Recall

Ruthless times

The cold was everywhere. Since some years its ruthlessness and its intensity had increased exponentially. It’s seemed to slow down time for everything it touched. The winds were its vessel. The snowflakes its children. Everything else, its prey. It was a slow force, but a decisive one. Beneath its snows and icicles ten thousands lay buried.

A frozen axe thrust upwards through the snow. Its bearer was cloaked in an ancient battle attire. Its remaining skin had been preserved by the cold, but its expression was a vacant one. In its sockets a bright blue glow burned. A warrior long forgotten, who fell during a great battle, rose again. It had been called home, to fight against the again-risen enemy once more.