterday, eavesdropping on our training."
Ice replied quietly, holding his arm:
"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to."
A loud laugh burst from the teacher.
But it sounded fake.
Broken and deep.
Ice stared at him in great confusion.
The teacher fell silent, as though embarrassed.
Then he cleared his throat.
"Ahem... I knew you were eavesdropping, but I deliberately let you."
Ice replied excitedly, smoothing his hair with his right hand:
"Really? Why?"
The teacher raised an eyebrow.
He slowly turned his body, like a ninety-year-old man, until he was facing Ice.
His feet planted themselves firmly in the snow.
"I felt that you wanted to train with us, didn't you?"
Ice looked at the ground.
He was still embarrassed.
This was someone new to him, and he had a presence and charisma that made you fall silent.
Then he replied:
"Yes. You're right."
The teacher smiled, as though he knew what was going through Ice's mind.
"Don't be afraid of me. I found out where your house was, and I came here specifically to train so I could encourage you and push you to take the first step."
Ice's eyes flashed as though his expression were saying, Damn you.
He remained astonished, his brows knitted together.
Then he said loudly, unlike his usual self, with a confident stance:
"You wake someone up at dawn just to train him?"
"Pffff!"
The teacher laughed in a restrained voice, as though afraid his laughter might break his dignity.
"You really are lazy. Everyone wakes up at dawn to fulfill their duties. That is simply the nature of Jafa. And of course, discipline and waking early are an essential part of any profession."
Ice fell silent, taking in what he had said.
Then he said:
"Then I want to train, teacher... but what's your name?"
The teacher replied quickly, turning away from Ice as he walked:
"Come on. I'll introduce you to your fellow students.
But know this: I don't take many students.
Because any student who comes to me must be certain that if he dies, my training will be the cause."
He rubbed his nose.
Then glanced quickly toward the alley leading to the training ground.
Then he continued:
"My first name is Rizmi. But I'm better known as Rizmo."
Ice remained silent.
His eyes looked only at the snow, watching nothing.
As though he were thinking about something deep.
He had ended up in training he had never wanted.
His eyes returned to Rizmo, who had already started walking.
Ice replied:
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Teacher Rizmo."
Then he took several quick steps to catch up with the teacher.
He looked around every alley.
All the houses looked alike.
The teacher took the alley on his right and continued through it.
Until the training ground appeared.
Nothing more than a wooden fence.
A wooden rack for hanging swords.
And a wooden dummy covered in thousands of scratches.
Ice examined every detail.
His eyes moved from one place to another.
His expression remained still.
In the distance, the sound of windows opening began to fill the area.
Every window facing the training ground, from every direction, began to open.
Women emerged from them.
They opened the windows to let out the warm candlelight.
Then it suddenly disappeared.
The sun had begun to rise into the sky.
The morning humidity settled in despite Jafa's frost.
The sunlight struck the white, snowy ground and made it brighter and more vivid.
Truly...
How beautiful the morning was.
Ice said it with a smile.
He was genuinely enjoying himself, completely immersed in the moment.
As though he wished he could live in it for a long time.
Then Ice was startled by the sound of an explosion.
He looked quickly.
And dropped to the ground.
He saw the teacher in the training yard.
He had just swung his sword, and his stance remained fixed at the end of the motion.
Ice rose excitedly.
He ran like a horse.
He jumped over the fence surrounding the yard, landed half-seated, and tried to regain his balance.
He looked toward the teacher.
The teacher appeared to have his eyes closed.
Then the teacher said, still with his eyes closed, holding his sword and remaining in the same stance:
"Come here."
Ice answered loudly, trying to make himself heard:
"I'm already right beside you! What do you want?"
The teacher lowered his voice.
Then replied after standing like an ordinary person, lowering the sword in his hand and opening his eyes:
"Have you awakened your Loom?"
Ice answered with lightning speed, his face filled with confusion, the corners of his mouth raised and his brow creased:
"What is that?"
The teacher answered mockingly:
"Heh... then it's probably better that you don't know."
Ice replied angrily, pulling at strands of his hair arrogantly and hurriedly with both hands:
"What is it? And why shouldn't I know?"
The grinding of his teeth could be heard.
He tried to make his expression look normal.
Then continued:
"You say strange things."
The teacher looked at him, watching the muscles in his jaw, and said:
"Don't get angry. I'm telling you what's best for you, but I'll give you a few details so it doesn't seem like I'm talking down to you or trying to provoke you."
Ice relaxed.
He lowered his head in concentration.
And loosened his jaw.
Rizmi said:
"The Loom is a set of threads that exist within the body and throughout the entire universe. They connect every atom to another and maintain the stability of everything in life.
This is an external Loom. It exists outside the human body, and it is called Ram.
And there is a Loom inside the human body called Am.
Its function is to preserve a person's life.
In other words, it maintains the stability of the body.
It also connects to the outside world, is affected by it, and affects it in return.
And that is the point: to affect what is outside.
I know what you're going to ask, and I'll continue.
Awakening the Loom depends on a person's masculinity.
It activates their connection to the world when there are sufficient hormones and energy, and these are connected to masculinity.
That is why women do not possess it, since it is exhausting to the body."
Ice opened his mouth.
His brows knitted together in disappointment and confusion.
"Hormones? Masculinity?"
Laughter filled the place.
Ice stared at him in confusion, his expression silently asking what he meant.
The teacher said after calming down:
"That's why I told you it was better not to know.
You'll discover your power yourself.
The world is the best teacher.
I learned without a teacher.
But what you need to know is that there is something called Kor.
And once again, I won't leave you any room to ask questions."
The teacher scratched his head and straightened his thick strands of hair.
He said:
"Kor also awakens with the Loom.
It is the ideal function your mind is capable of performing.
It could be protection, mining, carpentry.
Those are only examples.
But if you use a function other than your Kor, I'm sorry to tell you this: forget your mind. It is among the dead.
And when someone awakens their power, which is the combination of Kor and the Loom, we simplify it and say that they have awakened their Kolon.
And I don't want to continue explaining, so I don't make the matter more complicated.
That is enough for you to know.
The rest, as I said, the world is the best teacher."
Silence filled the place.
The teacher looked at Ice, who was still standing frozen in place, trying to understand.
He sighed.
Raised his eyebrows.
And said:
"I'll simplify it for you.
The Loom is your life.
It preserves it, and it also speaks to the world.
Kor is the language you use to communicate with the world.
Everyone has a language, and that language is your profession.
If you change it, the world will not understand it.
And if you change your profession...
I don't think there is an easier, simpler, or more beautiful example than that.
The system is simple.
You're the one who complicated it in your head."
Ice nodded.
He raised his shoulders in agreement.
Then the teacher raised his sword.
He returned his body to its stance.
His left leg forward.
His right leg back.
The sword in his left hand.
His right hand behind his body.
He tried to keep the sword steady with three fingers.
His body trembled.
His jaw was clenched tightly.
A clicking sound emerged.
His eyes seemed to struggle to remain in their sockets.
His hand moved like turbulent waves.
Ice looked at the teacher.
He was still.
Standing in an ordinary stance.
Ice tried to think and understand what he had just been told.
Then he walked away, cutting off his thoughts, heading toward the far end of the training ground with slightly quickened steps.
The sun struck his eyes with its cold sting, something that happened only in Jafa.
Then he reached the sword rack.
He examined every sword.
Some were completely black.
Some were red.
And some had golden blades with black hilts, marked by vertical blue lines.
Ice's eyes lit up.
He looked at his reflection in the golden blade.
Only half of his face appeared, stretched across the golden blade.
Ice studied it.
The sound of sparrows and birds rose around him.
He picked up the sword carefully with both hands.
Then he held the tip of the blade with his left hand to steady it, while gripping the hilt with his right.
The sound of the air being cut rose gradually behind him.
Until it seemed as though the air itself were scattering.
Or as though a bomb had exploded.
Ice tried to hold the sword with one hand.
But his wrist dropped.
He almost dropped the sword.
Ice trembled.
He tried to suppress his voice and hold the sword with control.
But his wrist resisted him, despite the sword being light compared to the weights Ice was accustomed to carrying.
This time, Ice straightened his wrist, the sword pointing straight toward the sky.
But it veered.
So he let go of the sword.
It drove itself into the ground.
Ice sighed.
He struck the back of the hilt with his palm.
And growled in anger.
Then he placed his left palm on the hilt while the sword remained embedded.
He curled his fingers one by one, as though that would improve his luck.
The sword was in the ground.
And Ice was trying to stand and lift it.
At one moment, his gaze shifted toward the teacher.
This time, the teacher was standing on his left foot, holding the sword with only three fingers of his left hand and trying to keep it straight.
Ice focused on his teacher's leg.
He looked at his own leg as well.
And tried to imitate him exactly.
Then he looked at his chest.
How did it rise?
He counted the number of breaths entering and leaving his body in a minute when he was at his strongest.
Ice calculated a number.
Then another.
His eyes fixed on the height of his chest.
After a minute, he found that the teacher had taken thirty-five breaths in a minute.
He understood nothing.
He quickly placed his right hand on his chest and raised the sword with his left.
He looked at his left hand after gripping the sword firmly.
And smiled.
He tried to concentrate.
He closed his eyes.
His hand rose and fell with his chest.
Counting.
Keeping the sword extended while standing.
After a minute, he tried to count his breaths.
He found that there had been fifty-five.
He slapped his forehead after calculating the result.
He looked away.
His eyes were sharp, while his body was relaxed.
He turned them toward the sun.
He sensed the damp air that made the skin soft and the face relaxed.
The noise of the houses was low.
The little children had not yet begun crying.
His eyes relaxed.
His pupils widened.
Their beautiful blue appearing like a drop of ink, not a dot, falling onto a white page and spreading through its center into a large circle.
Ice focused on his breathing.
He heard it slowly.
As though he were beneath rushing water, bathing.
His eyes closed.
His body was cold.
And the only thing on his face was a relaxed smile.
He realized that calmness and the cold air were a means of relaxation.
He extended his sword with his left hand.
He held it straight, stretching forward and cutting through the air.
He tried to understand, while relaxed, how to balance himself.
Unconsciously, remembering when the teacher's shadow had been on the window, he decided to follow his stance.
The first step he took was to draw a deep, refreshing breath through his nose.
He felt a slight tightness around the edges of his chest.
Then he exhaled over six clear seconds.
Filled with birdsong.
And droplets scattering.
And the sounds of his teacher's sword blade.
As soon as the last of his breath left his mouth, he leaned onto his left side and bent his knees halfway, like an old man trying to rise onto them.
He moved his right leg back, as though he were about to run with it.
It bent automatically.
But only slightly.
He took another breath through his nose.
The tightness lessened a little.
He unified his hearing with his concentration.
He could hear nothing now except his breathing.
And the birds singing.
He extended his blade.
He opened his eyes calmly.
He looked.
And found his teacher directly in front of him.
The teacher was looking into his eyes in astonishment.
His jaw rested against his fingers.
He regarded Ice with a calm gaze.
Trying to keep the blade steady.
The teacher said in the same stance:
"You're training, huh? Aren't you?"
Ice replied as he looked at him, his neck beginning to tense, his voice muffled, the blade trembling in his hand:
"Yes."
A loud mocking laugh escaped.
The teacher continued:
"Heh... of course you're training.
But your stance is a little wrong."
The teacher moved lightly from in front of Ice.
The wind shook his beard, which looked like a single solid mass.
He bent his head to take Ice's right arm.
He straightened it alongside the hand holding the sword.
Then placed a stone in Ice's fist.
He ordered him to lean and support himself on his bent left leg.
And keep his head in the middle, in its natural position.
Both arms extended.
The teacher stepped back slightly.
He studied Ice's stance.
Head tilted.
Sharp eyes.
Then he struck Ice's back with his palm.
Ice shouted:
"What are you doing?!"
The teacher replied calmly:
"I'm teaching you.
Keep going and don't say a word.
Otherwise, I swear, I'll beat you so badly you won't be able to see straight."
Then he raised his voice, harsh and rough:
"Come on! Keep going and breathe properly!"
Ice clenched his teeth.
The veins in his face began to show.
His face reddened.
He tried to hold his position.
The teacher continued striking him with his palm on the middle of his back, between his shoulder blades.
Ice began to shift.
The sword trembled.
He closed his eyes.
He took a breath.
But it escaped him quickly from the blows.
The teacher placed his left hand behind his back.
Then struck hard with his right.
He said reproachfully to Ice:
"Lean into my palm.
Absorb it, boy.
Don't move."
Ice tried to absorb the blow with his back.
The teacher began counting the slaps and strikes:
"One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
Ten..."
With every slap, Ice's back moved less than it had with the previous one.
The teacher continued striking.
And with every slap, he counted.
His eyes remained fixed on Ice's sword.
After several minutes, the teacher said:
"Two hundred.
Two hundred and one.
Two hundred and two."
Ice's face looked like a tomato.
His veins were like valleys.
His breathing sounded like rusted iron rubbing against itself, or an old motor running.
As soon as the teacher said:
"Two hundred and five."
Ice threw his palm down.
And let the sword fall weakly.
His fist was tightly clenched, red and swollen.
The sword fell flat onto the ground.
And Ice collapsed beside it like a corpse.
His breathing rose and fell heavily.
The teacher regarded him with satisfaction.
Ice said, his breath devouring half his words, with some snow scattering from his fall:
"No... you have no mercy."
The teacher replied, his hands clasped behind his back:
"Yes.
I have no mercy."
While Ice's face lay against the cold snow and the whiteness of his face began returning, pure as snow, he looked at his teacher with a fierce gaze despite his weakened state.
He said:
"You'll regret this."
His teacher answered with his usual affected look:
"I know.
If you prove to me that you can endure a thousand slaps."
Ice screamed in a loud, broken voice:
"Damn you!
You clumsy cave-dwelling old man!"
Ice pulled at his hair.
He clenched his teeth.
His mouth moved with his words.
The teacher replied calmly:
"I'm not old, and I never lived in caves, boy."
Silence filled the place.
Ice still did not take his eyes off his teacher, who was drinking water from his bottle.
The teacher swallowed the water.
He held the bottle.
He closed his eyes in relief for a few moments.
Then opened them and looked at Ice's face with a smile.
His gaze settled more heavily on Ice's jaw.
He said, knitting his brows:
"I've noticed that you grind your teeth a lot when you're angry.
I want to tell you that, without a doubt, anger is one of the pillars of weakness, bodily collapse, and the health of your body's Loom.
Don't get angry.
I'm only teaching you."
Ice looked at him.
He released the pressure in his jaw and relaxed it.
He closed his eyes.
And turned his face away.
The teacher moved afterward.
The sound of his footsteps was like a shoe sinking into a wooden floor.
The teacher moved while still holding the bottle.
Then he tilted it slightly over Ice.
And poured water onto his face.
The water glittered as it fell.
Just looking at it made you feel sorry for Ice in the cold weather.
Ice screamed immediately.
He sprang up energetically.
Ran around while screaming.
Wiped the water away with his sleeve.
And curled his body inward.
Rizmi looked at him laughing and said with a smile:
"Come on.
We don't have the whole day.
You have to endure it.
Come on."
Ice looked at him from a distance.
His body was hunched.
His mouth hung open from the cold.
Water dripped from his wet hair.
He looked like a wet dog.
Then he looked at Rizmi.
He moved weakly.
Blowing out breath in an attempt to warm himself.
He walked a few steps like a hero.
Each step wide apart.
Leaning on each one.
Hunched over like a chicken.
Until he reached the place where he had been lying on the ground.
Then he collapsed.
Still hunched with every movement.
He took the sword with an empty grip.
His body had left marks in the snow where he had lain.
Then he looked at the sword.
His teacher said to him:
"Now you are under cold water, or you have been exposed to it.
That means you are completely active and refreshed.
You have no excuse not to relax."
Ice stood.
From a distance, we could see the teacher speaking, but his voice was no longer audible.
He moved with graceful motions, guiding Ice.
He pointed with his fingers, telling him to lean onto one foot and place the other behind him.
Hold the sword with both hands.
Swing it.
Try to concentrate.
Meanwhile, stronger blows than before rained down on his back.
His eyes were closed as he breathed.
After dozens of minutes, with the midday sun settled in the center of the sky, the teacher's voice came:
"Four hundred and ninety-eight..."
Ice's face began to relax.
The teacher looked at his face and said:
"Fifty more slaps.
Punishment for losing your composure."
After a few minutes, the voice came again:
"Five hundred and forty-eight.
Five hundred and forty-nine.
Five hundred and fifty.
Congratulations."
Ice's hands dropped immediately.
He threw the sword away.
Wiped his sweat.
And sat on the ground.
He took the bottle from his teacher.
His teacher said:
"Well done.
You performed five hundred.
And this is another five hundred and fifty.
You broke through the thousand swings."
He looked at Ice's hair, which dripped water.
And Ice's forehead, which seemed to be raining.
And his eyes, like those of someone who had not slept for five days or more.
Yet a wide smile had formed automatically across his face, exposing his teeth.
The smile of victory.
Of exhilaration.
And of defeating doubt.
Ice sat on the ground.
He supported himself with his arms.
Raised his head very high.
And made strange sounds, the only thing understandable about them being that he was expressing his joy.
His teacher stood amid the cold air, the sun beginning to intensify in the sky.
He looked at Ice's golden blade.
Holding it between his hands.
He examined it from one end to the other.
A horizontal inspection.
Then his brows knitted for a second.
He lifted his eyes from the blade.
Focused for a moment, as though trying to remember.
Then said to Ice:
"This is E.R.'s blade."
Ice was still holding his head up.
He slowly lowered it, as though avoiding the answer.
His head returned to its normal position.
He looked at his teacher while sitting on the ground, who seemed tall to him.
He said:
"I don't know who he is.
But I found it, and I liked it."
The teacher brushed the answer aside, as though answering while changing the subject:
"All right.
But I've never seen you in this village before.
Are you a visitor or something?"
Ice looked at the teacher.
He raised his despairing eyes when he remembered his story.
Then lowered his head calmly toward the ground.
He looked at the snow, which had been the greatest enemy in his story.
He clasped his hands.
And said in the voice of a sorrowful narrator:
"I'm not actually from here.
And I'll tell you my story."
The teacher looked at him suspiciously.
But his expression soon changed into one of awareness.
His eyes and ears became completely focused.
He nodded.
Ice continued speaking.
Remembering every scene.
His memory had returned.
...
After a long account from Ice, he finished his story.
The teacher was still sighing, confused.
His eyes moved between the snow and Ice's head, but he kept them fixed on the snow.
He puffed air from his mouth in annoyance.
And sighed.
All of it with tension and spontaneity.
Conflicted:
Should he reassure him?
Or shock him?
He raised his eyebrows, nothing more.
He gave Ice a look, his eyelids covering half of his black eyes.
He looked at the bowed Ice.
And said:
"I'm not emotional, and I don't like false consolation.
The truth is, Luba Kova is a strong village.
We have the best teachers and fighters.
We're like any village with a large population.
We have the strongest defensive mechanisms against monsters.
And we rank second in the Brigos Province, whose capital is Brigos.
So don't worry if monsters attack."
Ice looked at him with half his pupils visible through sadness, while half of the hope remained hidden beneath his eyelids.
His teacher continued, looking Ice directly in the eyes with something instinctive and, if one could call it that, comforting:
"As for the Komaina...
I'm confused.
You say its face was covered in scribbles, its body was black, its blood was blue, and some of them were green.
Those are the lowest classes of Komaina.
They are animalistic, and they don't usually attack ordinary people.
That's what confuses me.
Because they cannot sense an ordinary person who hasn't awakened their Kolon at all.
And you don't even know what a Kolon is."
The teacher raised his shoulder.
He pursed his lips, his brows knitted together in confusion.
Then continued:
"But you may have something that attracts them.
And they also don't attack anyone unless they are hungry, or unless the person has awakened at one hundred percent.
And that is rare."
Ice looked at his teacher.
He quickly raised his head.
His brows knitted together, astonished by these words.
The teacher continued:
"Because they like to commit suicide against high-level individuals.
And they like stealing things with a powerful Loom.
So I suspect you possess something like that.
You have something radiating energy."
Ice froze.
His pupil widened.
The ribbon of his memories fled.
He could no longer hear his surroundings.
He remembered the moment he received the note.
The first Komaina attack.
The moment he put on the ring.
And the waves of Komaina.
His pupil returned to normal.
But remained slightly enlarged.
He said to himself:
"Could that be?"
Then he said reproachfully:
"Did my father mean to get me into trouble?
Or am I the wrong person, and was I never supposed to take it?"
Another voice appeared within him.
He shook his head.
And said to himself again, perhaps with forced optimism, trying to encourage himself:
"No.
Maybe my father is trying to guide me toward something I haven't discovered.
Maybe he's trying to make me better."
He fell silent for a moment.
As though he had realized something.
"Or maybe he wants me to learn about his inventions and is guiding me toward them."
His attention returned to reality.
He saw the teacher completely silent.
Standing with his body slightly tilted to the right at the waist.
Looking intently at the ground.
Detached from reality.
His pupil was widened as well.
Focused.
His lips being worried between his teeth.
Perhaps he was contemplating Ice.
His posture.
Then he placed his knees on the ground.
He leaned on them with his hands.
And slowly stood, his back bent.
The teacher came back to himself.
He rubbed his beard.
And looked at Ice, who had risen.
He said while looking into his eyes with a kind smile:
"Don't forget to come this afternoon and greet your fellow students.
By the way, E.R. will be happy to see you because he is an orphan too.
And don't worry about the monsters.
We'll try to secure your livelihood here as much as we can.
But if you're going to bring harm upon us, I'll tell you myself: leave our village."
Ice looked at him in surprise.
A bird passed overhead.
The sound of dishes clashing came from one of the houses.
The smell of food began to spread, drawing Ice's attention through his nose.
Rizmo continued:
"But what is your name?"
Ice answered.
He turned and looked toward the narrow alley leading to his home.
His blue eyes flashed.
White sunlight fell across his white hair, making it even brighter despite its dryness.
He said:
"I'm Ice.
Ice Naz Bex."
The teacher nodded.
His arms folded.
He looked at Ice's back and his heavy clothing, noticing that Ice had broad shoulders.
He said:
"All right.
Go, Ice."
Ice exhaled.
His breath emerged as vapor.
He looked at him with cold eyes.
And walked away with heavy steps.
Trying to find something to focus on and look at.
From a distance, he heard footsteps.
Ice knitted his brows.
He tilted his head toward the sound.
All his senses were alert.
He looked down the alley.
He saw an animal with thick black fur.
His eyes relaxed.
He smiled automatically.
His body moved forward.
Strands of his hair trembled.
His teacher appeared in the distance, walking with his back turned toward Ice's direction of travel.
It became clear that the wolf had come running.
Ice looked into its colored eyes.
The wolf ran while panting until it reached Ice.
Ice opened his arms to embrace his wolf.
The wolf leaped into Ice's arms.
Ice dropped to his knees.
The wolf met him, like a mother playing with her young child.
Ice held the wolf.
It continued panting.
Ice lifted it to the level of his chest.
He sat on the ground.
And embraced his wolf.
The sound of its panting pierced his ear.
Ice rested his head against his domesticated wolf.
Silence finally settled.
Allowing us to hear the birds singing.
The neighing of horses.
The noise of the people.
The sounds of axes.
Trees falling.
The clatter of spoons in the kitchens inside the houses.
Children screaming.
The birdsong grew more beautiful.
As though they were playing music, wanting to amaze us with their voices.
And between it all...
The sound of the dog panting.
Ice felt that he was in a place where he belonged.
Even if only for a moment.
He felt that he was not merely in a place filled with snow, trees, predatory wolves, and monsters of every shape.
A single moment filled with the sounds of life was enough.
Enough to make him feel alive.
His emotions broke through his senses and his heart.
And he surrendered to them without reason.
He closed his eyes.
A single tear fell.
It glimmered beneath the brilliance of the sun, with the colors behind it contrasting against it.
His eyelashes became wet.
The tear had fallen from his right eye.
And his smile remained.
Some may not understand the reason for that tear.
But only those who have endured the pressures of life while still at the age of tender beginnings can truly feel it.
Suddenly—
The wolf howled.
The howl turned into a growl.
Ice opened his eyes quickly.
He pulled his head away from his wolf's.
His jaw was swollen.
His nose drew back.
And he became frightened.
Ice was genuinely confused.
His gaze flashed toward his wolf.
He looked into its eyes.
They were fixed on something behind him.
Ice focused again on the snow.
The wolf continued howling without pause.
An irritating howl.
Then a stronger growl.
Stronger still.
Until its vocal cords nearly gave out.
Ice pushed it away.
It leaped from his arms.
And took a predatory stance.
Ice felt heavy footsteps in the snow behind him.
Approaching slowly.
Then faster.
Faster.
Until it began to run.
Time stopped inside Ice's mind for a moment.
Dopamine reached its highest point.
He instinctively began breathing through his nose and exhaling through his mouth.
He closed his eyes.
He heard the sound of a blade that did not cut through the air...
But struck it violently.
Swinging.
And with every fraction of a second, it had cut through the air.
Ice jolted.
Terrified.
And rose.
He looked behind him.
His head turned faster than anything.
Before his wolf could even finish its howl.
From the corner of his eye, Ice caught a glimpse of an intensely red color coming from something.
That was all he could see.
He blinked.
Opened his eyes.
And saw a cutting sound pierce his ears.
Silver.
Breaking the light.
A sharp edge.
A red aura.
The sound of a blade.
That was what he saw.
Then a flush of red
Ice raised his hand unconsciously.
He felt warmth in his palm.
Something burning him and coming out of him.
He pulled his hand away.
It was covered in a dreadful, dark-red liquid.
And there was a blade in his hand.
Its tip was sharp.
And he had caught it in the palm of his hand.
He closed his eyes.
Only...
...