Pollux rubbed his eyes. This memory returned to him every time the storm was the same as it had been back then. Five years had passed since then, but it still felt like yesterday. His white hair blended with the swirling dust of the blizzard as if he were just another static outcropping of rock. He stood in the pass, watching Orion, who was digging in the snow a short distance away.
"Did you find something?" Pollux shouted.
Orion straightened up and triumphantly held a frozen piece of leather above his head. "We got it! The old man was right; that caravan must have left it here when the animals bolted. We'll be heroes, brother. Well, mostly me, since I found it."
Pollux offered a small smile. Orion's humor was as much of an anchor for him as Alina had once been.
"Let's get out of here," Pollux said. "Another wave is coming. I can feel it in the air."
Pollux didn't use sight the way others did. He perceived the world through a subtle vibration in his bones. He felt the density of the air changing and how the wind's flow broke against the rocky needles in the distance. To him, these weren't premonitions but raw physics—a rise in pressure that throbbed dimly in the lymph nodes on his neck, triggering a quiet, rhythmic hum in his perception.
"You and your premonitions," Orion muttered, but he immediately slung the find over his shoulder. "Fine, you lead. But if we get drifted in, I'm going to hold it against you all the way to Kyrios."
They walked back. Pollux perceived the world as a series of sensations—the slope of the incline, the density of the snow under his boot, the speed of the wind whipping his face. It was a different kind of noise than the one he had in his head as a child. This noise helped him survive. But somewhere deep inside, he still felt that empty space Alina had left years ago.
He needed answers. And those answers were in that piece of metal he now carried in a pouch on his belt. He felt its weight with every step—a dead, cold fragment of the First Era, the only thing that resisted the rhythm of this world.
The journey from the pass back to the seat of the Kyrios clan took longer than Orion had anticipated. The snow began to fall in thick, heavy flakes that muffled every sound. Pollux walked second. In his right hand, he held the rope that tied him to Orion—a safety measure Fenryr required for every ascent above the tree line.
Pollux had his hand in his pocket. His fingers traced the grooves of a small brass wheel. It was the heart of an old alarm clock he had found a week ago in one of the lower villages. It was jammed, full of dust and broken steel, but for Pollux, it was a soothing sensation. His fingers felt every single tooth of that wheel with unnatural sharpness. In his mind, it wasn't just metal; it was a pattern. He perceived the friction of dirt in the delicate mechanism as an irregular pulse he tried to balance in his head.
"Heja, brother! Still breathing, or have you frozen back there in some deep reflection on the meaning of the universe?" Orion shouted over his shoulder.
"I'm breathing," Pollux answered quietly. "I'm just watching your step. You're stomping too hard on your left foot. If you don't stop, your knee will be aching by evening."
Orion stopped and turned for a moment. Through his snow-covered goggles, his eyes couldn't be seen, but his wide grin was unmistakable. "You really are a walking sensor, Pollux. But you're right, this bag of loot is pulling me to the side. Come on, let's take a break under that overhang. If you're going to fix me, I need at least a bit of shelter from the wind."
They climbed down from the main path under a rocky ledge where the wind didn't blow. Orion dropped the heavy bag of frozen skins and exhaled with relief. Pollux sat on a frozen stone and pulled the brass wheel from his pocket. His gaze, in which a remnant of dimmed amber glow from the exertion in the pass still trembled beneath the azure surface, fixed on the mechanism. He began to clean it mechanically with a piece of cloth.
"Those geared beasts of yours again," Orion muttered, pulling a flat flask from his inner coat pocket. He took a drink and handed it to Pollux. "Have some. It's from Fenryr. It tastes like liquid fire and old socks, but it'll warm you up before you can say 'bear'."
Pollux drank only carefully. The liquid burned his throat, but he was right—warmth immediately spread into his chest. He felt the heat of the alcohol fighting the cold in his veins and how the rhythm of his breath slowly synchronized with the quiet clicking he imagined inside that cleaned wheel.
Orion finally stopped laughing and wiped his snowy gloves on his thighs. "Alright, philosopher. Enough with the break. If we sit here another ten minutes, we'll freeze to this rock and Fenryr won't find us until spring as two very well-preserved statues."
Pollux nodded and tucked the brass wheel deep into his pocket. He stood up and felt the muscles in his legs give a quiet protest after the brief rest. It wasn't pain, just a reminder that today's ascent had been long.
"Give me that load," Pollux said, reaching for the bag of skins.
"Are you crazy?" Orion swung the bag back onto his shoulder and crouched slightly to balance the weight. "You're the one who watches the path. I'm the one with the muscles who carries things. If I gave this to you, Fenryr would have me doing push-ups in the snow until I saw stars in broad daylight. Move it, brother. I can smell the soup in the air."
They descended in a silence broken only by the steady sound of their footsteps and the whistling of the wind in the rocky crevices. Pollux followed Orion's back, concentrating on the mechanics of movement. He perceived how the rope between them transmitted tiny tremors—every shift Orion made, every uncertain step. In his head, it created a map of the terrain he didn't need to see with his eyes. The vibrations in the rope told him about the stability of the ground before he even stepped on it himself.
When they finally descended below the tree line, the wind suddenly died down. Pine trees laden with snow created a silent green cathedral around them.
"We're close now," Orion exhaled, relief evident in his voice.
Soon, the outlines of Kyrios's estate began to take shape in the gloom. It wasn't just a house; it was a fortress carved into the rock and clad in dark wood engraved with ornaments of scenes from ancient songs. Thick smoke rose from the chimneys, smelling of resin and roasted meat in the cold air. The light in the windows had a warm orange color that contrasted sharply with the bluish dusk outside.
The manor was surrounded by a stone wall that looked like a rampart from the outside but had its own aesthetic. Someone was already waiting for them by the main gate. A massive figure standing motionless in the middle of the falling snow.
"Fenryr," Orion muttered, straightening up so as not to look so tired. "I bet he's been standing there for an hour just to make us nervous."
As they drew closer, Fenryr fixed them with his calm, stony gaze. His massive black horns, twisted and sharp as rocky peaks, towered over his head, catching snowflakes. His long black hair swayed gently in the fading breeze, while his heavy fur coat reflected neither breath nor heartbeat.
"You're late. I assume the pass was worse than the reports said."
"The storm slowed us down a bit," Pollux replied, starting to unbind the rope from his waist with relief. "But we have what we went for."
Fenryr gave a short nod, his gaze lingering on Pollux for a moment. "Your posture during the descent was better. You put less weight on your heels. Go inside; Kyrios is expecting you for dinner. And Orion... put that bag in the storehouse, not the kitchen. I know what you're planning."
Orion rolled his eyes, but a suppressed smirk was visible on his face. "You really are a clairvoyant, old man. Come on, Pollux, before they snatch the best pieces of meat from us."
They went inside. The heat of the main hall hit them in the face like a physical force. Pollux felt his cheeks thawing and his internal rhythm beginning to accelerate chaotically in the rising temperature. His hair, which had been white as fresh snow outside, darkened with every step toward the hearth until it took on a deep brown shade.
With the receding cold, he felt the familiar burning on his neck and behind his ears. Under his skin, dark geometric patterns began to trace themselves—black maps of overload that spread along the lymphatic pathways like ink in milk in the heat of the hall. His azure eyes were momentarily flooded with an amber glow, an indicator that his body was trying to process the sudden change in environment. It was an unpleasant, pulsing pressure, a reminder that the safe embrace of the frost, which dampened the infection, had ended.
They took off their wet coats, and Pollux instinctively reached for his belt. The black holster with the unknown weapon was still there. Cold, alien, and silent. In this warm, noisy hall full of family bustle, it felt even more out of place than ever.
"Pollux!" a tall girl in a long dress shouted, running across the hall toward them. Aurora collided with him with such force that he almost lost his balance, then she quickly stepped back. From under her brow, where her hair had slipped, hot red eyes looked at him. "I thought you'd decided to stay in the mountains and live with the bears! Look what I found while climbing the south wall!" She brushed her hair back and tucked it behind a pointed ear. Her hair and horns were decorated with dyed ribbons and strings with stone beads. With her other hand, she held out a small, strangely shaped stone with holes that looked like a primitive whistle in her hands. Pollux looked at it, and his mechanical empathy reacted immediately. He didn't just see a stone; he felt the path through which air would flow. In his mind, the flow pattern and the tone that would be created under the right pressure took shape.
"It's nice, Aurora," he said with a gentle smile, as the amber glint in his eyes slowly gave way to its natural azure. "If you sand the edges down a bit, it will sound clearer."
"I knew you'd say that!" she laughed and ran back to her mother, who sat by the hearth with a book in her lap.
Pollux remained standing in the middle of the hall, watching the life around him. It was home. A real home. And yet, somewhere deep in a corner of his mind, in that empty space, something began to quietly tick.
The main hall of the Kyrios clan's estate was the heart of the entire valley at night. High ceilings of dark wood absorbed most of the light from the chandeliers, but the fire in the hearth—large enough to roast an entire ram—made up for it. The air was thick with the scent of pine resin, wax, and roasted meat with wild thyme.
Pollux sat on the edge of a long bench. He felt clean; after arriving, he had washed in icy water and changed his sweat-soaked clothes for dry, thick wool. The amber glow in his eyes had already faded, dampened by the relative peace of the hall.
"Picking out the pieces of meat that look the most symmetrical again, I see," remarked Orion, who sat down next to him and tucked into a huge portion of stew with gusto. "I bet if you could, you'd arrange those potatoes in your bowl by size."
Pollux smiled thinly and took a sip of hot herbal tea. "I just like it when things make sense, Orion. Chaos is hard to digest."
"I like chaos just fine, especially when there's enough spice in it," Orion retorted, tossing a piece of bread to their snow dog lying under the table.
In the middle of the debate, the hall suddenly went quiet. Kyrios entered the room. He was accompanied by a natural aura of respect. Behind him walked Filopsis, whose face was unreadable as usual, as if carved from ice.
Kyrios took his seat at the head of the table. His silver-decorated black horns stood upright as if they wanted to touch the starry sky. Silver curly hair fell into his eyes and rested against a draped cloak of rare furs. His deep and direct gaze swept over those present and stopped for a moment on Pollux.
"I heard the pass was restless today," Kyrios said, and Fenryr, standing nearby, silently handed him a glass of wine. "But Orion and Pollux brought back what we needed. Good work."
"It was a close call," declared Aurora, who sat opposite Pollux, constantly playing with that stone she had found. "Fenryr says that Pollux already knows how to use the weight of even a mountain like himself. Soon he might even catch up to me in climbing!"
"In climbing along flat roads, maybe," Orion laughed, nudging Pollux with his elbow.
Filopsis, who had been silent until then, leaned toward Pollux. His voice was quiet and precise. "Did your condition worsen after today's ascent? I perceive a slight tachycardia in you, and your movements are slower than yesterday. Is your nervous system reacting to magnetic changes in the storm, or is it just fatigue?"
Pollux set down his spoon. Filopsis's questions were always like that—direct and cold as a scalpel.
"It's just the noise, Filopsis. In a storm, the air is full of statics. My head processes it as thousands of tiny needles. But the cold in the pass kept it at bay. Here in the heat, it's... louder."
Kyrios nodded. "Skeldar gives you peace, Pollux. But this peace is bought through isolation. Once, Filopsis asked me if your gift—the way you perceive the world of machines and their rhythm—isn't wasted in this land. What do you think about it?"
Pollux looked at his hand. On his fingertips were tiny scars from thousands of repairs he had made over the years. "I think the machines here in the mountains are more honest, sir. They have a soul. But sometimes... sometimes I feel like these watches and locks I fix are just children's toys compared to what I could handle."
A silence fell over the table. Only the wood in the hearth popped loudly. Liberia, who had been quietly observing the scene until then, placed her hand on the table. Her voice was soothing, deep as the sound of a bell.
"You seek purpose where you should seek peace, boy. The Goddess did not create us for machines, but for each other. Perhaps your purpose is not in what you can fix, but in whom you can protect with your gift."
Pollux looked at Aurora, who gave him a wide, innocent smile, and then at Orion, who inconspicuously slid another piece of cheese to him under the table. Dinner continued in a more relaxed tone. They talked about wool prices, new routes for couriers, and the fact that winter would be long this year. It was that typical moment—warm food, familiar faces, and a sense of safety from the world that had once nearly crushed Pollux.
But under the table, in the depths of his pocket, Pollux's fingers still traced that brass wheel. He felt every one of its teeth. He felt the flaw in its rhythm.