Plummeting down the abyss, Ragnar got consumed by the darkness it withheld, unable to see a thing from the depth of its darkness. It gnawed at him in the worst possible way.
And at that moment, as though reality had shifted, the warm wind whipping across his face stopped. Not in a good way, apparently.
Everywhere suddenly felt cold to Ragnar.
'What the hell is going on?' Ragnar cried out from within.
He was suspended in the air, in a very cold environment—no, cold was a sore understatement. He was freezing under what felt like minus hundreds of degrees. It was as though his body had been plunged into the depths of icy water, and his entire body reacted painfully to this feeling.
But that wasn't the worst part of it all.
Ragnar was unable to breathe, his nostrils clogged by what felt like heavy ice pouring down his lungs, and worst of all, his gaze was unwilling to obey. Every time he tried to see, he felt it—a burn that mined deep into his sockets without forgiveness.
At this point, Ragnar had figured out his current situation.
'No... Fuck! Why does my luck have to be this bad? How did I end up in an icy ocean?'
It was as he suspected. He had appeared deep within a dark, icy sea—unprepared and with just a whiff of breath within his lungs.
Out of instinct, he activated his Arcana and opened his eyes. It was at this time his eyeballs stopped hurting, and he was instantly able to see a vague imagery of where he was.
His sides were dark—not from the weather outside the sea, but because this was the colour of the sea itself. How strange such a phenomenon occurred.
But that wasn't one of the young Lord's concerns.
His gaze immediately turned upwards and he saw it—a bright lighting that signified the surface of the dark, ominous water. But the distance to get there was something else entirely.
With the water already clogging his lungs faster than he could think, Ragnar swam upwards with all his might.
'No... I won't die here... Damn it!'
'Swim! Come on, swim!'
He yelled at himself deep within, feeling his chest rise and fall in rapid successions. His heart rate was erratic, and soon enough he knew—without fail—he would die from drowning.
'This place isn't a worthy grave to house the great Fang Zhen!'
He cried, giving one last push as the surface stared at him, just a few feet off.
His body reacted more evidently desperate as the thoughts of a long draw of air filled his mind.
Just a little more...
Reach out...
And...
At this point, something had gone wrong. Very wrong. Ragnar's heart fell and his eyes grew wide with a feeling he had not shown for a long time as Fang Zhen.
It was fear...
Just as Ragnar's hand was about to breach the darkness and reach into the warm embrace—maybe—of the light, he met with a strong surface that blocked his path.
The shock of this realization froze him under the already frozen waters for a second, and then the desperate reminder of death came—with the flooding breaching his lungs further—and this led to him exhaling out most of the air he had left in his body.
Now he was running on close to zero oxygen, and his primal instincts kicked in.
The young Lord flung his hand up to the strong surface blocking his path rapidly. It was harder than expected, each of his blows slowed by the water as he struck endlessly in haste at the surface.
At first, it showed no sign of giving in to his hits, but Ragnar kept on persistent, 'Break, you friggin rock! Break!'
He kept at it, hurting his knuckles at the same time, but the pain of bleeding knuckles was nothing compared to drowning alive with the sight of a way out just within his grasp.
Soon enough, crack lines of the surface giving in began to reveal themselves. He was doing it—he was going to break it soon—
But would that be soon enough to save him?
Maybe...
But just to make sure he remained determined, the messengers of death made sure to give him more motivations. Ragnar's gaze began to blur out, his movements began to feel groggy and hard, his mind seemed to be closing—like a lamp being blown out, just in slow motion.
What wickedness.
'I'm not going to make it.'
'I can't even see anymore... How am I supposed to even—'
The last of Ragnar's strength seemed to fade away, and with that, his consciousness. The last of what remained of his life began to dwindle slowly.
He was going to die...
And...
A strong hand grabbed Ragnar by the wrist, which he was barely able to feel as his hands were numb from the cold... He then blacked out once more... and then he was suddenly coughing out.
His body sat up instinctively and his eyes fluttered, unable to get the situation he was in. Probably that was heaven in question—maybe? Or maybe not.
Ragnar's gaze finally had a focus. His eyes laid on his legs and hands—so pale he could have been considered as snow. But that wasn't what was important. That wasn't it. No—the fact that he was alive, and breathing air—that was the surprise.
'Oh, how I have taken the abundance of air so lightly,' Ragnar was thankful. And he remained this way for a few moments or so before the old, calculated demeanor formed once again.
Now he could think.
He turned around and stared for someone—or maybe, something—that had pulled him out of the water. He found no one. Nobody. No trace of anyone.
The only audience he had were his three shadows, and they were indifferent, doing their own things.
Not having a definite answer, the young Rok decided to go about other matters for now. He was naked, sitting on broken ice and a bit of snow. Around him was a land covered in white snow, the cold, unforgiving wind blowing just barely—but still, the frostbite he felt just from being here naked was something unimaginable.
He feared he had escaped the frying pan and jumped directly into the fire.