Zov’ha’s successful mission at Lüstravyr had earned her an iron badge at the Rover’s Guild, which was a respected position for a non-Aerozan. Since she preferred to keep a low profile, Zov’ha had requested the governing body of the guild — the Knights of Evalon — to neither publicise her involvement in the destruction of the ancient prison and the rescue of a former member of M.A.R.T nor associate her with the blast at the Knights of Evalon Headquarters.

The office had agreed to keep the matter confidential; however, word of an outsider being involved in the occurrences around Aeroz had quickly spread. And so, she had decided to stay at The Cursed Cowlick inn in Farianvale for a few weeks — or at least till the excitement had abated, which provided her some respite from all that had happened — and enjoy long walks in the woods with Efiros. 

She had to give up her lance to the authorities for further inspection, which turned out to be a top secret project between the Knights of Evalon and M.A.R.T. Marana promised her that she would be supervising its investigation and would send word to Zov’ha whenever possible. She also assured Zov’ha that she would help her figure out her past once she had set up her lab, and that it was the least she could do after all that Zov’ha and Efiros had done for her. 

Sinovan had come to visit Zov’ha on the days following her return from Lüstravyr. He had brought his brother Segran along — who had recovered from the attack at his farm. Segran was tall — an inch shorter than Zov’ha though — and was burly and strong. To Zov'ha's surprise, he was also jovial and lively and was sort of a gentle giant. Efiros and he became friends almost immediately; he loved animals and everything that lived and grew in the woods.  

‘I am grateful to you and to Efiros,’ Segran had said to Zov’ha with a kind smile. ‘I hope to return the favour some day. Sinovan would not have been able to make it to Aeroz on time to save me if it wasn’t for the two of you.’ 

Zov’ha’s only response was a nod and a crooked smile. 

After the brief reunion with the Calcar brothers, Zov’ha set off on her own into the woods. She had found the secluded ruins of an ancient temple, which would be the best place for her to practise using Frost Ash. Apart from Sinovan, only Marana knew about her special skill.

Of course, the two raiders who had escaped from her when she had fought them just outside Aeroz knew of it, but no one would believe them. Her experiment with the laboratory freezer at Lüstravyr had been successful — she needed frost or snow to fully access Frost Ash’s potential. She could not risk practising close to the city, and so every afternoon she would carry an ice box from Farianvale to the temple ruins to familiarise herself with her abilities.

The first few days had been futile — even with an open ice box nothing would happen no matter how much she tried. She almost gave up, thinking that maybe she could conjure Frost Ash only when she was in a life threatening situation. But on the fourth day she made some progress; sitting very close to the ice, she managed to produce tiny icicles on the back of her hand. They did not do much —- probably something she could use in close combat? She then struggled all afternoon trying to enhance it… nothing.

As dusk approached, she lay down on the stony floors of the ruins, looking up at the sky that was mostly obscured by the lush branches of spruce trees. A few more days of leisure and then she would be back on the missions from the Rover’s Guild. The missions were her anchor — they gave her a sense of purpose. Sitting idle usually drove her towards thinking about her past, which indubitably made her head pound. But she needed to make some progress with Ash Frost — she may fare better tomorrow. 

Zov’ha stood up, and as she packed the icebox, she noticed a movement on her left from the corner of her eyes. As she turned quickly, she heard a twig snap —- someone had been watching her. She promptly leaped towards the bushes only to see a snowy-white fox pounce away into the forest. Taking a deep breath, she turned back around. But it’s not winter, she thought, stopping in her tracks. Foxes here do not shed their brown fur so early in the year. Suspicious, she spun around and headed in the direction the fox had gone. 

Zov’ha saw the fox at a distance  —- white against green. Was it waiting for her to follow it? She picked up speed and jogged towards it. Just as she was about to reach it, the fox hopped up and ran away. Zov’ha matched the fox’s pace, who was now scurrying through the woods — darting between trees, hopping over bushes and fallen logs.

They were heading towards a mountain wall; the fox would either have to swerve left or right, or turn back. Unexpectedly, a cave entrance emerged before them and the fox disappeared into it. Zov’ha came to a stop at the mouth of the cave. It was big enough for her to walk through without crouching, but it was too dark to see within. 

Efiros was not with her, she thought, but something about that fox was very strange. She had to find out! She produced her gas mask, put it on, and stepped into the cave. The light from outside was not bright enough to penetrate the gloom, and just after a few feet she was in complete darkness.

Now, the only source of light were the tattoos on the face, which were enough once her eyes had adjusted  — up ahead she could clearly see the white fox, its brilliant white fur reflecting the faint light coming from her markings. It was staring at her — it did not look frightened or aggressive. Neither of them moved for a while. Their stand-off ended when Zov’ha took a step forward, and the fox turned around and dashed off deeper into the cave. 

Zov’ha followed. She lowered her head while running, to avoid hitting it against the low hanging tree roots. It wasn’t long before Zov’ha saw a light ahead. The cave was opening up again, and she emerged into what looked like a grotto under the mountain. Hints of sunlight infiltrated from high above, illuminating the subterrane, as if it were a grand hall. Fern grew everywhere, covering the walls and the stony ground with cool lush greenery. She could hear the gushing sound of an underground stream up ahead. 

The white fox hopped excitedly across the overgrowth to a rocky elevation in the centre of the grotto. It jumped up onto a platform where a figure was sitting, who Zov’ha had not spotted until now. As she walked closer, she observed burning incense sticks producing slivers of white smoke that swirled around the mysterious figure sitting cross-legged on the platform. 

‘Ah, so you finally made it,’ came the voice of an old lady. She spoke slowly, as if she chose her words carefully and deliberately. Her head and neck were buried under several scarves wrapped around her, and her face was hidden behind a delicately designed wooden mask shaped like the face of a fox. She was wearing a simple robe — the only visible part of her were her hands, which were thin and covered in long white fur. 

Zov’ha walked up to the edge of the platform cautiously and whispered, ‘Who are you?’

‘I am Amaha,’ came a casual reply. The white fox curled into the old woman’s lap and Amaha brushed its head gently with her thick black claws. ‘You do not know me, but I know everything about you.’

Zov’ha was anxious to know more. Here was someone who could give her an explanation about her past — but could she trust someone who appeared out of the blues? Someone who wore a mask…  

‘Why are you here?’ Zov’ha finally managed, still taking one step at a time towards Amaha. 

‘Because I have vowed to keep watch over the lands of Xerbia, for the sake of its people.’ Amaha replied, unthreatened by Zov’ha’s advance. 

‘Xerbia?’ Zov’ha whispered, her voice cracking a little. ‘Is that nearby?’

‘Not really,’ said Amaha. 

Was she purposely being mysterious? Amaha didn’t have to toy with her, Zov’ha thought. ‘Why were you looking for me?’ 

Amaha stopped brushing the fox. She picked up a smoking pipe that was lying next to her and inserted the stem into an intricately carved cavity under the mask and inhaled a long puff. She huffed out purple smoke before replying, ‘I was not looking for you. You saw my fox, and it is you who came looking for me.’  

Zov’ha did not reply immediately. She came to a stop a few feet away from Amaha. The scent of the incense was strong — it smelled like pine. She suddenly felt a great nostalgia — Xerbia… Asenya… the smell of pine. She felt weak, as if she would burst into tears. She had a sudden urge to rush towards the white-furred stranger and embrace her, and beg her to recount stories of the places she thought she knew — but she stopped herself and took a deep breath. 

‘You said you know me,’ Zov’ha managed. 

‘You are known to many, my child,’ Amaha replied, taking another puff from the smoking pipe. ‘I will not bore you with how and why, but it is important that I give you a warning. There are others who are looking for you. Some of them have good intentions, while others have plans of their own. I suggest you keep a low profile like you have, for a while longer.’

‘I want to know everything about my past,’ Zov’ha said, now not being able to contain her feelings. ‘Please, can you tell me everything you know?’

‘All in good time, my child,’ Amaha replied. ‘It is too early for you to ruminate about your past. I would even go as far as to say that it may even be detrimental.’ 

‘But I want to know!’ Zov’ha insisted, surprised at herself… surprised at how emotional she had become all of a sudden. ‘I don't know if I will see you again!’

‘You will, dear,’ Amaha reassured her. ‘You most certainly will.’ 

‘No, please,’ Zov’ha stammered as she walked towards Amaha. She wanted to know everything… anything that would give her solace. But as she reached the seated stranger, Amaha blew purple smoke straight into her face. Her head immediately felt numb, her eyes drooped of their own accord, and she blacked out. 

Hours later, Zov’ha awoke alone in the cave. Amaha was gone, and so was the fox. She sat up, still on the platform. The sunlight that creeped in through the cracks in the ceiling was now bathing the stone with a bright light. It was morning, she thought — she must have slept through the night in the cave. 

Her head was still heavy, as if she had had too much to drink the previous night — but she had not. That purple smoke must have been too potent for her. A few more minutes of rest, she thought; her eyelids were heavy and she felt groggy. She lay back down, burying her face in her arm and slept peacefully.