Legend has it, if you stand in front of a mirror, shuffling an enchanted deck of cards, you can open a doorway between dimensions.
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Prince Teodric of Springport remembers the promise he made his father: to *not* try to reenact the legend of dimen...
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If the passage into Diamond Valley was difficult, then the reverse trek was worse. A blistering storm commenced when we reached the Inner Gate. Even with our enchanted gear, Ysac and I couldn't stop our teeth from clattering and our fingertips from freezing.
We wore hats and gloves and scarves—supplied by Astrida in her desperation for affection, according to Ysac—but a glacial grimness plagued the entire area and rendered our journey nearly impossible. Even the clubbers, who'd been so unaffected by the weather until now, seemed to struggle more than usual.
But Ysac refused to quit, when I told him we should turn back and wait the storm out at the castle.
"Our mission is too important," he said through clenched teeth and a shivering jaw. "We're not on a set schedule, but we aren't supposed to dawdle. Going back to Astrida's comforts..." He peered over his shoulder at the castle, though we couldn't see it through the stinging fog. "We'll delay for too long and be too off course."
The main town was somehow deader than before, and the mist was so thick we could only rely on the clubbers to get us through safely. According to Ysac, these clubbers had quite the sense of direction. When one whispered a destination into the floppy ears of a clubber, it wouldn't rest until you got there in one piece.
My sense of direction? Shabby, at best. To me, every snow-covered tree looked alike, every path resembled the one before it. I was certain we rode in circles until we spotted the steep swaying bridge, and all my anxieties from the day before returned to plague me. From afar, I noticed the shiny surface of the bridge was slick with ice, and I dreaded having to pass over it.
But despite the frigid atmosphere, the dangerous descent, the exhaustion—Ysac remained calm. He shook like I did, yet his enthusiasm and positivity never dissipated. He hummed merry tunes as we traveled, pointed out things he remembered seeing on the road up, offered tidbits of natural knowledge I never expected he'd have. Were jesters all so smart in Efura? Were they all so educated, well-spoken, informed of current affairs, running about on errands given to them by powerful mages?
Ysac's posture never faltered; meanwhile I battled to stay upright and prevent my legs from falling off. Me, a prince, a future king, unable to hold his own in a temperature that I wasn't familiar with. What sort of image was I showing?
I leaned into my clubber, desperate to steal its warmth—and oh, it was warm. Almost hot to the touch, undisturbed by the surrounding frost as we humans were.
"H-how?" I asked, pointing at my clubber as we arrived at the conclusion of the bridge. "They...aren't...cold?"
Ysac's cute chuckle sent heat to my cheeks—but it was too brief. "Clubbers adjust to their environment." Though his plump lips were almost as purple as his eyes, his speech didn't slur like mine. I'd shoved my scarf over my mouth and sensed my nose throbbing, then numbing, then throbbing again. But his skin never changed colors, and nothing seemed to faze him. "No matter the temperature or the weather, their bodies shift to match it. Once we leave this area, they'll change again."
