In the continent's northwest, in the Far North.
Ten thousand miles lay sealed in ice, layers of snow stretching to the sky.
A lead-gray sky pressed heavily over the wilderness. Endless snowfields spread to the limits of sight, ancient ice dozens of feet thick gleamed a cold, spectral blue-green, and jagged black rocks pierced the snow like the bones of enormous beasts buried deep underground.
Fierce winds howled out of icy ravines, sweeping across the wilderness with tiny shards of ice. Not a blade of grass grew here, nor was there any trace of birds or beasts. The bitter cold pierced the bones; ordinary living creatures stepping onto this frozen ground would be devoured by the cold within moments.
Wind and snow swept over the rolling ice hills toward the depths of the interior.
In a valley deep within the ice fields lay a secret altar of the Holy Spirit Cult.
Massive jet-black stones formed a raised platform, their surfaces carved with strange, twisting, coiling runes. Black blood, dried over many years, had accumulated in the grooves.
Nine stone pillars surrounded the altar, rusted chains wound around them, while scraps of cloth snapped in the raging wind.
Cold wind struck the stone walls and circled between them, giving low, mournful whistles like countless departed souls weeping in the darkness.
This was one of the Holy Spirit Cult's bases in the Far North. There were scarcely any Soul Beasts left in the Far North now, and its resources had nearly been exhausted. Apart from rats everyone wanted to beat and desperate fugitives, no one would stop here at all.
At the center of the altar stood a stone statue hundreds of feet tall, carved from a single block of dark rock, its figure erect and imposing.
The stone figure's long hair