​Serenei gave Stanford-[i]Doctor[/i] Stanford-a quizzical look. "Logged? I thought you were a physician, not a woodsman," she said in confusion.

Doctor Stanford then proceeded to tell her exactly where they had arrived to. Which, in truth, was not very helpful. [i]Novus. What kind of name is that? What are planets? The late twenty-first century? Goodness gracious. What are "star systems", and what are asteroids?[/i]

"The twenty-first century? The twenty-seventh? Since when have we started using the word 'century' for time, my good doctor?" Serenei furrowed her brow. "We are in the two-thousandth and eight-hundred forty-sixth year After the Seclusion...aren't we?" Serenei knew that this couldn't simply be a bad dream. There were too many things that were confusing and disorienting. She didn't know the limits of her mind to conjure up images for dreams, but Serenei was fairly certain that she'd never seen half of the things in this place. Wherever it actually was.

Doctor Stanford had also said something about earth. Serenei perked up. "You mean this is another form of Father Earth that we have been unaware about?" she questioned, tilting her head to the side. "Snow above, that certainly would be peculiar. It's been thousands of years since Father Earth wed Mother Nature."

Sereni looked outside at what was supposed to be Novus. It looked faintly like Almerinte, if one was to shoot themselves miles and miles and miles up above the ground. Meanwhile, Doctor Stanford reached over and unwrapped the bandage that was around her chest-to which Serenei gave a startled [i]eep[/i], because metal and a doctor or not, Stanford was still a [i]man[/i], and it was most inappropriate for him to be touching her like that, especially when she was already married-and proclaimed that her physical health was in an acceptable state.

Serenei quite frankly had no idea what he was talking about, but she nodded and thanked him anyway. "Thank you, Doctor Stanford, for your assistance," she said. She would have curtsied, as propriety demanded, but Serenei unfortunately was not wearing a skirt of any sort. She realized with a start that she had absolutely [i]no idea[/i] what she was actually wearing.

Doctor Stanford instructed Serenei to go to the mess hall, where the rest of her "squad" was supposedly waiting for her. [i]For the love of everything cold, what is that supposed to mean?[/i] But nevertheless, it would be rude to refuse, so Serenei let herself be ushered out of the room. The metal physician had said that there were signs that would lead her to the mess hall, so Serenei wandered around like a headless chicken for a couple of minutes before she located one of the aforementioned signs and began heading in the right direction.

She stepped into the crowded room, overwhelmed for a second by the lights and the noise and all the unfamiliar objects. Where was she supposed to go [i]now[/i]?

*****

Bryce gave Serenei a blank glance, but said nothing about her strange speech patterns. He was slightly puzzled when she seemed unfamiliar with the healing ritual, but it was not in the High Priest's nature to question such trivial matters.

"Most people find that lying down helps to combat the sense of dizziness and nausea that accompanies the healing ritual," he explained patiently. "But if you would prefer to stand, it makes no difference to me."

Bryce procured a satchel from within the folds of his blue robes, which were so dark that they were almost black. Novices were given pristine white robes, the color of freshly-fallen snow, and the robes grew darker as they advanced up the ranks. The fully-fledged priests and priestesses wore robes of snowy grey. The High Priest was given a robe of the darkest royal blue.

Inside the satchel were the items required for the healing ritual. Each realm's ceremonies and methods of worship differed, but one thing that was common to them all was the existence of a healing ritual. In Meraly, priests and priestesses of Ver'lya captured the light of the sun and the fire of the sand and the smoke of sharp incense, while in Cyraine, priests and priestesses collected fresh rainwater and flower buds and morning dew. In Alumnall, the healer-priests trapped the mischievous wind and swept up the deep crimson and vivid orange leaves that fell from their trees. And finally, in Itervia, they collected vials of falling snow and fragrant pine cones and crystalline icicles blessed with Ophelia's cold kiss.

The first thing that came out of the satchel was the vial of falling snow, wrapped in a piece of ivory lambswool to keep it from shattering. The snow had been collected some time ago, and it should have, by all rights, melted by now. However, intricate runes etched into the glass of the vial evoked an ancient magic that Bryce, as a priest of the honorable goddess Ophelia, had mastered during his journey up and down the Inner Wytesias. The next object was a pinecone, plucked from the thick forests of the Outer Wytesias, not far from Lord and Lady Harner's seat in the Valley of Ice-Prince Clarrik's childhood home. He wordlessly handed both of these items to Serenei.

Finally, the High Priest walked over to the window and pulled aside the damask curtains, letting in the crisp (some would say [i]frigid[/i], but that was not the case to Itervians) air. The Itervian palace was as old as Ophelia herself, and it was made of pure ice, held up by ages-old magic. Bryce delicately plucked an icicle that had formed on the window ledge from its place and shut the window before turning to face Serenei once more. He laid the icicle flat across an upward-facing palm while he lifted one of Serenei's hands with his free hand, and began the ritual.

He shut his eyes, and summoned the goddess of ice and snow from deep within himself. The room grew colder. A cloud seemed to pass over the sun. A cold wind began to swirl around the bedchamber, and a thin sheen of ice formed over the wooden floors and the rugs. Bryce breathed in, then out. His breathe misted in the air and solidified into snowflakes that landed on his robes and on Serenei's silk night gown. Bryce tightened his grip on his sister's hand, knowing that this was right about when the vertigo began to set in.

He silently called upon Ophelia to wash away all forms of bodily harm so that her skin was as smooth as fresh snow, unmarred by any scrapes or scratches or bruises. As such, a small paper cut on her fingertip closed up and disappeared. Bryce called upon Ophelia to bless her with the strength of the trees that the pine cone had fallen from and the strength of the mountains from which the trees had grown. Finally, he humbly asked her to fill Serenei with the cleansing coldness of ice, to freeze away any passionate feelings of anger or hatred. And as such, Bryce felt Serenei's fingers grow colder as the cold sensation passed through every fiber of her being.

The High Priest thanked the goddess for her benevolence. He began to withdraw, and the bedchamber warmed up again. The clouds cleared, the thin sheen of ice cracked and disappeared. 

But at the last minute, a whisper of the wind caused Bryce to pause.

[i]Listen,[/i] the wind murmured. [i]She is not one of us,[/i] it hissed. 

Bryce's expression remained impassive, though he was disturbed. But he knew better than to interrupt when Ophelia was directly communicating with him, so he listened.

[i]This woman is not the princess. She is not from Itervia, she is not one of you.[/i]

The whispering wind was gone as quickly as it had come. Bryce released Serenei's hand and took a step backward, unnerved by what had just happened, though the only indication he gave that something was off was a slight twitch of the eyebrow as he collected the vial of snow and the pine cone and tucked everything back into his robes. "I trust that you have recovered, but I shall send a physician to check for any further injury or illness if necessary," the High Priest told her in a cold voice, before turning on his heel and leaving the bedchamber.