Nothing could contain the excitement Côme had as their vessel approached a rather wild looking island off the shore of Jorrhildr. It wasn't the first time they had seen the island, the crew first noticing it on their trip to Ithania, to retrieve the young heir. The first mate had pointed it out, the huge coniferous trees brushing up against one another, fighting for the beams of sunlight and drowning everything else in a twilight landscape of shadow and snow. An eerie fog hugged the rocky beach of the island, framing it in an ominous gray silhouette. Captain Joaquin pulled his spyglass away from his weathered face, specks of sea salt visible in his already salt and peppered beard. He bore a grin as he shoved the mini telescope into his coat pocket and ordered his men to take note it; for they would be returning soon enough.
And so they did, dropping anchor a quick rowboat's trip away. The Lord of Oakclyff and Côme rowed away into the foggy beach, out of sight and safety of the rest of the ship. Côme led the pair, swiping at hanging icicles and stray branches with his longsword, using two hands to swing the hefty blade. They cut their way through the forest until coming upon a thicket of roots sealing the entrance of what looked to be a cave. The entire structure; that of a pine atop a small cave hiding secrets within, reminded Joaquin of his own proud family history. Eager to uncover what awaited them, the two generations of Ombre second born sons made quick work of the tree roots.
Joaquin's attention was consumed by the cave paintings and he didn't notice as Côme snuck off pass the border of the torch light, choosing to explore the rest of the cave for himself. He ran his gloved hand across the slimy walls and wandered down the tunnel and deeper into the artificial night. It wasn't long before the chilly winter breeze turned into a haunting song and the echoes of his own steps began to worry the fourteen year old boy. He was alone, his father's torchlight just a glowing speck of orange. He hadn't even realized he had been walking so long, the blackness of the cave and his own curiosity skewing his perception of time.
Scared and alone, the cold fingers of fear began to grip his heart. He could only hear the echoes of his father's voice reverberating through the cave, their origin unknown. Côme felt hopeless. He slid against the wall of the cave and onto the wet floor below, his head hanging low into his hands. A flash of light brought his head up in a jolt, and Côme watched as the wispy light faded in and out of existence, appearing a few feet from its original position each time. He followed, walking a path that would blink into existence in a cool twilight before fading back to the void of blackness.
Côme complied to his urge and peeled his wet and already frosted over glove off his right. Exposed to the elements, the boy didn't even notice the cold, or the choir of echoes that now exploded into a crescendo of haunting sounds. None of it phased the boy, the ring being his sole focus. His finger made its way to the ring, as if in slow motion, the calling of his father drowned out by the explosion of light that followed; the cave, forest, and island finally freed from the unending twilight as a new star shed its own bright light.
