I woke before dawn. The day was much colder than yesterday as winter loomed closer, frost beginning to cover the stained glass windows of the pub.

  Since the Sirin was dealt with, I decided to explore my warlock fortress a bit more. By peering into a deep crack in the wall likely caused by the dragon stomping around the village, I noted that the pub was built exceptionally well to contain heat. The old building’s structure consisted of three layers of well-set stones, an empty space and another layer of thinner stones held up against wooden beams. The round windows were made from clear stained glass, letting in plenty of light for my plants to enjoy.

  It only took twenty minutes of a blaze within the fireplace to make the interior completely warm and cosy. Stormy woke up and relocated closer to the fire.

  Having attained warmth, I took off my winter garb and started to meticulously sort through my dirt pile in an attempt to understand how exactly magic could have changed chemical properties of the mundane earth.

  I soon discovered a large rock that had apparently been lounging directly underneath my backside earlier. I washed the rock and cracked open one of its sides using a blacksmith’s clamp and steel hammer, revealing a crystalline, violet-tinted interior, similar to quartz.

  Was this rock already crystalline or had my witch-magic affected all rocks in this manner?

  I slid the crystal into a pocket and searched for more rocks. Upon inspection, all rocks within the pile were crystalline.

  With a backpack filled with earth and my pockets filled with crystal gems I quickly ventured outside to the hole where my glade had been previously and dug a bit around it.

  None of the rocks there were crystal.

  My magic had indeed somehow crystallized perfectly mundane rocks!

  I returned to the pub and examined the wooden floors beneath my earth pile using my water drop microscope. There were distinctive, crystalline micro-structures forming between wood fibres. Next, I examined the metal chests that housed my plants. The metal was slowly turning into some kind of a strange fusion between iron and micro-crystals.

  Curious.

  I pulled out my Codex and added a new entry:

  Crystallization Magic: Ability to transform mundane materials into crystal-like structures through prolonged exposure to a warlock. Observed in rocks, wood, and metal.

  Potential uses: unknown.

  I spent the next few hours roaming the village to collect unique mundane materials to shove them into or near my magical pile in specific locations to track which things would crystallise faster.

  First, I gathered various types of wood - pine from a broken chair, oak from a fallen beam, and birch from a shattered decorative lock-box. In what remained of a carpenter’s workshop, I found samples of exotic woods: a piece of dark ebony and a sliver of reddish mahogany. From a broken musical instrument, I salvaged a small piece of resonant spruce.

  Metals were next on my list. I collected iron nails, a copper pot, and a silver spoon I found buried in the rubble of what must have been a wealthy home. In the blacksmith’s shop, I discovered scraps of steel, brass, and even a small nugget of gold which had likely been awaiting crafting into jewelry.

  As I searched, I came across interesting fabrics. I cut small pieces from a tattered wool cloak, a linen tablecloth, and a fragment of silk from a priest’s vestments in the rubble-shaped remnants of Svalbard’s chapel. In another iron case, one which perhaps belonged to a seamstress, I found scraps of cotton, velvet, and even a small piece of leather.

  Stones were plentiful, so I gathered a variety: smooth river rocks, jagged pieces of slate, and a small chunk of marble from a broken statue. I also collected pieces of granite, sandstone, and a curious green stone that might have been jade. A few iron lockboxes and piles of ashes, likely once wealthy matrons, provided me with the following jewellery:

  A silver necklace adorned with small pearls and a teardrop-shaped aquamarine pendant.

  A pair of gold earrings, each set with a round garnet.

  A bronze bracelet inlaid with alternating pieces of turquoise and coral.

  A delicate gold ring featuring a cushion-cut peridot.

  An ornate silver brooch studded with tiny amethysts arranged in a floral pattern.

  A heavy gold signet ring with a flat-cut onyx bearing an unfamiliar coat of arms.

  A pair of silver hair combs, each decorated with small opals.

  A gold pendant on a thin chain, set with a large, oval-cut citrine.

  A silver anklet with dangling charms, each set with a different gemstone: ruby, sapphire, emerald, and topaz.

  From the village’s mostly obliterated tannery, I gathered samples of animal products: a piece of cured hide, some horsehair, and even a small fragment of bone. In a potter’s workshop, I found clay, both raw and fired into ceramics.

  I also got a sample of the dead tree's bark and nipped a branch from a somewhat alive bush.

  As I brought all of my gathered materials into the pub and had a quick lunch, I considered Minnow's words. The nightborn had mentioned catacombs beneath Svalbard, remnants of an older, grander city that had existed before the "ice came." If true, these underground spaces might contain valuable resources and information.

  I gathered my exploration gear: a lantern I'd salvaged from one of the houses, several torches, my backpack containing a portion of my domain soil, weapons, and basic tools. I hesitated, then decided to check on Vesna before leaving.

  Moving the chest of soil from the cold well cover, I peered down into the darkness. The Sirin remained as before, motionless except for the shallow rise and fall of her breathing. She would be fine alone, I decided. If my domain made blind and confused she wouldn't be able to flee the cage and cold well, plus she now had no treehouse to escape to.

  "Watch the fort," I told Stormy as I put on my bulky coat and backpack. "I'll be back before nightfall."

  “Frrrr,” Stormy, who was grooming herself by the fireplace, replied and rushed up my body and settled on my shoulder.

  “Or you can come,” I said. “That’s fine too, I guess. Just don’t fall off.”

  “Mrrr.”

  “Yes, I know you have claws, but they are very small.”

  “Mrrrrrrr.”

  I realised that I was arguing with a cat, shrugged and went outside.

  The day was still crisp and clear. I made my way toward the village center, scanning the ground for any sign of entrances to the catacombs Minnow had mentioned.

  After an hour of methodical searching, I discovered a promising lead—a heavy stone slab partially hidden beneath the collapsed remains of what might have been a temple or shrine. The stone bore weathered carvings, symbols reminiscent of those I'd seen in the books I'd collected.

  With considerable effort and a long wooden board lever, I managed to shift the slab just enough to reveal a narrow stairway descending into darkness. Cool, stale air wafted up from below, carrying the scent of ancient dust and stone.

  I lit the wax candle lantern, its warm glow pushing back the shadows as I began my descent. The stairs were worn smooth by centuries of use, spiraling down into the earth in a tight coil. The walls were lined with tightly fitted stones, remarkable in their precision given the presumed age.

  After descending perhaps twenty meters, the stairs opened into a broad tunnel with a vaulted ceiling. The architecture was far more sophisticated than anything I'd seen in the village above—arches of precisely cut stone supported by columns carved with intricate patterns of intertwining vines and runic symbols. This was clearly the work of a more advanced civilization than the Viking-style wooden walls settlement above.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  The tunnel stretched ahead, branching occasionally into side passages. I marked my path with chalk, leaving arrows indicating the way back to the surface as I explored.

  The main tunnel eventually opened into what appeared to have been a grand hall or meeting chamber. Rows of stone benches faced a raised dais at the far end, where a massive chair—almost a throne—stood intact despite the passage of time. Behind the throne hung the tattered remains of a once-magnificent tapestry depicting what looked like a celestial event—a bright green star or comet streaking across a night sky above a great city.

  I approached the throne cautiously, noting the intricate carvings on its arms and back—scenes of hunts, battles, and what appeared to be magical rituals. The seat itself was made of a different stone than the rest of the chamber, polished to a high sheen and inlaid with what might have been silver or some other precious metal, now tarnished with age.

  On the wall behind the throne, partially hidden by the tapestry, was a large, circular design—a calendar or celestial map of some kind, with movable metal rings set into the stone. It reminded me of an astrolabe, but on a much larger scale.

  "What were you measuring?" I murmured, tracing the faded markings with my fingers.

  “Myarrr,” Stormy commented.

  “Thanks for the input,” I smiled.

  “Mrrr.”

  Exploring further, I discovered numerous side chambers branching off from the main hall. Some appeared to have been living quarters, others workshops or storage rooms. Many contained rotted furniture, crumbling textiles, and rusted metal objects whose original purpose was now impossible to determine.

  In what might have been a treasury or vault, I found small statues of animals and humanoid figued. I collected a few of the better-preserved items.

  The most interesting discovery came in a chamber that appeared to have been a library or archive. Here, wooden shelves had long since collapsed, but some of the contents—scrolls and books protected by metal cases or sealed jars—remained intact. These were too numerous to examine thoroughly on the spot, so I selected several that seemed particularly well-preserved or featured diagrams I hoped to eventually understand.

  As I continued deeper into the catacombs, the architecture changed subtly. The stonework grew older, cruder, yet somehow more impressive in its scale. The tunnels widened, the ceilings rose higher, and the air grew noticeably cooler.

  I entered what could only be described as a necropolis—a vast underground city of the dead. Rows of stone sarcophagi lined wide avenues, each carved with the likeness of its occupant. Some depicted warriors in full armor, others showed robed figures holding staffs or books, and still others resembled the hybrid creatures I'd seen illustrated in the bestiary.

  "The ancestors of modern witches and heroes?" I wondered aloud, my voice echoing in the cavernous space.

  One sarcophagus in particular caught my attention—larger than the others, positioned at the intersection of four avenues like a landmark or point of reverence. Its lid portrayed not a single figure but a man and woman side by side, their stone hands clasped together. The man held what appeared to be a lightning bolt or spear, while the woman cradled a small tree or plant. At their feet, various animals and smaller humanoid figures were carved in bas-relief.

  "Perun and Zemlya," I guessed, recognizing the motifs Grandhilda had mentioned—sky god and earth goddess, husband and wife deities of this world's pantheon.

  “Mrr,” Stormy agreed.

  I continued through the necropolis, feeling like an intruder in this sacred space yet drawn forward by curiosity and the promise of knowledge. At its far end, the necropolis narrowed into a processional way leading to a circular chamber whose domed ceiling mimicked a night sky, with thousands of tiny crystals embedded in the stone to represent stars.

  In the center of this chamber stood an altar or platform of white stone, unmarked except for a circular depression at its top. The depression was lined with a metal I didn't recognize—neither gold nor silver, but something with an unusual bluish sheen.

  I approached carefully, lantern held high. The chamber felt important, significant in ways I couldn't articulate. There was a weight to the silence here, as if the very air had been holding its breath for centuries.

  As I neared the altar, my lantern's light caught something unexpected—a faint glow emanating from the metal-lined depression. It was barely perceptible at first, but as I leaned closer, the glow intensified slightly, responding to my presence.

  Curiosity overriding caution, I reached out to touch the strange metal. The moment my fingers made contact, a jolt of energy surged through my body—not painful, but intense, like plunging into ice water. The glow brightened dramatically, pulsing in a rhythm that matched my heartbeat.

  Suddenly, the dome above came alive. The crystal stars shifted, rearranging themselves into new patterns, while lines of light appeared between them, forming constellations and celestial paths. It was like watching the sky fast-forward through seasons and years, cycles of heavenly bodies compressed into moments.

  Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the display stopped. The stars froze in a specific configuration, and a single point of light—brighter than all the others—appeared at the exact center of the dome. From this point, a beam of concentrated radiance shot downward, striking the altar precisely where my hand rested.

  The light was blindingly intense, forcing me to close my eyes. When I opened them again, the beam had vanished, but floating above the altar was a three-dimensional image of a city. I guessed that this was Svalbard as it must have been long ago—a vast, walled city surrounded by green forests and fields, with a great river running through its center.

  I stared in amazement as the image rotated slowly, revealing details of the ancient metropolis. White towers and gold domes rose majestically, bridges spanned the river, and ships with billowing sails crowded a bustling river harbor. Beyond the city walls, smaller settlements dotted the landscape, connected by roads that radiated outward like spokes from a wheel.

  Then, a silver comet streaked across the dome-sky above the city, covering everything with its gargantuan emerald tail. Then darkness. When the day came, then the image began to change. Slowly at first, then with increasing speed, I watched as winter descended. Snow covered the land, ice formed on the river, and the forests retreated. The outer settlements and fields were abandoned one by one, their inhabitants presumably fleeing toward the city center.

  The city itself contracted, its outer districts emptying as people crowded into the increasingly fortified inner zones. Walls grew higher, more numerous. The harbor froze, trapping ships in its icy grip.

  Finally, a new element appeared—a wall of ice advancing from the north, unstoppable and implacable. It consumed everything in its path, burying fields and forests, crushing outlying structures. The city fought back, evidenced by flares of light that erupted along the ice wall's leading edge, but to no avail. Year by year, decade by decade, the ice advanced.

  In the final stages, I watched as the once-great city was reduced to a fraction of its former size—just the innermost district, surrounded by wooden walls and magical barriers. This last bastion—the Svalbard I now knew—stood defiant against the encroaching ice, a lone pocket of civilization in a frozen wasteland.

  The image faded, leaving me alone in the chamber with only my lantern's light and racing thoughts. What I had witnessed was not just history but prophecy in reverse—seeing how this world had reached its current state of slow dissolution.

  I touched the altar again testing if the holographic would play again, but it did not. Either this was a one time, one person show or whatever was animating it had finally burned out.

  "The glaciers are still moving," I realized aloud, remembering Vesna's words. "This isn't over. The process continues."

  I stepped back from the altar, my mind reeling with implications. The old city of Svalbard had fallen gradually, fighting a losing, catastrophic battle against the Ice Age. And if the pattern continued, even the current village—reduced as it was—would eventually be engulfed by the glaciers.

  Unless something changed. Unless someone changed it.

  I searched the chamber more thoroughly, looking for any clues, any indication of how the ancient inhabitants had fought back against the encroaching ice. Along the walls, I found inscriptions and carvings—scenes depicting robed figures channeling energy into great crystals or pillars, others showing what appeared to be magical artifacts being used to hold back the frozen tide.

  One carving in particular caught my attention—a circular design showing a central figure surrounded by eight others, all directing energy toward what looked like a star or comet overhead. The central figure held what might have been a staff or scepter with a distinctive spherical top with a snowflake-like pattern within it.

  I sketched the design carefully in my journal, then continued exploring. Beyond the domed chamber, the catacombs became rougher, less maintained, eventually giving way to natural caverns. I followed these for a short distance before deciding to turn back—without proper gear and more reliable light sources, venturing deeper seemed unnecessarily risky.

  As I made my way back through the necropolis, I paused again at the large sarcophagus depicting Perun and Zemlya. Something about it nagged at me, a detail I'd missed on my first examination.

  Looking more closely at the bas-relief figures at their feet, I noticed something odd—among the various animals and humanoid beings, one figure stood apart, neither fully human nor animal, but something in between. It appeared to be female in form, with outstretched arms that transitioned into feathered wings with gold and red tips.

  "A Sirin," I murmured, recognizing the avian-human hybrid shape.

  But unlike the predatory creature I'd encountered, this Sirin was depicted in a posture of supplication or service, kneeling before the divine couple with wings spread in what appeared to be reverence.

  I traced the carving with my fingers, wondering about the relationship between these ancient beings. If Sirins were once servants of the gods, what had changed? How had they transformed from divine attendants to the predatory creatures that now haunted the dying forests?

  With these questions adding to my growing list of mysteries, I continued back toward the surface. The journey seemed shorter on the return, and soon I was emerging into the evening light, blinking against the sudden brightness after hours underground.

  The village of Svalbard looked different to me now—not just a random settlement destroyed by a dragon's wrath, but a remnant of something great, something worth rediscovering, understanding and preserving. The dragon attack wasn't just a random tragedy; it was another nail in the coffin of a dying civilization.

  A sad ending that didn’t need to happen. Surely, the villagers could have hidden in these vast catacombs from the dragon. Why didn’t they? Why did they all have to perish above? Yet again, I wondered why Grandhilda didn’t let Ioan’s family and friends survive by warning them to hide down here when she knew of their future.

  Lost in thought, I made my way back to the pub, my pack heavy with artifacts and books salvaged from the catacombs.

  Once inside, Stormy jumped off me and pawed at her plate.

  “Yeah, yeah. Dinner time,” I agreed, setting down my burden and lighting the fireplace. "Just thinking how Svalbard has a much bigger story than we realized."

  “Myarwr,” the kitten said. She clearly realized many things, unlike my inferior human self.

  I gave her a pet with a smile and I poured the kitten some water.

  Then, I went to acquire preserved food from the second, smaller entrance to the large cold well below the pub that had the one-person wooden ladder leading down. The Sirin didn’t move, maintaining her feathery-sphere form.

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