The lesson of The Unbroken Circle, The rift between Summer and Winter, The Great Dichotomy, and the eternal schism, is a lesson about the ebb and flow of nature and a cycle unbroken. The soil begets life. Life grows and dies, returning to the soil to start anew. Summer and Winter find peace. The peace is inevitably broken, then war comes and The World Horns Blow. After a time, peace comes again.

-The Second Verses of Creation

Jordan's reflection was a familiar stranger, snatching fleeting glances as he walked past storefront windows. It looked like him, for the most part. Beard hastily trimmed with a sharp knife, blue and green gentleman's vest and shirt, black trousers and Jordan's old reliable boots. The wolf-fur on his shoulders was a comfortable heaviness, smelling both of fragrant oil and the musk of the animals who'd been skinned to make a lord's cloak. Jordan's reflection looked at the wolf's head on his shoulder, wondering what the beast had been doing before it was brought to Kronanhold. Had it been happy in that distant place?

As a group of loud young men walked up the street, pushing and shoving each other and anyone too slow to stay out of their way, Jordan reached for his knife. When his hand brushed against woolen breeches, it took him a moment to recall that the weapon sat in a new sheath tucked into the lining of his cloak. The boys parted to let him pass. One paused to give him a shallow bow.

"Good evening, sire. Might you spare a few wooden bits?"

Jordan narrowed his eyes, wondering which of the youths hoped to see where he kept his coin purse. Not wanting to tempt them, he pulled a silver from his pocket and flipped it to the young man. Eyes bulging at the sight of the coin, the boy caught it and bowed even deeper.

"A silver? Thank you, sire. Thank you!"

Shocked, the others imitated his bow and gave their thanks. Jordan continued on his way while the boys debated where they should go to purchase flat bread and fruit paste. He made a mental note to thank Haiku for the suggestion to use his coin purse for wooden bits and secret his silver in various pockets.

When Jordan stopped in front of Llaysl's apothecary, he was ready to get off the streets and away from the ceaseless stares of curious eyes. He needed some time to regain his bearings. Stepping inside, he closed the door behind himself and leaned heavily against it. His chest thundering, the walls threatened to press in and crush him. Chief-killer. Duppy-slayer. Jordan felt small and nothing like a hero.

"I'll be right with you," Llaysl called from the back.

Jordan took a deep breath, filling his lungs with air and the anxiety threatening to smother him then exhaled, releasing the stress.

"Peace to you and your family," the merchant said as he exited the doorway behind the counter. His eyes lit up. "Jordan, you've returned! Come, everyone is back here."

Jordan slapped a smile on his face and followed Llaysl into a medium-sized living space furnished with pillows, couches, and bookcases bursting with tomes. A flight of stairs dominated a corner, spiraling up to more apartments. Elven crystal art hung from everything, playing creatively with the light from the brazier at the center of the room. Haru sat on a huge pillow wearing a wrap-around robe of elven cut, her hair held up in a matching towel. Her coal-colored skin held a healthy glow it never had before. She looked lively, the sickly pallor of the Druid's Bane gone. A smile sat comfortably on her face, until she met Jordan's gaze. Then the scowl returned.

"You're back!" Akiko pipped. She jumped up from a set of pillows by a frosted window where she played with an old serpentfolk puzzle cube. "I'm already feeling a lot better."

Meant for a taller person, her robes dragged on the floor. A damp braid peaked out from the towel wrapped on top of her head. Whether from a much needed bath or the effects of the antidote, Akiko's brown skin was brighter.

"Llaysl gave us clothes and food and said we can stay in his guest room as long as we'd like."

"Any friend of Jordan's is a friend of mine." Llaysl looped his arm in the crook of Jordan's. The elf tsked as he ran his hand across the gray fuzz on Jordan's chin. "What madman did this to you?"

Jordan chuckled and batted Llaysl's hand away. "I did this?"

"Did you use a mirror? You probably should have used a mirror."

"Stop."

"Only if you let me fix it."

Jordan tugged at what was left of his beard and had to admit it was far more uneven than he'd thought.

"Fine–"

"What about your locs, you're in desperate need of a retwist. I commend the efforts you've attempted, but clearly you've forgotten how to properly groom yourself."

"Wait, what do you know about proper care of hair like mine?" Jordan casually ran his fingers through Llaysl's straight tresses. "The waviest of elven hair doesn't come close to my curls."

"At this point, I have to assume I know more than you do." Llaysl chuckled. "Are you hungry? I've made beignets, my brother's recipe. Don't make that face. He may be a pain in the ass, but he's also a great chef."

Jordan realized he hadn't eaten anything more complex than an oven-baked flatbread and meat seared plainly in a pan in ages.

"Look at that handsome smile, ladies. Jordan used to do that a lot when we were younger. Hang up that cloak and take off those boots. I'll get the beignets."

He disappeared through a door cleverly hidden between two tapestries.

Jordan removed the cloak and draped it over the back of one of the couches. He placed his boots in a corner where dozens of boots and shoes sat in cubbies.

"You look like a Winter Lord," Akiko said from behind a wooden column.

"I suppose I technically am a Winter Lord. I was adopted by The Scoiden Family when I was younger than you are now." He sat on the couch beside the wolf head, and she joined him.

"I was taken in by The Order when I was a toddler."

"That makes sense with your mother being a naturalist?" He looked at Haru, who stared into the flames of the brazier.

"My mother wasn't a naturalist. I was a foundling."

"Wait. Haru's not your–"

"We're prisoners here, you know?" Haru snapped.

"Prisoners? I don't understand."

"Here, in the city. We don't know anyone and we don't have any money. We can't even buy supplies so we can leave. We're trapped." She scanned the room and Jordan imagined her calculating the value of the many trinkets lying around.

"You're not prisoners. You're my guests for the time being." Llaysl backed into the room with a tray of steaming pastries. He offered Akiko a linen napkin. "One for you." Stepping gingerly around his pretty pillows, he lowered the tray for Haru. "One for you."

He placed the tray down on a stand and sat on the arm of the couch with a hot sugar-sprinkled beignet. Leaning over like a languid cat, he brought the pastry to Jordan's lips.

"And. One. For. You."

Jordan shook his head at Llaysl's unabashed flirtiness and bit into the beignet. Flavor burst in his mouth and a tingle of joy ran through his body. It was the best thing he'd tasted in a century and it took everything in him not to jump up and dance. Akiko moaned in pleasure and sank against the thick fur of the wolf cloak across the back of the couch.

"Unbroken Circle, that was amazing," she purred. "Can I have another?"

"That would be up to Haru," Llaysl said as he examined Jordan's beard.

Jordan and Akiko turned to Haru who stared at her half eaten beignet in wonder.

"This might be the most wonderful thing I've ever eaten." She nodded at Akiko who was vibrating with excitement.

The smile returned and Jordan's heart fluttered. He untied his coin purse and tossed it beside her.

"There's five silvers worth of wood bits in there and I have five more silver pieces." Collecting those coins he leaned forward and offered them. "That should be enough for you to buy your supplies. If not, I can get more."

"This– I– Thank you... sire." She glanced over at Akiko who made happy noises as she bit into her third beignet. "Llaysl, can I leave Akiko for a short time while I inquire after what we need."

"Of course. I still have those books I'd promised to show her. Do you know where you're heading?"

"I'll start with shops near here and I'll widen my search as needed."

"That's a solid plan, but I meant after you leave Kronanhold. The city is a mess, but there are places that are far worse. I really don't mind if you stay here for a while. I could use the company and an opportunity to pick the brain of a naturalist." he raised a hand to stop her retort. "Correction: an ex-naturalist."

Haru seemed to linger on his offer for a moment, and Jordan had to wonder what the woman and elf had spoken about while he was off with Kjord.

"I appreciate the offer, but we shouldn't stay in one place too long."

"I understand," Llaysl said with a sage nod.

Jordan didn't understand. Llaysl's place was warm and the elf had always been great company with a knack for setting people at ease. Turning him down in favor of aimlessly traveling the cold lands seemed reckless and inconsiderate of Akiko. He suddenly wondered where they were from and how far they'd traveled to find him.

Haru left to change and Akiko returned to her serpentfolk puzzle cube. After Jordan finished his first, Llaysl grabbed another beignet and sat next to him on the couch. Llaysl nibbled the pastry while examining Jordan's gray locs..

"Your new friend looks a lot like somebody that I used to know," he said, modulating his voice. He watched Jordan, reading the subtle twitch of his jaw and the sudden cold set of his eyes.

"Leave it be," Jordan said, staring into the depths of one of the many crystals. He watched as the image inside became a much younger version of himself in a room of gold.

"I merely wish to know if you see the resemblance too."

"I see it. I see it..."

"You went into exile before we ever had a chance to talk about what happened–"

"I don't want to talk about what happened."

"That doesn't mean we shouldn't, and, if you can't talk to me, I can help you find someone. What happened is not the kind of thing you keep bottled up. It will eat you alive from the inside like an infection. It could kill you."

"It already has."

Llaysl watched Jordan for a time. Gently, he took his friend's chin, turning him so he could look into his eyes. The elf's gaze reflected things that only he could see.

"You're wounded, my dear friend, but you're not dead. This winter has claimed so many lives already. Don't let your grief do what time could not."

Jordan grabbed his wrist, glaring as he pulled Llaysl's hand away. He felt his thoughts drifting to her and that fateful day when his world changed forever. Squeezing his eyes shut against the tears, the loneliness, and the self-loathing, Jordan jumped to his feet, Hastily donning his boots, he hurried out of the shop.

By the time he looked up from the snow-covered cobblestones, he was lost in the streets of Kronanhold. On three sides of him converged a group of buildings creating a small park-like space. He'd been gone for two-hundred years. While most of the landmarks and architecture had stayed the same, the place had grown. Shops and squares he had once been familiar with were gone, torn down, replaced, or merely fading from memory. It was like Jordan in many ways. Just like his near-timeless allies Llaysl and Absinthe, he looked much the same on the outside. However, time had a way of taking its toll, twisting, eroding, polishing until a thing changed whether it wanted to or not.

He shivered a little, realizing that, in his haste, he'd forgotten his cloak. Snow crunched behind him and he noticed the absence of Wyrm's Tooth as well. Jordan took steadying breaths and turned towards the sounds of approaching footsteps. There were four of them, dressed as street toughs, but with clothes unnaturally clean as if they'd never actually spent a day in the streets at all. The swords in their hands were well made and well maintained. A short man made a series of quick hand signals and they spread out, effectively blocking Jordan's route of escape. They moved efficiently, with no wasted motion.

Despite their efforts to resemble random cutthroats, these men exuded the air of professional soldiers.

A glance over his shoulder told him the only way left was a narrow alleyway. Flapping wings and the swirling of snow and trash heralded the arrival of a fifth member of their little gang, a ravenblood woman with jasmine-colored feathers and a patch over her left eye. She landed between Jordan and the alleyway, holding a spear in one hand and a buckler, emblazoned with a solitary mountain, in the other.

"If this is about coin, I don't have any," Jordan said, knowing it wasn't.

"Coin?" asked the short man. "We're not here for coin, sire. There are things far more valuable than silver."

The grim faces of his companions nodded in agreement. Jordan inhaled and exhaled cold air, getting a feeling for his own body and the space around him.

"What is it that you want exactly?"

Jordan scanned the alley for anything he could use as a weapon. A glass bottle. A brick. A wooden plank. None could match the value of a sword in trained hands, but anything was better than nothing.

"We want satisfaction, Sunkiller." The words left the short man's mouth and struck Jordan right in the heart.

Sunkiller.

"We want the pound of flesh you owe each man, woman, and child for the friends and family lost during your winter without end."

The ravenblood woman squawked angrily in her language.

One of the men translated.

"She wants her mother and sisters back." He pointed his dagger at Jordan's chest. "I want revenge for my fiancé who froze to death less than a fortnight ago."

"We all have a grudge to settle with the man who killed the world. Now," the small man took on a fencer's second stance, "pay what you owe, Sunkiller."

The short man and another rushed forward while the other two men readied their weapons and waited, a typical military formation allowing for troops to strike while the reserve waited on-hand to step in when needed. The ravenblood also waited, hackles raised and taloned hands clutching her spear tightly. Jordan took it all in as if outside of his body, each breath brought him a new glimpse of the changing battlefield.

The first man slashed wide, hoping to force Jordan into the thrusting blade of his companion, but Jordan could see through his tactic as clearly as he could see his own. Sacrificing defense, Jordan stepped into the man driving his elbow into his nose and taking his sword from a momentarily loose grip. The short man's blade stabbed across Jordan's arm, scoring a glancing blow. His eyes widened as his companion's blade thrust into his chest. The two men in reserve lunged forward, more wary than the first pair and fighting in tandem. The dance of their blades forced Jordan to retreat.

Nose broken and bleeding, the first thug grabbed the short man's weapon and rejoined the fray. In a matter of strokes, Jordan found himself being backed into the waiting ravenblood. He spun aside out of reflex and the tip of her weapon scraped across his back. Pain lashed through him, mingling with the kinetics and aggression of the battle. Jordan felt the blade art welling inside, positioning his feet and his sword as if it controlled him and not the other way around.

"A Thousand Spirals!"

Spinning like a storm, all he could see was the whirling after images of his blade, all he could hear was the desperate song of his opponents' frantic parries. Caught in a barrage of slashing strokes, the men were neither trained nor prepared for Jordan's sudden thrusts from the center of the vortex. Two went down before the blade art could consume all of the available energy. Jordan leapt forward, grabbed the man with the broken nose and tripped him, sending him stumbling into the ravenblood's spear. She squawked in frustration as his weight dragged her weapon down. Jordan rushed in and she dropped it, using her shield to deflect his initial attack and smack him across the face. Half-dazed, he switched to a defensive stance, relying on the spatial awareness of his breathing to protect him while he shook his head against the stars blotting out his vision.

He felt her take to wing and, by the time he could see clearly, she was gone.

Standing in an empty park with his pain and four corpses, Jordan walked over to a stone bench and sat heavily. The cut across his back was shallow, as were the few across his shoulder and hand. He'd live... but he wasn't sure he wanted to. Looking down at the dead men, he wondered how many more could be thrown at his feet, direct victims of his actions. He was reminded why he'd fled to Belgaul so many years ago. The weight of what he'd done sat on his shoulders, threatening to grind him into the stone bench.

He barely heard the new footsteps approaching.

"Jordan, why did they say those things? Why did they call you that accursed name?" Haru looked lost, barely holding the bundle of supplies under her arm. She stepped over the bodies, her eyes never leaving his. "Answer me..."

He saw the look he dreaded seeing on all faces, the look that haunted him as he walked past strangers on the street. Under the suffering and misery, he imagined there was hatred. Hatred for the man who damned their world. Jordan didn't blame them. He hated himself. He hated what he'd done. He hated the world he'd created.

"I am the man who killed The Light and doomed us all to a never ending winter." He stared through her, seeing that fateful day. "I am The Sunkiller."