A Meeting in the Frost

Indicus-Resquire pulled the black hood over his head as he stepped into the tavern. The biting wind of the ice world swirled in for a moment, tossing loose flakes of snow onto the stone floor before the heavy wooden door slammed shut behind him. Inside, the warmth was minimal, but after days wandering through endless blizzards, it felt like stepping into paradise. His breath fogged the air as he scanned the dimly lit room. He’d known she would be here—his instincts never failed him—but seeing her in person still left a strange twist in his chest.

Anshela.

She sat at the bar, small in stature compared to the hulking patrons around her. Her long black curls cascaded over her shoulders, framing a face that seemed both impossibly young and deeply ancient. Her glowing green eyes caught his the moment he entered, as if she had been waiting for him all along.

Indicus approached the bar, his steel-toed boots clanking against the stone floor, a reminder of the power he now wielded. He sat beside her, his large frame making the bar stool creak beneath his weight. Silence hung between them, but the silence between two minds as powerful as theirs was far from empty.

"You've grown," Anshela’s voice whispered directly into his mind, bypassing the need for words. Her lips didn’t move as she took a sip of the strange, clear liquid in front of her.

Indicus chuckled softly, though the sound came out more like a low growl. "And you've barely changed," he sent back telepathically. "Still wearing that same grey dress, I see."

Anshela smiled, and there was something almost playful in her expression. "It has served me well."

The bartender, an old man with a thick beard frozen in places, glanced their way. His gaze lingered on Indicus for a moment, no doubt taking in the imposing figure of the Sin-Eater, before quickly looking away. Most people did. Anshela, however, leaned casually against the bar as if she had not a care in the world.

"What brings you here?" Indicus asked, though he already knew the answer. His eyes flicked to her scars—faint now, but there, marking her like ancient lines of poetry inscribed on her skin. She didn’t wear them like someone broken, though. She wore them like armor.

Anshela set her glass down and met his gaze, her green eyes shimmering like gemstones. "The same thing that brings you here. We follow the pain, do we not?"

Indicus grunted, lifting his own drink to his lips. The liquid burned its way down his throat but left little impression. He’d had worse. "I suppose. But this place—" he gestured to the frozen wasteland outside the frosted windows, "—isn't known for its suffering. At least not the kind we usually chase."

Anshela tilted her head slightly, the faintest hint of mischief in her expression. "The ice has its own kind of torment. One that strips the soul layer by layer, until there’s nothing left but cold and despair."

Indicus’ brow furrowed. He had seen torment in all its forms—fire, chains, the kind of cruelty that broke men. But the ice? It was different. It was patient.

"And what about you?" she asked suddenly, her voice soft in his mind. "What have you become, Indicus? You carry the weight of sin now, but I wonder if you've forgotten where you came from."

Her words cut deeper than he cared to admit. His past as a Dalshaw—the mud, the chains, the constant gnawing hunger—was never far from his thoughts. His transformation into a Sin-Eater had given him strength, but it had also taken something away. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was something else.

"I remember," he said, his voice colder than the wind outside. "I carry it with me every day."

Anshela reached out then, her small hand resting on his massive arm. The warmth of her touch was startling in a place so cold, and for a brief moment, Indicus felt something close to comfort.

"You don't have to do this alone, you know," she whispered in his mind. "You never did."

He looked down at her, this woman who had lived through so much, endured so much, and still found a way to offer something that resembled kindness. His usual sharp retort died on his lips. Instead, he nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth in her words.

"Maybe," he muttered. "But we all have our roles to play, don’t we?"

Anshela’s smile returned, soft but knowing. "That we do, Indicus. But remember, even the strongest walls crumble without support."

The tavern door creaked open again, and a gust of icy wind swirled through the room. Indicus could feel the presence of someone else entering—a shadowy figure, their mind a whirl of torment and desperation. His instincts kicked in. The sin was here.

Anshela finished her drink, sliding off the barstool with an almost graceful ease. "Our work never ends," she said aloud this time, her voice barely above a whisper. She glanced up at him, her eyes still shimmering with that strange, knowing light. "Until next time, Sin-Eater."

Before he could respond, she was gone, slipping through the crowd like a shadow.

Indicus sat there for a moment longer, the weight of their conversation heavy in his mind. He had forgotten, or maybe chosen to forget, how the Keylass always had a way of leaving him with more questions than answers.

With a final swig of his drink, he rose from his seat and turned to face the newcomer, his body tense, ready for what was to come. As always, the weight of the sins he was about to absorb settled in his bones like a familiar burden.

But this time, for reasons he couldn’t quite understand, the load felt just a little lighter.