A very long time ago—so long ago that the very idea of time lost its meaning—there existed a place where even the memory of sunlight faded. It was a land of endless white, a domain ruled by bitter cold, where blizzards raged so fiercely that seeing a single step ahead was nearly impossible. At the edge of that storm-lashed border stood a solitary barbarian. That barbarian was Ketal. He gazed silently into the swirling expanse of snow, his breath crystallizing in the frozen air. Far, far off in the distance, he could just make out the vague shimmer of green—some trick of the light, a fleeting glimpse of living grass or leaves. Perhaps it was only a mirage conjured by his desperate hopes. However, for Ketal, that faraway patch of green was nothing less than a vision of paradise, a myth made real. He stared at it, spellbound, as if in a trance. Updates are released by N0veI.Fiɾe.net How long he stood there, he could not say, but eventually, he hefted his axe—a weapon battered and worn by untold struggles—and swung it with all his might. The axe struck the empty air, and reality itself seemed to splinter. For an instant, a jagged line ran through the world, as if the boundary between this realm and the next had truly fractured. However, as quickly as it appeared, the fissure sealed itself up, vanishing without a trace. It was as if the world had never allowed it to exist at all—a silent declaration telling him that he is not permitted to pass beyond this point. Ketal’s face twisted in anguish. A wordless cry tore from his throat, raw and desperate. “Aaah! AAAAH! WHY! WHY! WHY! Just—how much longer!?” His voice, strained with hopeless longing, echoed across the wasteland. It was the wail of a prisoner who had tasted only the tiniest sliver of freedom—a lament for all that was denied to him. Ketal’s scream rang out over the snow, a sound full of both defiance and despair. He did not know how long he stood there, shouting himself hoarse at the uncaring sky. The blizzard howled on, and he was just one lost soul within its endless fury. “What did I do, you ask...?” Ketal murmured, pulled back to the present by Arkemis’s gentle question. His voice carried the faintest trace of something—regret, perhaps, or a sorrow that was too old and deep to name. Arkemis, sensing that she had inadvertently touched a nerve, shrank back a little in her chair. “I—I’m sorry,” she stammered. “You said it was a memory you’d rather not revisit. If it’s too much—” Ketal shook his head, silencing her concern. “It’s true that these aren’t pleasant memories. But it isn’t something I intend to bury, either. You’ve done a great deal for me—helping me understand the nature of my body, offering insights and friendship without ever asking for anything in return. The least I can do is answer your questions honestly.” He paused, considering how to begin. After all, the monsters of that place—the horrors of the White Snowfield—were now seeping into this world. He could not afford to keep his story hidden much longer. “It’s not a particularly good memory, but I suppose it’s time I spoke about it.” Ketal settled back, and Arkemis, realizing he had made up his mind, fell silent and attentive. “To be honest, I don’t remember much of my youth. When I first became aware—when I truly realized the world around me—I was dying.” “D-dying?” Arkemis repeated in shock. “I was in no shape to survive,” Ketal said, his gaze turning distant. Back on Earth, before all of this, he would kneel before bed every night and pray for at least an hour—to every god he could name, to every spirit that could be listening. He prayed that, when he woke up the next morning, he’d find himself in the midst of a grand fantasy. He wished for adventure, for magic, for a life more thrilling than his own. His wish was granted—just not in the way he’d imagined. When he opened his eyes again, he was not himself. He had become a barbarian, stranded in the heart of the White Snowfield. He didn’t know if he had possessed some other body or if his soul had been reborn into a new body. He never found out. All he knew was that his new body was half-buried in the snow, dying a slow and lonely death. His hands and feet were frozen blue, his eyelids stuck shut with ice. He could barely move, and every breath sent a spike of pain through his lungs. That was when it appeared—the Quest window—a floating square of light, shimmering before my eyes. [Survive for one week.] “Somehow, I managed to break free from the ice, clawing myself out into the open. Before me stretched a vast, desolate plain of snow. Had I been even slightly less careful, I would have died on the spot.” “I see...,” Arkemis replied. For the first time, she was hearing about the life of the legendary barbarian. Ketal’s voice grew softer, more introspective. “For a long time, I wandered alone. I drank water by melting snow in my hands. I hunted beasts I could not even name, tearing them apart for scraps of meat just to stay alive. I didn’t know what world I was in—didn’t know if I was truly alive or trapped in some unending nightmare. All I understood was that I had to keep moving. Much later, after what felt like an eternity, I finally found others like myself.” “You mean the ashen-haired barbarians?” Arkemis asked him quietly. He nodded. “Yes. I joined their tribe and began to live with them.” Only then did Ketal realize just how terrible this world was. Up until that point, he had still clung to the faint hope that he’d simply been thrust into some god’s cruel prank. Perhaps this was a test, and soon he would wake up, warm and safe. However, as the days passed, the truth became clear. “Even after finding my people, there was no comfort. We were hunted just as much as they hunted,” Ketal continued. “R-really?” Arkemis was taken aback by the remark. According to imperial legends, the ashen-haired barbarians were extremely dangerous. Even if the stories were exaggerated, she had believed they had to have stood at the top of the food chain in the White Snowfield. “It was not impossible to survive, but it was never comfortable,” Ketal said. They could hunt lesser beasts, but once the larger monsters caught their scent, they became prey themselves. Their territory was always under threat. Every day, they lost more of their own to the jaws and claws of things Ketal didn’t even have names for. “I survived, but I had no purpose.” Ketal thought being thrown into that hellscape was punishment—a consequence for dreaming too big. He barely even paid attention to the Quests after a while. He figured, if death came for him, he would accept it. Ketal fell silent, and for a moment, the only sound was the faint clink of the bottles and glasses on the table between them. “But then, one day, I met someone from the outside,” Ketal continued. “It was a man, half-dead, clutching a tattered book to his chest. An explorer, perhaps, or a scholar who had strayed too far. He was on the brink of death, but I saved him—dragged him back to the tribe, nursed him back to health, and eventually, learned his language.” That was when the truth dawned on Ketal. “The gods had granted my wish. I was in a fantasy world. It just... wasn’t the world I’d hoped for.” A wry smile touched his lips. “From that moment on, I had a new goal.” Arkemis’s eyes sparkled, caught up in his story. “To survive and make it out?” “To escape the White Snowfield and see the world beyond. To finally experience the adventure I’d dreamed of. I devoted everything to that goal.” However, escaping was not simple. No one could leave the White Snowfield by normal means. There were barriers, boundaries—rules he didn’t understand, but felt all too keenly. So Ketal did the only thing left: he started paying attention to the Quests. He tackled every challenge they threw at him. With every victory, he became stronger, and so did his tribe. Eventually, he was made chieftain. The barbarians’ territory grew. They fought for every inch, and with every struggle, his resolve hardened. Ketal’s expression was far away, as if reliving each brutal memory. “Many things had happened in the White Snowfield.” One day, as their territory expanded, a colossal serpent appeared—so vast it seemed to bridge earth and sky. “So, you’re the insects sullying the White Snowfield now,” the serpent had said. It was the first time Ketal met the White Serpent. The Quest window opened again. [Expel the White Serpent from your territory.] His tribe was terrified, but Ketal charged in with his axe. They fought for days, until the snow itself was stained red and he was barely more than a corpse. However, in the end, Ketal managed to drive the serpent out. Ketal never became strong for the sake of strength itself. All he wanted was to get out. However, along the way, he gained power—enough to be feared, enough to protect what mattered. “Over time, things grew a little easier. I controlled the largest domain in the White Snowfield. My people became strong enough to stand on their own. After that, life became routine—every day, I searched for a way to escape. And for a long time, I failed. But after years beyond counting, I finally made it. Ketal looked up, meeting Arkemis’s gaze. “That’s how I ended up here.” Arkemis let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. This was a life so far removed from her own that she could barely comprehend it. “H-have you really fought those legendary monsters? The White Serpent, the White Bear?” she asked him softly. Ketal nodded. “They were the biggest obstacles when expanding my territory. I fought them often.” “Who won?” she asked him, almost afraid of the answer. Ketal just smiled, calm and unflinching. “I’m here, aren’t I?” There was no need for any further explanation. Arkemis gulped hard. She had always known Ketal was a barbarian from the White Snowfield, but she had never truly grasped the scale of his strength. In the end, he was just a human—flesh and blood. Or so she had thought. That, she realized now, had been nothing but arrogance. The ancient emperor hadn’t exaggerated. Every word was true, she thought. The realization left her trembling with awe. Suddenly, a new thought occurred to Arkemis, a piece of the puzzle that didn’t quite fit. “Ketal, when you first found the other ashen-haired barbarians, you said they were weak, right?” “They were,” Ketal replied. “We were near the bottom of the food chain.” “Wait... but, that doesn’t match the legends. According to the old imperial stories, the barbarians were already powerful when the emperor entered the White Snowfield. But you say they only became strong after you joined them, after learning about the outside world.” Ketal’s eyes narrowed. “What are you getting at?” Arkemis hesitated. “Well, if the legends are right, that would mean... you were there before the Emperor ever arrived.” He shrugged. “I never met any emperor’s legion, if that’s what you’re asking. But I do remember some fool spouting nonsense ages ago. Maybe that was your emperor. Who knows?” A heavy silence fell. No way, Arkemis told herself. That can’t be. If Ketal had really been there before even the Emperor’s arrival, then how old was he, really? She forced herself to dismiss the thought. “Does that answer your questions?” Ketal asked her. She nodded, sinking back in her chair, exhausted but exhilarated. She alone now knew the true story behind the ashen-haired barbarians, straight from the source. There was a strange thrill in holding such a secret. “Then I suppose that explains your body’s... uniqueness, too,” Arkemis said, her mind racing. “To endure Myst barehanded, to survive in that place... If conquering the White Snowfield is what earned you that strength, then it makes sense.” Yet, even so, she couldn’t quite wrap her head around it. How could so much power, so much Myst, fit inside such a seemingly small body? And why was it only his physical body that carried such weight? she wondered. Arkemis shook her head. Her biggest question was answered, but a dozen new ones had taken its place. Still, she was satisfied. Ketal, too, seemed oddly unburdened, almost at peace. “You’re the first person I’ve ever shared my life story with.” Arkemis blushed, her lips curling into a delighted grin. “D-does that mean I’m special?” Ketal nodded. “That’s right.” She beamed, unable to hide her pride. The two fell into lighter conversation, and Arkemis began to ask about smaller details that still puzzled her. “So, the concept of Myst doesn’t exist in the White Snowfield??” she asked him. “Nope,” Ketal replied. “My tribe had never even heard of such a thing. The monsters had strange powers, but you couldn’t call it Myst.” “That’s incredible,” Arkemis muttered. In this world, Myst was as fundamental as water. To live without it was unimaginable—like surviving in a world without air. “So your whole tribe was strong, even without Myst?” “We weren’t weak,” Ketal said. “At the very least, they could keep up with me.” For a moment, Arkemis paused, then, half-joking, half-serious, asked him, “Are all your tribesmen as clever as you?” Ketal snorted. “Hardly. Most of them are idiots—stubborn, slow-witted, never listen to a thing I say. Honestly, I can’t stand to look at them.” She laughed. “How do they compare to the barbarians outside the Snowfield?” Ketal’s smile faded. “Those inside are even dumber, I’d bet.” A new, chilling thought flashed through Arkemis’ mind. The world was changing. The boundaries between realms were breaking down. If Ketal had escaped the White Snowfield, it meant that other ashen-haired barbarians as strong as him, but even more reckless, could come out as well. What would happen if a horde of such beings were unleashed upon the world outside? Arkemis wondered. The mere idea sent shivers down her spine. Even imagining it left her trembling, a visceral dread she couldn’t shake.