"Hey, everyone! It's a festival day—what should we do to celebrate?!"
Veda stood on a high outcrop, a wide grin plastered on his face as he addressed the other Ancestors. He waved his arms about haphazardly, looking somewhat ridiculous.
"How the hell should I know? This is the only festival Barbarians have ever had besides our victory celebrations," Madawc grunted. He jammed his axe, The Sorrow, into the ground and silently packed a snowball, hurlng it straight into Veda's face.
Time had passed, and a thick new layer of snow once again blanketed the Holy Mountain of Harrogath.
"A snowball fight? That's boring. If you tucked a rock inside the snowball, I might actually find it interesting," Olongus remarked, watching Veda peel the head-sized clump of snow off his face with an expression of utter boredom.
"How about we open a Rift and go play inside?" Korlic suggested. He sat by the fire, shoving a massive hunk of roasted meat into his mouth.
"Whose Rift? Yours? Mine?" Talic jammed his metal roasting spit into the ground, the surface slick with grease. He ate significantly faster than Madawc. "Forget it. The only Rift big enough for a bunch of old fossils like us to stretch our legs in is the Battle of Arreat's Destruction. Do you really want to go in there just to watch Arreat turn into a crater in the explosion of the Worldstone again?"
As he spoke, Talic had already skewerred another piece of meat and begun roasting it.
"Then what do you propose? We just sit here eating and drinking?" Orrak sat cross-legged in the snow, his back muscles rippling as he spoke. "My private stash won't last forever. I don't want to end up like that bastard Vorusk in a few decades, digging up everyone else's buried liquor."
Orrak didn't have many collectibles, but he rarely went around scavenging holes. He certainly didn't have the spare time to memorize every single spot where a Barbarian had buried their wine, as Vorusk had.
"Let's see what Bul-Kathos says," Korlic muttered, rubbing the head of his hammer, Hidden Peak's Wrath. His eyes were distant. "We're already dead, anyway. We won't vanish even if we don't eat or drink."
"Tch, you're no fun at all," Kaelga, the vanguard general, said as he grabbed a massive banner and waved it around. He seemed to have caught onto an interesting idea. "How about a competition?"
"Speak up. I'm bored anyway," Vorusk said, dragging Lazruk's limp body over. Lazruk's face bore two massive bruises—marks that only the gauntlets of the Immortal King could leave. It seemed the "lottery incident" from earlier had been settled with a heavy hand.
"Since you've found an heir, why not a Rift Speed-Run?" Kaelga planted the banner in the ground. "Let's see who can get out the fastest!"
The other Ancestors showed a flicker of interest. They were too familiar with one another; none of them had secrets regarding their strength. Fighting each other had lost its novelty long ago.
"Who opens the Rift? What's the combat flow?" Vorusk asked, tossing Lazruk aside.
"Use Bul-Kathos's Rift. His combat style is generally progressive. We can't have the recruits experiencing the suffocating pressure of Orrak's era right away, and they aren't ready to understand the combat styles of the ancient times," Kaelga replied.
"And what about us? We just watch? That's too boring," Vorusk said with dissatisfaction. Watching rookies fight was meaningless, aside from giving the trainers a headache out of pure frustration.
"Then what do you want to do?" Veda asked, his tone sharp.
"None of my business!" Vorusk snapped and vanished on the spot. If this hadn't been the very first festival of its kind, he wouldn't have bothered showing up at all. The proud Vorusk had never been particularly popular among the Ancestors.
"If only Kanai were still here..." Olongus sighed.
"Shut up, Olongus!" Orrak barked, cutting him off.
Kanai was a name the Ancestors tacitly agreed never to speak. He was the one who had been destined to become the Immortal King before Vorusk—a noble, kind, and righteous Barbarian. Orrak's eyes flashed with anger as he cut the complaint short. To the older generation, Kanai was something special, but the name now carried only the weight of a tragic past.
Vorusk returned slowly to the Hall of Elders, sitting upon his throne with a rare, desolate expression. Olongus's words had reached his ears, and despite his arrogance, he missed Kanai as much as any of them. Vorusk hadn't been born peerless; back when he was weak, he too had a guide standing before him, showing him the way.
But that person had vanished too soon, leaving behind nothing but a damned cube.
"What is it, Vorusk? You look like you're about to cry," Bul-Kathos said, walking out of the room where Kanai's Cube was kept. He frowned at the Immortal King's expression.
"Tell me... did I choose the wrong path?" Vorusk slumped in his throne, looking much like Leoric in his tomb. Perhaps slumping was simply the most comfortable way to sit on a throne.
"Are you dreaming?" Bul-Kathos said bluntly. Vorusk was always arrogant, even haughty. Such displays of weakness only happened in his sleep.
Vorusk slapped his own face and let out a long breath, pulling himself back together. "Forget I said anything. Just rambling." He shifted his posture, once again the majestic Immortal King. "You established a festival and let the mountain release years of pent-up energy just so us dead folks could have a hot meal?"
"It's a day worth remembering. Why are you picking on me? Or have I stumbled upon some shameful secret of yours?" Bul-Kathos asked, genuinely confused.
"The past of an Immortal King has nothing to hide! Bul-Kathos, when do you plan to let Rorschach see your secrets? I know that 'Xth attempt' of yours is just an excuse. You can open that Rift whenever you want."
"And so? Should I let him face the crushing weight of the past before he's ready? The youth need time to achieve their own goals, not be burdened by the duties of old men like us so early." Bul-Kathos's shoulder flared with the phantom image of Raekor's Burden, which he carelessly swiped away.
"Self-righteous brat," Vorusk muttered, his posture relaxing into something more casual.
"Old man, you're older than me, true—but I'm already stronger than you." Bul-Kathos turned to leave. He sensed the Ancient One's aura; she had changed, and he wanted to see if his friend was in any trouble.
Vorusk had lived for nearly two thousand years and had been dead for longer than he cared to count. "Is that so? When you carry the full weight of the Barbarians, will you still be able to say that? I am the Immortal King. You aren't even ready to succeed me yet."
Vorusk's lips moved in a low mumble. If the first Bul-Kathos had given the current one a responsibility, then only by becoming the Immortal King would he truly understand what that responsibility entailed. Everything was contained within that noble title.
As Bul-Kathos walked out of the Hall of Elders, his pace slowed. Vorusk acted arrogant, crude, and powerful. But what kind of circumstances turn a weak man into such a figure? Aside from the very first Ancestor, every Barbarian started weak and fought their way to the peak. Vorusk was no exception.
"Doubtful, now that you've seen the real Vorusk?" Raekor's raspy voice drifted over. She stood beside Bul-Kathos.
"The real Vorusk?" Bul-Kathos felt like he'd experienced more surprises today than in his entire life.
"The real one! You don't think an Immortal King handles less business than that bag of bones, Leoric, do you?" Raekor spoke with a hint of mockery. Not far behind her, the spikes of a Vile Ward protruded from behind a rock. Raekor frowned but said nothing. Kanuk wouldn't blab; the man's stubbornness was almost touching. But Raekor wouldn't accept his love out of pity, for pity is the furthest thing from love.
"So you're here to tell me this? I'm going to see my friend. She seems to have encountered something good." Bul-Kathos didn't want to dwell on it. He would learn what Vorusk carried when he took the mantle. He wanted to hear it from Vorusk himself, not a third party.
"I think knowing would help. At the very least, you wouldn't use that Cube in such ridiculous ways. Haven't you had enough of Zoltun Kulle's mocking?" Raekor crossed her arms, accentuating her powerful frame.
"Kanai's Cube? It's a great artifact, but what else can I do with it? Stuff a Demon Lord inside and reforge him into an Archangel? Or shove a rare demon soul in to upgrade it into a 'Legendary' Greater Demon just to farm higher-tier loot?"
"Perhaps you could. You've just never tried," Raekor replied.
Bul-Kathos froze. That sounded entirely unreliable. He turned to her, his expression serious. "Are you serious?"
" I just think you should know these things. Perhaps you could do a little more." Raekor met his oppressive gaze without flinching.
"Even if it means telling me what Vorusk refuses to? Even if you bypass the Immortal King's will to tell me secrets only he is meant to guard? Honestly, Raekor, I don't think you should know these things either."
"Need a hint? Fate knows all," Raekor said with a disdainful smile.
As a believer in fate who chose to sacrifice herself according to its guidance, Raekor knew many secrets. She rarely shared them, for knowing fate requires a price. She had once told her husband, the Barbarian hero Jorith, that he would die in battle. That was her first attempt to defy fate, but for those who see it, the future becomes destiny. No outside force could stop the end. No matter how many times she tried to stop him from going to the battlefield, Jorith—crowned a hero—could not flee. He died exactly as fate had shown her.
Whether fate can be changed was a question she had pondered for a long time. Eventually, she realized that as long as one doesn't know the path, fate is constantly changing—unless fate cruelly reveals the "Destined" path to the ignorant. Raekor had seen too much, so she became a servant of fate, losing the chance to rebel. That was the power of those laws.
But telling a story of the past didn't touch the threads of the future. It wouldn't turn Bul-Kathos's future into a fixed destiny.
"Boring fate. You know I never believe in it. I only believe in what I can see. Fate should learn to mind its own business and stop letting people find its tracks!" Bul-Kathos looked at Raekor with a hint of pity. Her story was no secret among the top-tier Barbarians. Kanuk, who often acted a bit crazed, would ramble about her constantly. He tried to convince others to convince himself—what kind of love lasts a thousand years? Perhaps it exists, but it's always just a "perhaps."
"I'm not here to debate fate. I just think you need to know that secret," Raekor said casually. She turned to look at Vorusk, who had appeared behind her.
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