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Snowy days were to be expected in the north. The snow didn’t stop for anybody, not even for the Sage or for the many wild beasts that stalked the country.
Akira and ten wizards had been on a rather routine mission to the north. Figaro had expected to mess about, allow everyone else to do the heavy lifting, then only get involved if absolutely necessary.
After all, Mithra and Bradley of the north were there, the absolute powerhouses that they were. Murr was a good potential backup for the two. Faust maybe could not keep up with them, but could carry his weight or protect the others. Shino was crazy enough to survive for at least a few minutes in the north, and Cain had a level of awareness such that he could at least avoid attacks. Rutile, at the very least, could provide healing support. As for Chloe and Riquet…it would be a good work study for them, he supposed. They could cheer from the sidelines.
All of that strategy and concepts didn’t pay off when the beast they were fighting triggered an avalanche.
Murr, Bradley, and Mithra had reacted quicker than most anyone would.
Murr had picked up Chloe while laughing, meowing something about riding the waves, and was off.
Bradley opted to grab the magically weaker central wizards. It was bold of him to grab two at once, but a big brother type would attempt something as foolish as that. Riquet’s lantern shone bright even in the heavy snowfall.
Mithra himself only had one priority. He snatched up Rutile by the shoulder—which Figaro assumed had to be painful—and moved to get him away from the snow.
He succeeded mostly in slamming into Shino, throwing that wizard off kilter.
Figaro would trust Faust to save the young eastern wizard, but there was the Sage to think about.
“Faust! You’re closer to Akira. You save him, alright?” Figaro instructed.
Shino, knocked off-kilter, was staggering in the snow to try and get on his broom properly.
Figaro assumed that they would all be headed southeast down the mountain, to get to a cave that was relatively out of the way and could be easily protected with magic. It was difficult to see in the storm, but he knew exactly where it was.
Just down and to the east.
“Leave your broom!” Figaro called to Shino as he dashed to him. Figaro mumbled his spell and sent his own broom forward, giving Shino a chance to climb onto it.
Figaro saw out of the corner of his eye that Faust was speeding by with Akira on his broom. For a moment, Figaro was proud that Faust actually decided to trust him.
Not allowing himself to focus on that for the moment, Figaro caught up to his broom and jumped on behind Shino.
He leaned forward and began to fly, basically shouting to make sure Shino heard him over the wind and the falling of snow. “Hold on tight!”
Figaro made sure that Shino didn’t fly off backwards. He mumbled his spell again, urging his broom to go faster. He couldn’t let the storm get in his way.
Unluckily for him, the storm wasn’t the main thing he had to worry about.
His eyes caught a shadow looming to the side of the cave he needed to get to. Untrained, non-northern eyes probably wouldn’t see everything that he had been able to see. Still, he saw it.
The beast was back.
“Lean east!” Figaro instructed Shino.
“What the hell are—“ Shino tried to ask.
“Possideo!” Figaro turned and leapt off of the broom, summoning his orb to his hand.
In the swirling snow and ice, nobody would be able to see just how strong his spell would be.
With concentration, the freezing air transformed into what seemed like steps in the air for the southern wizard. Figaro hopped down, grinning as he raised a hand.
“Poss—“
He really was a bit untrained.
“—ideo?!” His voice raised as he was smacked out of the sky as he finished his spell.
Ice and water smashed into the beast, most likely enough to shred it to bits. Anything not destroyed would be covered in the snow he had melted with his spell and freeze the beast to the point of being immobile thanks to the freezing temperatures.
Figaro’s magical weapon flew far away from his hands. He went flying backwards, the air knocked out of his lungs. He smashed into the snow, sinking quite a few feet into the powder.
Immediately, he tried to scramble to get out. Snow began to pile on top of him.
He had to get out.
Figaro pushed his hands through the snow, trying to dig himself through the snow. His back ached and he had very little air in his lungs. His left shoulder complained as he tried to move. It felt like he had hit a chunk of ice, maybe a rock, when he was thrown down.
Figaro struggled forward and trying to get up. His left hand came in contact with what he had fallen against.
It was wood.
Was it a house?
Were there many houses buried from the storm? How many were underneath him? Were there people beneath him?
Was it a village?
“P…Puh…” Figaro tried to gasp out his spell.
His entire body was shaking. It had to be the cold.
“Possideo!” He spat out.
Any other day, Figaro could have thrown tons of snow out of the way with one word. All he could do was throw some snow away from him and melt some, freezing it to stay above him.
He did that to attempt to guarantee himself some air. He managed to freeze the ice a few feet above himself. He should’ve been able to breathe.
Should’ve.
As he panted and gasped for air, he found he couldn’t catch his breath. Was it happening? Was this his death?
“Possideo!” He yelled. The snow to the left of him got blasted far away, exposing broken wood and rooftops on that side.
Even more signs of prior life.
Figaro felt like he was going to be sick.
He scrambled to get up and hit his head on the ice dome he had created above him. He fell back down into the snow.
He truly felt like he was dying.
“Possideo! Possideo!” Figaro threw a hand up, hitting against the ice above him.
Even without his magical orb to channel through, he blasted through the area above him.
“Possideo!” The moment it was cleared, he scrambled up through the snow around him. Hail began to pelt him as he pulled himself up.
He was being tortured, wasn’t he? The avalanche was haunting him again. The village and the blood was scattered under him.
“Possideo! Stop!” Figaro hit his fist against the top layer of snow. “POSSIDEO!”
The ice and hail and snow in the air around him all came to a halt. Time was standing still.
He must have caused some to melt, as he felt water on his face.
Two sets of hands grabbed onto him and began to drag him. Was it Snow and White again? They were digging him out of the snow.
Was he getting a chance to start over?
Figaro allowed himself to be dragged through the snow. He could only pause the snowfall for so long. It had already began to lightly fall again as he was moved.
“We’re already almost somewhere safe, Mr. Figaro. We’ll protect you now.” A soft, teacherly voice reassured him.
“You don’t have to talk to him. He probably won’t remember this.” A gloomy voice mumbled.
“Is he gonna die? Can I eat him when he does?” An eager voice asked.
“Shut up. I get to.” A cold voice said.
“Don’t say that.” The teacher’s voice instructed.
A younger voice, attempting not to sound nervous, spoke up. “He won’t die, right, Mr. Faust? Not after what he did to send me here to the shelter.”
“He’ll be fine. If you need help healing him, I’ll hold your hand.” A plain sounding voice approached them.
“Thank you, Sage.” The teacher spoke again.
Maybe that voice should hold his hand instead…
“What did he say?” An even younger voice asked.
“Don’t listen to him.” The gloomy voice tried to shoo the younger one away.
Had he said that out loud?
Maybe the cold had gotten to his head more than he thought.