Chapter 4

“…You’re right. It looks delicious…”

Despite her words, Mariax hesitated, merely staring at the food instead of reaching for it. The stew’s dark brown color wasn’t the issue. Nor was the meat being slightly charred, or the stray hairs floating here and there. What bothered her was the unfamiliar ingredient—thin and long, about the size of a pinky segment. And there wasn’t just one or two; it filled the spaces between the broth and other ingredients so thoroughly that it couldn’t be ignored.

Mariax scooped up the unknown ingredient with a bent spoon. She had to inspect it before eating. Her devoted clerics were wonderful, but their standard for “edible” was often questionable.

“This is…”

“Larvae!”

“Larvae.”

“Yes! Larvae!”

They were completely proud. Mariax looked at the plump larva wriggling on her spoon. On closer inspection, it even had little eyes. She averted her gaze from it.

“They’re larvae that feed on medicinal herbs. We dried them—apparently, they’re used as rare ingredients in medicine.”

“We were worried they’d spoil from moisture, so we put them all in today.”

They claimed it was medicinal, so it was technically safe to eat. Mariax placed the larva in her mouth with the dark brown stew. She swallowed it before tasting—but even the brief moment it touched her tongue was enough to register the full flavor. It was intense. The gamey odor of reindeer came first, followed by the sourness of wine, the bitterness of herbs, and finally the fishy aftertaste of yak’s milk—all stimulating her palate in sequence. The larva didn’t even stand out—it was simply a bizarre dish overall.

“How is it?”

“It’s edible.”

“What a relief!”

The two clerics, Ulri and Ba’en, who served Mariax with utmost devotion, were spirits. Like most gods and spirits, they lived by absorbing divine energy and the life force of nature. Since they didn’t need to eat, their understanding of taste was bound to be off. But calling it “careless” would be unfair—they’d gone so far as to descend the mountain and learn cooking from observing humans. They’d just… learned it a bit wrong.

To avoid tasting the stew, Mariax chose not to chew—just swallowed it straight down. She aimed the spoon directly from lips to throat. Thanks to her determined efforts, only the solids remained in the bowl. Her tense brow relaxed just slightly.

After taking a deep breath, Mariax stiffened her gaze, scooped a big spoonful of larvae, and stuffed them into her mouth. Whatever they were, they had to be better than drinking more of the black-brown liquid. Dozens of larvae popped with soft crunches as they burst in her mouth. Only then did she realize something she hadn’t considered—what exactly had those dried larvae absorbed to become so plump?

“It’s going to snow. The air’s heavy. Smells like snow. Mistress, Mistress. Let’s go outside!”—just as they’d been chirping beside her all through the meal, snow was falling from the darkened sky.

Ulri and Ba’en ran out ahead. Their forms, running through the accumulating snow, suddenly swelled. By the time Mariax stepped out of the temple, two silver wolves were leaping across the white field. Ulri rolled around in the snow, and Ba’en dashed through the falling flakes. Fitting behavior for spirits of the north—they looked perfectly at home running across snowy mountains.

Mariax leaned back against the doorframe, resting her chin in her palm, watching them. It was always the same routine. She woke when her two faithful clerics called. Washed with ice water they fetched. Ate the meals they prepared. Watched them play.

A small snowflake tapped the tip of her nose. Mariax stretched out her hand and caught a large flake in her palm. It looked like a white flower blooming. But before she could trace the petals with her eyes, it melted from the faint warmth of her skin.

Staring at the empty space where it had vanished without a trace, she placed one hand over the other. Time passed. From between her prayer-like hands, a faint light began to spread. Something tickled her palm. The sensation of something richly blooming gently pushed her fingers apart.

As she slowly opened her hands, a large, full white flower bloomed, more impressive than the earlier snowflake. Green leaves and soft petals swayed lightly in the breeze. But it lasted only a moment. Ice crystals formed at the edges of the leaves, creeping outward until the entire flower was frozen solid. Heimdrix’s cold had killed a flower once again today.

This, too, was part of her routine—growing a flower that wouldn’t survive even a minute. Not that it had any grand meaning. She didn’t even remember why she started doing it. It had simply become a habit.

Day after day had stacked up like this, until nearly a hundred years had passed. At some point, Mariax had come to predict the future.

Soon, the sun would set. Then she’d visit the storage room, half-carved out of wood, and pick a book from the few she had. When dusk arrived, frost giants would awaken and shake the earth. Then she would lie down to sleep. And when she opened her eyes, tomorrow would arrive—but it would be exactly the same as today. And the next day, and the day after that.

This mostly uneventful life suited Mariax just fine. Thinking that tomorrow would be exactly the same gave her a deep sense of stability.

Even now, sitting where she was, she imagined her future self. The tomorrow where nothing particularly good or bad would happen left her heart as still and solid as a frozen lake. No gust of wind, no falling leaf, no scattered pebbles could disturb it. It was quiet, sturdy peace.

As Mariax watched the two wolves tangled up in play, her gaze shifted elsewhere. At the same time, Ulri and Ba’en stopped playing and returned to circle around her. The wolves growled low, baring their teeth in warning. An unwelcome guest had arrived.

There were rarely visitors to the worn-down temple where Mariax lived. Not humans, nor ordinary animals. They never stepped into sacred territory. Even among the countless gods, spirits, and faint-minded beasts that dwelled there, none came near Mariax’s shrine.

Except for her—she visited regularly. There was no set date or time. Sometimes she wouldn’t appear for years, and other times she returned just a week after leaving.

Over the span of a hundred years, Mariax had tried to find a pattern to the visits. Did she come when it snowed? After an avalanche? On clear days? The day after snow mermaids sang?

But none were right. She simply came whenever she felt like it. And since Mariax had no way of knowing when that might be, it always troubled her. She was the one variable in Mariax’s otherwise unchanging routine. But that wasn’t the only reason Mariax didn’t welcome her visits.

“Still as shabby as ever.”

Mariax looked toward the woman who had just stepped into the clearing. It was Lawidy, the goddess of the deep gorge. She was as lavishly adorned as ever, matching her dazzling beauty. Today too, she was draped in layers of jewelry. Her sheer, flowing dress revealed her voluptuous figure—a look Mariax wouldn’t even dare try. She didn’t want to freeze to death, after all.

“Aren’t you going to stand up for a guest?”

As soon as she finished speaking, Mariax stood and dusted the snow from her backside. Lawidy strode over and lifted Mariax’s chin. She scanned her unresisting face, then frowned.

“Aren’t you too skinny?”

“I’ve been eating well.”

“What did you eat today?”

“Reindeer meat, herbs, yak’s milk…”

Mariax listed the stew’s ingredients one by one—deliberately leaving out the larvae. She could easily guess how Lawidy would react if she mentioned them.

But Ulri, clearly proud of the key ingredient, chimed in, “And larvae too!” It was a rare medicinal item, after all.

“Larvae…?”

Lawidy furrowed her brow, then let out a short laugh. “Figures. Suits you perfectly.” Just as Mariax had expected. Lawidy then haughtily commanded.

“Take it off.”

She always visited with an attitude that made it clear how much she disliked Mariax—and yet she kept coming back. Mariax began by removing her old scarf and handing it to Ulri. She peeled off her reindeer-hide robe and several layers of clothes until she was completely naked. She tried to hold her trembling body upright. Lawidy sneered.

“Seriously? You’re cold? Honestly…”

With arms crossed, Lawidy looked her over from head to toe. After nodding slightly, she gave a half-hearted gesture. She wanted her to turn around.

When Mariax turned her back, Lawidy approached, making soft crunching sounds in the snow. Her cool hands gently swept aside Mariax’s hair like drawing back a curtain. Mariax felt the chill of her gaze slide over her back, her hips, and down her legs.

“Well, at least you’re not hurt.”

Though her words were light—as if that’s all that mattered—her voice was lower than usual. A strange premonition pierced like a blade. Mariax turned to face the woman who loomed over her, meeting her eyes. They were looking at each other—but Lawidy’s gaze was slightly off-center. Her chin, her neck… or perhaps even lower.