Perhaps it was futile for him to go off and assist in any way he could as the wrath of the dragons ravaged the world. But somewhere deep down within, Krystopher knew that he had to do something. Anything. He had never backed down before when his home world was in trouble. No, in his youth and perhaps peak of his power, he had risked his life to protect his home and family. A part of him still existed in the older and "wiser" lycan as he rode off on an ice dragon he had gained a few years back. His family protested it, of course, but he went off into the night once the coast was clear.

The journey through the stormy, icy winds was no small task. The dragon was bombarded constantly and many times, he felt that they would lose their course and eventually be blown into the freezing sea waters. He bit his numb lip and thought at one point perhaps they had been right. Years ago, he would have been prepared with the strongest armors, swords and both his dark and element magics. But now? He had lost many of his relics, armors and weapons back in the other realm and his magic was no better than a fairly competent practitioner's. Perhaps it was madness after all, but he couldn't simply just sit about and twiddle his thumbs together back home. Everyone was in danger and even if he stayed, what would be the point? At least he would like to contribute somehow.

The dragon’s wings beat against the gusts of winds harder and somehow, someway, they eventually made it to Itjivut. The frozen island was already suffering heavy damages; the ice caps were melting and made it seem even smaller than before. Krys shook his head as his dragon descended. Tucking himself further into his coat, he searched about for the place that the one of the terrors had broken out of- there was said to be a way to use it to help take care of these brutes.

Luck was a double edged blade in that he seemed to be getting closer to the prison; unfortunately the way he guessed it was due to the amount of creatures that lurked about and the numbers only grew the further they went on. “Well, damn”, he spat as he stirred the dragon to soar higher. “No one said these would be easy…”

It was cold, so very cold. The ship he had stowed away in suddenly sank without warning. He remembered sitting in the dark amidst the cargo when he heard a creaking sound that grew louder and louder. Then, the wooden walls broke and frigid seawater started flooding the hold. Screams from the sailors came from above as more wood started to shatter. Everything had fallen into pandemonium in seafaring vessel's last moments. Ilya had gotten hold of the mast before the caravel fell on its side and crashed into the icy sea. All other sounds were drowned out between fighting to stay afloat and keeping his head above the waves.The pieces of the wreck scattered on the waters surrounding Itjivut, and the splintered log that was left of the mast was pushed ashore. If he had been human, he would have been a frozen drowned corpse. Shivering, he desperately tried to find a warm place out of the water and freezing wind. The place he had washed up had been further west, leaving him stranded near the Haltian Mountains. But Ilya didn't know; he simply kept going forward in hopes of finding fire or a house. The cold was making his limbs brittle, it felt like his fingers would fall off any moment. Pieces of his 'hair' had already frozen and broken off, leaving greenish strands in the snow like pine needles shed from a tree. 

The melting of the ice caps had caused the air to feel colder than before despite there being less snow. The temperatures in Itjivut were far from temperate, but there were patches of bare ground where the glacier had been. In the distance the alraune thought he could see a building just over the ridge. His face was nearly drained of color as a layer of frost now coated him. As the cold permeated through his body Ilya thought he saw something flickering from that direction and forced himself to continue. Everything was so cold, he couldn't feel anything anymore. His vision was starting to blur as the subzero climate was forcing him to enter a state of hibernation. Fighting against his body's attempts at survival, he pushed himself one step at a time to get closer to that flickering light. "Can't sleep…can't sleep now. If I sleep, I won't wake up…" The beasts that were running rampant following Raorik's return were swarming all over the tundra surrounding the dragon's ancient prison. Large dire wolves that otherwise stayed put in the mountains were roaming in packs and fighting other monsters for prey and territory. 

One of the scouts from such a pack had caught wind of a new scent, and spotted the rime-covered humanoid figure crawling  through the snow. It went in for the kill, jaws open wide ready to tear into its victim. From Ilya's perspective, he saw a white blurry thing bound in his direction. As it grew closer, he reached out to it with his arms and felt fur bush against his cold hands. "Warm…it's warm…" His faint voice whispered as he lost consciousness. When the rest of the dire wolf pack followed the scout's scent, they found their kin on the ground, lifeless with its eyes and maw open. Beside it was a small humanoid figure with its arms wrapped around the beast's neck, and thick vine-like tendrils holding it in place. The warmth from the wolf's body was gone, but he was still cold. Suddenly, more vines burst from the ground to entangle more of the dire wolves, pulling them closer towards the frozen figure huddled up against the first wolf. "Warm…so warm."  The alraune muttered as he slowly drained the beasts' life energy.

It was pure madness as he observed from overhead the forces that were gathering up. Why were these creatures out and what were they seeking? Hopefully, they weren’t in cahoots with that damn dragon, but it wouldn’t be great if they were operating on their own to raise more havoc with the given opportunity. While they continued to soar about, fighting against the chilling winds, a voice reached out to him. It was low and subtle at first but in moments, Krys realized who, or more so, what it was.

An old friend.

What makes you think that you are strong enough to fight against this behemoth? You lost the majority of your powers, all that strength went to waste. Such a sad man you are.

“Kiss my ass”, he spoke in protest. “This is the last thing I need to deal with.”

No, the last thing you need is to be out here and sending yourself to the slaughter. Should have just stayed home, Krystopher. You don’t belong in the thicket of the battle anymore.

“Shut up”, he spoke, trying to not let the voice distract him while holding onto his ride. The winds seemed to be lightening up a bit but he wouldn’t take his chances just yet. One wrong move and he would be stumbling down thousands of feet to a bloody end.

I know why you're doing this. And it won’t work. You couldn’t save Bast and nearly lost Isabelle. You won’t save your new family either. You’ll just a shell of your former self.

Halfway growling, Krys stirred his mount downward where he couldn’t see the enemy, all the way holding onto his head with one hand. Why did it have to come back now of all times? It had been silent since he had come into this land and he’d be damned if he was to fall back into old habits again. He couldn’t afford to, not after it had costed him so much in the beginning. But there was some truth that shook him to the core- his arrogance, pride, and need for the power led to him losing Bast and his daughter was within arm’s length from him. He thought about Elizabeth and the triplets. His siblings and their families. Even his old man. He couldn’t lose them again.

What was he even doing here?

The thought left him as quickly as it came when he started to notice bodies clustered together strangely. His dragon landed on the soft snow and he slid down and rushed over to one of the bodies. It was a dire wolf, lifeless, and still. Its cloudy eyes looked blankly into nothingness and it pained Krys a bit due to his heritage. But as he looked forward, it seemed like some of its pack was wiped out just the same, and others…what the…

Krys turned and heard the faint whimpers of the dying wolves that had let to be taken and in the center was a young lad. What on earth was a child doing in this frozen wasteland?

“Hey, kid! Are you okay?”, he called out, taking a few steps forward but there was an uncomfortable feeling creeping up within him. Was this some sort of trick to lure him?

The bodies that had amassed in the area had started with the wolves, then scavengers who were attracted by the fresh corpses. Delirious from the cold, Ilya had unconsciously gathered more and more unwitting victims to keep the chill at bay. By the time someone had found him, the snowy landscape looked more like a frozen mass grave. No matter how he tried, the warmth he sought would always fade away. Desperate for that warmth, the alraune had unknowingly snuffed out the lives of at least a few dozen wild beasts. He didn't know any better–it was just the natural instinct to survive when conditions were extremely dire. Krystopher would notice the green-haired boy's breath against the icy air, arms still clutching a dead dire wolf tightly. At the sound of a voice, he wearily opened his eyes. Having drained so much life energy in such a short period of time, the subconscious need for warmth wasn't so overwhelming as before. And with Ilya regaining consciousness, the tendrils that had snared the animals retreated back into the earth. Chilled to the bone, his voice was hoarse as he forced out a reply. "C-cold…" His lips were blue and the wet clothes had frozen against his body. Any still-living animals that were previously snared took the chance to flee if they had the strength to do so. 

His vision was still blurry, but hearing the sound of a person gave him hope that he would be taken somewhere out of the snow. There was a struggle as the boy tried to move his stiff limbs to get up. Having been in the same position for so long, it was like his arms and legs had turned to stone. It was clear he was alive, despite being at death's doorstep. The rime accumulated on his body made him look like a living snow sculpture, and he felt like one. Having loosened his arms from the wolf's corpse, Ilya tried to reach out to the humanoid shape from where the voice had come from. His tracks leading to this spot before he collapsed were now covered up by newly fallen snow, erasing how he had gotten here. The only way to know now would be through him. The winds died down for a spell, providing momentary relief from the biting winds and better visibility of the area around them. The more one looked at him, the more questions would arise. He was severely under-dressed for the freezing climate of Itjivut. Even if he had been dry, anyone would be frozen solid within a few hours out in the open with no heat source. And then there was the question about the gruesome collection of bodies.