The Winter Wanderer

The Federation

Two months had passed since Matt collapsed at the Guild’s gates by the highway, exhausted after a hellish five-year journey that had begun when he was sixteen, in the blood-chilling cold of Anadyr.

Now, at twenty-one, Matt was no longer the frightened boy who had watched Svetlana die.

His features were hardened, marked by frostbite scars and the weight of a trauma that refused to fade.

During those two months, even though he had never accepted a salary or worn the Federation’s uniform, his daily life alongside Boris had created a strange closeness between them.

Bitter, but real.

“I’ve told you ten times over these past two months, Matt.”

Boris’s heavy voice came from the entrance of the tent as the older man adjusted the fasteners on his tactical coat.

“If you’re going to act like a free mercenary, at least don’t throw yourself into a slaughterhouse. Valentin isn’t alone. As an Expert, he has several Illuminated under his command, along with an entire defensive garrison.”

Matt swallowed the last piece of his combat ration and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

He looked up, meeting the older man’s tired eyes.

“I’m going to get my revenge… or die trying, Boris.”

Matt spoke with a calmness that sent a chill through the blood.

“There is no middle ground for me. If I come back, it’ll be with Valentin’s head. If I don’t, at least I’ll stop walking.”

Boris clenched his jaw, but said nothing more.

He knew there were no words capable of moving the stubbornness of someone whose Will had been forged in the necrosis of loss.

Without waiting for an answer, Matt turned around, calmly removed his boots, and lay down on the field cot.

He pulled the thick blanket over himself and closed his eyes, allowing the silence of the camp at night to swallow him.

As he listened to the steady drumming of rain against the canvas, Matt’s mind returned to the figure of the man who had just walked out.

Boris.

One of the seven remaining Transcendents of the human race.

To the rest of the world, those seven men and women were not ordinary soldiers.

They were weapons of mass deterrence, living catastrophes capable of wiping out entire districts.

They were the only reason the Empire had not completely eradicated the survivors.

Five of those Transcendents led the five Guilds of the Federation, the bastions of resistance scattered across the globe:

Number One — Demon House (Italy): Its leaders were the brothers and Transcendents Lucas Rossi (32) and Oliver Bianchi (35). It was the only faction with two Transcendents at its head.

Number Two — God’s Eye (France): Led by the Transcendent Silvia Laurent (28). Without a doubt, it was the largest Guild on Earth, with a network of more than ten thousand subordinates and informants spread across every continent.

Number Three — El Odiseo (Russia / Central Europe): Its leader was Boris Volkova (42). Matt still found it surreal that his friend’s old uncle was the commander of such a military power.

Number Four — Sanctuary of the Fallen (China): Led by Liu Sheng (41). Rumors claimed that, based on the quality of its fighters, it was the most powerful Guild. However, its members categorically refused to abandon their guardianship of the Asian continent.

Number Five — Zulu (Africa): Led by Amara Osei (26), the backbone of the African continent, under whose command fearsome Awakened warriors had risen.

Yet the Federation was not governed by the Guilds alone.

Above their individual interests stood another institution: the Government.

It was responsible for maintaining order among the five Guilds, keeping their power in check and preventing the Federation’s own factions from tearing each other apart.

At its head stood the seventh Transcendent.

Arthur James.

Known as The First Master.

He was the absolute leader of the Government and the supreme mediator of the Federation.

At thirty-seven years old, Arthur was the only survivor of the American continent after the Great Flash of 2015.

He had been the first human being to break through the shell of Will when Bastian appeared in the skies.

Only three months after the Great Flash, Arthur had already reached the rank of Master.

The world had watched the United States being slaughtered. Arthur had survived it alone.

For many, that suffering was what forged him into the man he became.

He was considered by many to be humanity’s Absolute Hero. Legends claimed he was the most powerful warrior in the world and the only person standing on the threshold of the sixth rank, with the potential to break through into something beyond it.

Unlike the leaders of the five Guilds, Arthur did not represent a single faction.

He represented the Federation itself.

That alliance of five Guilds, held together under the authority of the Government, formed humanity’s ultimate shield against the Empire.

Matt clenched his fist beneath the blanket, feeling the handle of the chipped knife resting against his side.

All those people fought for noble causes, for the freedom of the human race, or for political control of the planet.

They were titans playing on a board built for kings and strategists.

Matt didn’t care about the five Guilds.

He didn’t care about the First Master, nor about the threat of the Demon King Bastian.

His world was much smaller.

Bitter.

And sharp.

The world isn’t black and white… it’s gray, he thought to himself as sleep finally overcame him.