"Five types of pieces? Hmm... There's so much I want to say right now, but you wouldn't understand any of it. It's a lonely feeling... Never mind. I won't even ask why there isn't a rogue. So, is this palace also the handiwork of Mr. Prankster? And, if I may ask, how do I get to the second floor? I assu you're not just going to let walk up."
Jenkins sighed, his montary lancholy making him forget to shiver from the cold.
"No, this place has nothing to do with that great one. The Lord who created this palace simply enjoys this sort of ga, as do I. As for continuing upward... yes, I am a diviner. So, esteed guest, why don't we see if fate is willing to let you proceed?"
As the Astrologer spoke, the crystal-clear orb cradled in his hands began to glow with a purple light, the color of destiny. At that very mont, a circle abruptly materialized at Jenkins's feet, followed by the appearance of a pentagram—the symbol of his soul's essence. Then, intricate, colorful rings layered themselves outside the circle, and a clamor arose in his ears, like the roar of a cheering theater audience.
A sharp cracking sound, like shattering glass, echoed in his ears, but Jenkins quickly realized it wasn't glass at all—it was ice. A web of fractures spread across the crystal ball's surface before it shattered into eight pieces—or at least, that's all Jenkins's keen eyesight could track—and fell to the floor.
"So, our guest is also a diviner," the Astrologer remarked, "and from my own school, it seems."
The Astrologer glanced wistfully at the remains of his crystal ball before speaking in a lancholy tone.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?"
Jenkins wasn't entirely sure he had just heard the word "school."
"Excellent. So my legacy has not vanished, even in the 18th Epoch. It seems the great Lord of Winter has already arranged everything. Young man, welco. Fate will guide your path forward."
He spoke as if to himself, paying no mind to Jenkins, and then his ice-sculpted body burst into a fine, white powder. The crystalline dust drifted to every corner of the castle, and wherever it passed, furniture, decorative armor, wall tapestries, and oil paintings materialized one by one.
Of course, these too were all crafted from ice.
"School?"
Jenkins still rembered joining the school of diviners to which Brolignans and Audrey belonged. He had heard their tradition was passed down from ancient tis, but he never expected to et one of the school's predecessors.
"But how did he know I belonged to the school? My purple destiny ability isn't an inherited power... Besides, wasn't he an Astrologer? Not a diviner."
As he pondered this, an idea flashed through his mind, bringing with it the satisfying feeling of effortlessly piercing through a sheet of paper with a single finger:
"Could it be that in the era he lived, Astrologers and diviners were one and the sa? That the divine domains of Astrology and Divination had not yet separated? In his ti, it's very likely those two Righteous Gods... didn't even exist yet..."
He didn't dare to pursue the thought any further, afraid his nose might start bleeding again.
The once mirror-like ice floor was now covered in intricate patterns from the ice dust, resembling a carpet. He took two steps forward, picked up the Astrologer's chess piece, and another specific term the man had used ca to mind:
The Lord of Winter.
"That must be another Lord," he thought. "Is this entity the cause of everything tonight?"
The palace had more than one floor; Jenkins had seen that much from the outside. He ascended the stairs, eting no resistance on the second level, and so continued on to the third.
He paused for a mont on the third-floor landing, gazing out at the dark horizon through a floor-to-ceiling window that faced the stairs, before proceeding to the fourth.
The higher floors were smaller than the lower ones, and the fourth floor consisted of a single, straight corridor. A quick scan confird it was empty, so he continued his ascent to the fifth.
The fifth floor opened onto a massive terrace. Behind the stairwell stood a tower that could only be reached by circling around the building from the first floor, aning this was the end of the main staircase.
The terrace was blanketed in a layer of snow. At its edge stood another ice sculpture, its back to Jenkins as it gazed out toward the distant mountains.
"Welco, God of Lies, Priest of the Sacred Tree, fortunate one beloved by the gods. Welco. I have been waiting for you for a long ti."
Before Jenkins could speak, the ice sculpture turned around. It depicted an old man clad in robes, his beard so long it nearly reached his chest.
"Priest of the Sacred Tree?"
Jenkins asked, his count of questions for the evening growing rather high.
"A long ti ago, my Lord gave the duty of guarding this palace. It does not normally manifest in the material world; I wait in my Lord's realm. But when the ti is right, when ice once again covers the lands of the northern kingdoms, I am to co here and wait for one who can withstand the extre cold, one who possesses both wisdom and strength, one who can save the world... After all, this was once my Lord's domain. I have been waiting for a very, very long ti. Many years ago, a mortal was fortunate enough to find the entrance to the ice ladder and, through cunning, defeated the archer who guarded the bridge..."
Jenkins knew without being told that the man was speaking of a Stuart ancestor. As for the other clues, he was now certain that the "Lord of Winter" was indeed another one of the great Lords.
Jenkins appreciated this spirit of candidly revealing everything upon eting. He hoped the old man would continue, preferably explaining everything he didn't know. Then, perhaps, tonight's ordeal of freezing wouldn't have been entirely in vain.
"So, why are you waiting here? I've arrived."
"Many years ago, a question ford in my heart, and so I asked my Lord: extre cold can freeze the human heart, but the warmth of a human heart can lt away even the most extre cold. Which, then, is the more powerful force.
My Lord did not give a direct answer. Instead, he bade to guard this place and wait for soone who could answer that question for ."
His remarkably vivid eyes turned to Jenkins, who responded by pointing at himself:
"So you want an answer from ? Is that why you dragged to a place like this so late at night?"
He was truly cold. Any ordinary person who had endured what he had tonight would have likely frozen to death by now.
"No, I invited you here for another matter entirely," the old man said. "You are the God of Lies. Why would I seek an answer from you?"
The old man asked with genuine confusion. The corner of Jenkins's mouth twitched. He felt the logic was unassailable; he had no rebuttal.
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