Volgrir's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Volgrir reached the edge of the northern wastes as frozen wind cut across his face. Snow stretched ahead in every direction, unmarked and silent. He pulled the cipher stone from his pack and studied the symbols again. The demon hall lay somewhere in this emptiness, but the stone only showed him what to look for—not how far he'd have to walk. He traced the mountain symbol with his thumb, then looked up at the white horizon. This was where the real journey began. No more taverns. No more warm fires. Just cold, silence, and the promise of the mead waiting in the dark. He needed to learn more before venturing deeper into the waste. The cipher stone pointed him toward a trading post two miles east, built into a cliff face where merchants stored goods bound for the frozen territories. Inside, past crates of salted meat and wool blankets, he found what he sought. A ledger sat on a back shelf, its cover dark with ornate engravings that seemed to shift in the lamplight. The merchant watched him nervously as he opened it. Page after page detailed ancient recipes and brewing methods from centuries past. One entry described a mead made with demon's honey and winter starflowers—ingredients that matched the symbols on his cipher stone. Volgrir copied the details onto a piece of parchment, his hands steady despite the cold. Now he knew what he was searching for. Now he could begin the hunt in earnest. Back outside the trading post, Volgrir spotted something else half-buried in snow near the supply sheds. A distillery made of dark metal caught the pale light, its surface covered in symbols that glowed faintly. He brushed ice from its pipes and chambers. The merchant said it had been left by a traveler who never returned from the wastes. Volgrir studied its design—complex but functional, built for brewing in harsh conditions. He could use this to test the recipe from the ledger before he ventured to the demon hall. If he learned to brew the mead himself, he'd understand its power before he performed with it. He loaded the distillery onto a sled the merchant provided and began dragging it north. The wind howled across the snow, but Volgrir kept moving. He had the recipe. He had the tools. Now he would master the craft itself. Three hours later, he found a shack tucked against a rocky outcrop. Its wooden beams twisted at odd angles, and strange carvings covered the door frame. Inside was empty except for dust and frozen spider webs. Perfect. He could store his equipment here while he searched for ingredients. Volgrir set down the distillery and went back for the sled. He carried in his supplies and stacked them against the wall. The shack would serve as his base—a place to return to when he gathered what he needed. He stepped outside and looked across the frozen waste. Somewhere out there grew winter starflowers. Somewhere, demon's honey waited in hidden hives. The first step was knowledge. The second was preparation. Now came the third: finding what the recipe demanded.