PROLOGUE

The Blackfrost Prophecy

More than a century ago a storm of unimaginable fury descended on the village of Fenris. A roaring, rolling wave of the purest black coalesced on the horizon and spread over the land without pause. It was the first occurrence of this horrifying sight and one that would haunt us every year that followed. We call it the Blackfrost, and the tale of how it fell upon us halts my breath even after all this time.

The first appearance of the Blackfrost, although terrifying in its novelty, was mild in comparison to the years that followed. The seemingly paced spreading of this new incoming doom still wrecked our village with mind-shattering impact. This newborn terror blocked out the sun for seven days, and the air became thick, reeking of otherworldly nightmares. With every breath, fear and distrust seeped into the hearts of our people. Neighbors who had once shared bread and laughter now eyed each other with suspicion, casting furtive glances over their shoulders, as if something malevolent lurked in the shadows. Madness took root, and some among us fell into frenzied violence, turning against one another in a desperate bid for survival. After a week of terror and hopelessness, the Blackfrost receded quietly, and the sun warmed our skins once more.

In response to this new threat, the Council of Fenris was formed to prepare for its possible return. Their caution proved wise, for the Blackfrost came again the following year—this time with renewed ferocity. We had prepared as best we could, banding together to resist the madness that had plagued us before. But nothing could have prepared us for the shrieks that pierced the fog. They were the first signs of the creatures that emerged from the mist—tortured apparitions, fanged and oozing with rage and death. Our mightiest warriors fought valiantly, but they were no match for these inhuman foes. We survived, but at a terrible cost. The few warriors left alive formed the Blackshields, a group dedicated to defending us against the Blackfrost.

The Blackshields wandered the lands far and wide, studying ancient scriptures in search of vestiges from the past, to find a measure of hope against a then unknown calamity. Upon their travels in the deserts of Narviðr, they came across what we now refer to as the Blackfrost Prophecy, an ancient text engraved on sacred monoliths, depicting the gates of the village of Fenris, with three markings carved into the stones.

I - Black falls, hope vanishes. Death tarnishes the brave. A pillar rises, doomed and blessed.
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II - Between worlds, a life vanishes. Echoes of darkness, slave without masters.

III - Light shines from scars returned. Calamity, brings hope to many.

The Third Coming is marked in our history as a turning point for our survival. Armed with newfound knowledge and intense martial training, the Blackshields warred against the returning creatures and although sacrifices were inevitable, we now had a measure of defense against the death facing us. Amidst their ranks, a particularly fearless and resolute warrior called Sefiora put an end to countless creatures, defeating more than any other warrior. But in the shackles of her increasing rage, she succumbed to her momentum and ventured farther, out of reach and out of sight. We thought her lost forever.

A shrine was built in her image, to honor her courage and selflessness. But to our astonishment, she returned seven days later, walking into the village, ragged, covered in scars and unholy wounds. Her once fiery gaze was now dead and hollow, her eyes reflecting an abyss of suffering. In her hands, she carried a shard of pure black—a fragment that seemed to swallow all light that touched it. Many of us recognized her for what she truly was, the Prophecy now unfolding before us.

No one knows exactly what happened to Sefiora, the few words she now utters are cryptic and avoidant. Some say she battled a Great Spirit inside the Blackfrost, tamed her own death, and faced the terrors of the world. One thing was certain, she came out utterly changed. From this day forward, Sefiora was no longer known by her former name and was now referred to as the Blackfrost Oracle.

The true gift of her sacrifice dawned on us when the Blackfrost came once more. On the bright morning of an altogether usual day in the village, the Oracle convulsed in pain, expulsing screams of gut-wrenching sounds, and harnessing an aura of blackness that permeated around her. The scars on her body radiated with an energy too dark to be looked upon without visceral repulsion, and words of warning echoed from her distorted mouth. A day later, the Blackfrost could be seen gathering again on the horizon. It is our belief that part of her soul remains trapped in the blackness, crying out to be reunited once more.

As if driven by faith, the Oracle seemed to retake her warrior aspect, and was mindlessly bent on charging back into the oncoming wave of death; either for revenge, to retrieve the part of her that was lost to the darkness, or to keep what lurks at the center at bay. No one truly knows. Her fate was sealed, forever doomed to repeat the calamity she suffered. We fear that one day she might not come back, and her loss would be catastrophic.

The Black Shard that was given to our Elders following her first return became our foremost weapon. In an environment devoid of natural light, the shard no longer absorbed it but seemed to repel the absence of it. When the Blackfrost engulfed us, it would not reach the shard, and we were blessed with a protected sanctuary, a safe haven we could take refuge in while our warriors fought our enemies.

Through the decades that followed, the Blackfrost became part of our lives and changed our society forever. The Black Shard became a revered relic and a great temple was built in devotion to the Oracle. Her warnings are now our salvation—a living prophecy ensuring the survival of Fenris. And now, fellow warriors of Fenris, the Blackfrost has come once more. Can we hold it at bay, or will this be the last chapter that swallows us whole?