Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 63

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 63.
Island of the Survivors (5)
Beneath the gunwale, the seawater gleamed with a sharp, crystalline blue—the kind that promised instant freezing should I fall in. I found myself remembering that shallow river in Hebebro Village, where I had once floundered helplessly.
And now I had to traverse this merciless sea aboard nothing more than a wooden splinter of a ship. Could there truly be sanctuary beyond those waters?
Had my choice been the right one?
“It’s cold. Go inside.”
Dansen approached and spoke. I sensed in him something faintly reminiscent of Isildor San—though subtle, it was unmistakable. Perhaps it was a trait common to all who dwelt on that island.
Even their appearance reflected it. Hard as timber grown in frozen earth, they seemed almost a different species from the people of the Continent.
“I’m fine.”
Dansen pressed no further, turning his gaze toward the distant sea.
“I heard you were born in the south. Remarkable that you didn’t catch a single cold during your first winter in Lemme.”
“The south wasn’t quite so warm.”
For a southern region, Trabaches’ summers were cool, and its winters considerably harsh—though nothing compared to the depths of Lemme’s winter.
“You’re willing to go to a place you know nothing about. Does that mean you trust your Elder Brother that much?”
I glanced at Dansen’s profile, uncertain whether to nod.
I had long since decided not to rely entirely on Isildor San.
He was merely one person living there. Ultimately, the choice to go was mine, and I refused to shirk that responsibility.
“I simply intend to do my best.”
Since boarding the ship, Isildor San had grown silent. The cheerful man who once initiated jests whenever the mood seemed to darken had transformed entirely.
Something heavy pressed upon his chest. He had not spoken to me in particular. I, too, made no effort to feign brightness.
“I’ve admired your Elder Brother for a long time, yet I’ve always found him peculiar. I thought the day would never come when I’d understand him completely. His departure from the island and subsequent wandering across the Continent had its reasons, but I could never fully comprehend it. An islander leaving the island seemed… improper to me. But seeing you, I begin to understand.”
The island we three sought lay far beyond—past the waters where fishing boats ventured, beyond even the islands called the edge of the North Sea, requiring weeks more of travel before appearing.
It rose like a boundary stone at the world’s end.
Revealing the island’s existence was taboo. The islanders took great care to ensure their identities remained hidden from the Continent, and that the path to their home stayed unknown.
There was only one route, and only the islanders knew it.
I too would now bear that obligation.
“You’ve inherited your Elder Brother’s peculiarity.”
A winter bird swept across the distant horizon, its dark wings trailing through the sky.
“I can only call it ‘peculiarity’—I lack the eloquence to explain further—but I certainly sense the resemblance. I’ve heard you’re young yet have endured much. Your Elder Brother has not lived a comfortable life either. I don’t mean to say that merely suffering hardship makes people alike, but…”
Dansen, who had been watching the sea, looked down at me.
“What is rare is that your Elder Brother cares for someone as he does for you. You’ll understand when you reach the island, but…”
Dansen’s white hair seemed bleached by the weight of trials and anguish. From the stark whiteness that stood out against his weathered, mottled face and lips tinged with violet, I could dimly sense what manner of place the island must be.
“Your Elder Brother does not easily give his heart to others. Perhaps you are truly the remedy he needed.”
Medicine, I supposed, was something one needed when bearing wounds.
The northern sky stretched distant and cold.

Upon reaching the eastern cape of Elbe Island, the three of us disembarked and purchased a small outrigger canoe.
For a vessel meant to traverse the open sea for dozens of days, it was remarkably compact, yet it would serve to carry us to our destination.
As it turned out, there were quite a few merchants in the area dealing in such boats, so no one paid particular attention to our purpose in acquiring one.
The boat builders continuously produced these uniform outriggers, and initially, I couldn’t fathom why they sold so prolifically.
Isildor San and Dansen purchased materials of uncertain origin and meticulously refitted the vessel—a task that consumed an entire day.
Once we set sail, Isildor San naturally took the helm while Dansen managed the sails.
I had no idea what to do, so I simply sat on the deck. Ships were foreign to me from the outset.
On the larger vessel, I could merely surrender myself to its motion, but this small craft conjured a distinctly different terror—as though my body were suspended precariously upon the restless sea itself.
The weather was brutally cold, stinging my nose and bringing tears to my eyes. Fall into the water in such conditions, and death would follow instantly.
Yet I was in no position to cling to anyone or voice my anxieties. Both men concentrated entirely on ensuring our small vessel advanced safely.
Our first destination was the initial island of the Waterdrop Archipelago.
Though the waters were treacherous with reefs, our small, slender craft glided through the channels with practiced grace.
Occasionally, vessels similar to ours passed at a distance, and I learned that these boats were specifically designed for a unique local enterprise—salvaging antiquities from these waters.
The practice had begun some thirty years prior, when fishermen recovered a small marble statue.
“The statue’s eyes were set with sapphires the size of pigeon eggs, and its hair and fingernails were entirely gold, or so the tale goes.”
Dansen spoke of it as though recounting a mere curiosity, yet the historical response had been anything but casual.
Rumors spread that this was an artifact of an ancient magical kingdom, igniting a fervent search. Even the royal house of Lemme dispatched expeditions, though their efforts yielded little despite the considerable commotion.
Instead, treasures discovered by enterprising civilians circulated through black markets, continuously capturing the interest of new seekers.
“Thanks to such people flocking here and demanding boats, the builders have continued producing and selling these sloops, sparing us considerable effort.”
Thirty years hence, this enterprise had become recognized merely as a regional curiosity, captivating those enchanted by fantasies of ancient kingdoms.
But it was winter now. Even the hardy people of Lemme could not conduct underwater searches in such cold, so salvage vessels were scarce.
The occasional passing boats carried either young adventurers too fervent to heed the season, or fishermen seeking to break even during the winter months with boats they had already purchased.
After some time, I found myself puzzled as to why I hadn’t experienced the seasickness several people had tediously described.
The first ship I’d ever boarded was the Sigmer, a large vessel, yet this outrigger rocked far more violently. Perhaps my overwhelming anxiety left no room for such afflictions?
“I’ve heard that if you surrender yourself to the motion, such things can indeed be avoided.”
Though Dansen said this, he also admitted he’d never encountered someone without seasickness on their first voyage.
In any case, I adapted effortlessly to harsh environments, much like alpine flora thriving in adversity—just as I had grown unexpectedly in Anomarad’s lands and never caught a cold despite Lemme’s bitter winter.
Two days passed, and we sailed beyond the Waterdrop Archipelago into open waters.
During that time, we stopped at a single island to stock provisions—food, water, oil, rope, and especially winter clothing and blankets. The two men’s competence made everything seem to unfold instantaneously before my eyes.
The moment we entered the North Sea, rationed portions of food began to be distributed with precise daily calculation.
The two islanders took turns sleeping. Sometimes I remained awake with Dansen, other times with Isildor San.
Several cycles of night and day passed. The weather was harsh, but no storms arose.
“How are you managing?”
It had been quite some time since Isildor San had addressed me directly.
Awakened in the misty dawn, he handed his blanket to Dansen, drew on leather gloves, and adjusted the sail lines.
I stirred from sleep, still wrapped in my blanket, and rolled my eyes slightly.
“I’m well.”
Isildor San settled at the bow, rubbing his hands together, and spoke again.
“Winter voyages are something even islanders rarely undertake. There’s no need to pretend you’re unaffected.”
I slowly rose to my feet. The boat’s swaying still frightened me somewhat.
“But it’s not difficult enough to complain about.”
Isildor San, who had been contorting his face in strange expressions trying to loosen his rigid features, let out a dry laugh.
“At times like this, I find it hard to believe you’re of noble birth.”
“There are no nobles in Trabaches.”
It was a joke the two of them had exchanged frequently during their travels through Lemme together. Or rather, it was less a joke than an automatic response that naturally followed whenever those words were spoken.
Both men sank into nostalgia simultaneously. When I thought about it, it hadn’t been that long ago, yet it felt as distant as another lifetime.
Boris spoke suddenly.
“Actually, you seem to be struggling more than I am.”
Isildor San’s face relaxed completely. With his expression restored to normalcy, he spoke.
“Then how could my heart be at ease? You should understand what kind of abyss I’m dragging you into.”
“I do. The abyss where you were born and raised.”
Isildor San laughed bitterly. In the past, he would have glared and continued the jest, but he didn’t now. Instead, he said this:
“An abyss of ice and snow. They call it a crevasse.”
“What is that?”
Isildor San spread both arms wide.
“In a massive glacier gorge…”
Then he made a gesture of bringing his hands together and stretching them out.
“A terrifying chasm splits open. Fall into one and it’s the end. When you climb Snow Mountain, such things are scattered everywhere, waiting to swallow those who slip or misstep.”
“That sounds dreadful.”
“That’s not all. In spring, avalanches happen constantly, and sometimes they bury half the village. There are fierce beasts on the mountain too, and they’re so strong and savage that…”
In this manner, Isildor San rambled on for quite some time about all the dangers one could encounter on the island. Like a young street gang leader needlessly warning about something that could no longer be undone, boasting as he spoke.
Boris nodded and said:
“So that’s why you didn’t want to return?”
Isildor San fell silent. After hesitating, he turned his gaze into the mist.
“The most difficult thing anywhere is the problem of people. People are the monsters. The most terrifying monsters of all.”
His words trailed off, swallowed by the fog.

When I was awake with Dansen, he would tell me many stories about the island.
He seemed to make an effort to ensure I didn’t harbor preconceptions, yet he didn’t appear to be forcing things or embellishing either.
The islanders were descendants of people who had fled to escape a catastrophe in ancient times, an era so distant that no one could pinpoint exactly when it occurred.
“At first, there were thought to be around a hundred of them, but after growing and shrinking and passing through major events, there are now about a thousand. As for the influx of outsiders, your case is an example, but it’s extremely rare.”
So when tracing the ancestry of the islanders, blood relations often connected them. Yet they hadn’t reached the point where everyone became relatives.
“The islanders are divided into four clans. Each clan was formed around the leaders among the early settlers, but now there’s little difference between them, and they serve as a useful standard for marriage arrangements.”
It was customary to marry someone from a different clan. Isildor San and Dansen belonged to the Silver Hawk Clan.
As Dansen had mentioned before, the islanders regarded the fact that they had ‘survived’ the catastrophe as a tremendous debt.
In fact, to denote those who had left their homeland and could not return, wandering instead, the islanders called them ‘Pilgrims’.
“Remember well the duties of the Pilgrims. To restore, bit by bit, what has been lost. To preserve completely what remains. And to prepare for the ancient kingdom that will one day be rebuilt. Those are the three.”
On the surface, it sounded absurdly simple, but for the Pilgrims, these were duties akin to religious mission. Dansen too did not take these obligations lightly.
“You must participate as well. Should you ever formally become an initiate.”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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