As the cold biting of night came, the peoples found their ways to their sleeping quarters, leaving only the memory of a day spent in love and comradery. The great bonfire at the Dalarii encampment's center had dwindled to glowing embers, its warmth barely reaching beyond the ring of empty benches surrounding it. Mugs and wooden plates lay forgotten where laughter had left them. Snow had already begun to gather over the footprints carved into the square. Only the watchfires still burned. Lothær walked between them with slow, familiar steps. Most chieftains left the night watch to younger warriors. Lothær never had. The quiet hours belonged to them. They deserved to rest.
As he crossed the village, he stooped to drape a wool blanket over a young hunter asleep against the side of a longhouse, an empty mead horn still dangling from his fingers.
"You'll regret that in the morning," Lothær murmured.
The hunter only snored louder, Lothær smiled and continued on. Outside another home, two children had fallen asleep beneath a table after exhausting themselves with games. Their carved wooden axes still rested in their hands. He crouched beside them as one of the boys stirred.
"...I won..."
"No," the little girl mumbled without opening her eyes.
"...I did."
Even asleep, they argued. Lothær chuckled quietly. He gathered them into his arms, careful not to wake them and carried them to the nearest longhouse. Their mother looked up from the doorway, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
"Oh, no..."
"They never made it home."
She smiled apologetically.
"They take after their father."
"So I've noticed."
She accepted the children with a grateful nod.
"Thank you, Lothær."
Lothær nodded softly.
"Sleep well."
"You too."
He stepped back into the cold with the wind beginning to rise. Snow drifted across the village in lazy spirals, softening every rooftop and fence post until the settlement looked almost untouched.
Peaceful.
His boots carried him toward the edge of the summit almost without thought.
The same cliff.
The same place.
The woman.
He frowned.
The memory still lingered uneasily in the back of his mind.
What would you sacrifice?
Strange question.
Stranger woman.
He scanned the ridge.
Nothing.
Only fresh snow.
Lothær shook his head.
"I've spent too many years listening to old hunters' ghost stories."
He turned to head home. A sharp crack split the night and Lothær froze. The sound echoed across the mountains. Not thunder as it was far too dry, too sudden. More akin to ice breaking beneath impossible weight. Another crack followed.
Closer.
The hairs along the back of his neck rose. Behind him, one of the sentries called out.
"Did you hear that?"
Lothær looked toward the northern peaks. Darkness, Silence, Then...
A green light bloomed above the mountains. Faint at first. Like the first hint of dawn. Except dawn did not rise from the north. The light grew brighter and brighter still. Another sentry climbed onto the palisade.
"What in the…"
A streak of emerald fire tore across the sky. It crossed the heavens in utter silence. Then another, and another. Within seconds the stars themselves seemed to burn green. The village began to wake as doors opened. Voices called through the darkness. Lothær's eyes never left the sky.
"Meteors..."
The first one struck a distant mountainside as the summit trembled beneath his feet. A deep roar rolled through the valley. Snow cascaded from nearby cliffs like white waterfalls. Children cried out, the Great Wolves howled as if to sound the alarms. The peace of moments before vanished. Lothær turned.
"Wake everyone!"
His voice cut through the confusion.
"No one stays inside!"
The sentries immediately repeated the order.
Doors burst open across the village.
Families stumbled into the snow, still wrapped in blankets and furs. Bulrah came stumbling from the square, fastening the strap across his chest.
"Lothær!"
"I see them."
"What are they?"
"I don't know."
That answer tasted bitter as it left his tongue. Another green streak screamed overhead. This one wasn't heading for the mountains, it was heading straight for them.
"Move!" Lothær roared.
The summit exploded, sending ice, snow, and fire throughout the encampment. The shockwave alone sent Lothær to the ground hard. Snow and splintered timber rained over him. For what felt like an eternity, there was nothing. No screams, no wind, only a high, relentless ringing that swallowed the world whole.
He pushed himself onto one knee. The ground beneath his hands was warm. Too warm. His vision blurred, shapes moved through a haze of drifting ash and snow, but none of them made sense. A figure stumbled past him, mouth wide open in a desperate shout. Lothær couldn't hear a word. Another impact shook the mountain. He looked up instinctively to find the sky was on fire. Green streaks carved across the darkness like cracks in the heavens themselves.
His hearing returned all at once. A child screamed, someone shouted for water, another voice cried out,
"Over here! Help me!"
Lothær lurched to his feet. The western longhouse had already collapsed.
Half its roof burned with an unnatural emerald flame that refused to consume the wood beneath it. Instead, it clung to the beams like liquid, spreading across them in slow, hungry tendrils. Two hunters were already trying to pull the wreckage apart.
"There are people inside!"
Lothær didn't hesitate, together they threw themselves against the fallen beam. It shifted, again, and again until it finally rolled free. Lothær looked to his right to see one of the young hunters being overtaken by the flame as it spilled from the timber and left him as nothing more than ash in the snow. A woman crawled from beneath the beam, clutching a little girl against her chest.
The child's face was streaked with soot. She wasn't crying, only staring. Lothær scooped her into his arms.
"Take her to the square!"
The woman nodded frantically.
"What about…"
A deafening crash cut her off. Another meteor struck somewhere beyond the village. The mountain lurched beneath their feet. The child buried her face against Lothær's shoulder.
"It's alright, just breathe, I will keep you safe as I always have."
He didn't believe the words, but he said them anyway. A horn sounded. Three short blasts. The signal for every warrior to assemble.
Bulrah.
Only Bulrah used that call, Lothær handed the child back to her mother.
"Go!"
She ran. Lothær sprinted toward the square, as warriors emerged from every direction, many still pulling armor over their shoulders as they ran. Bulrah met him halfway. Blood trickled down the side of his face.
"You alright?"
"I've been worse."
"Liar."
"I know."
Even now, they smiled. It lasted only a second. Then they both looked around, the village was burning. Not like any fire either of them had ever seen. The green flames ignored the snow, ignored the wind, and ignored the soaked hides villagers were throwing over them.
Instead...
They crawled. Across walls, across roofs, across people. A scream ripped through the square and Lothær turned. An elderly hunter staggered away from one of the burning homes. His sleeve had caught the emerald fire. Three others rushed to help him. One buried the arm in snow. Another dumped an entire bucket of water over it, but nothing changed. The flames continued climbing. Slowly and patiently. The old hunter dropped to his knees.
"It won't go out..."
One of the younger warriors seized an axe.
"We'll cut the arm off!"
"Do it!"
The blade fell as the arm came free. The fire kept its hold, taking control of the discarded limb as It leapt onto the warrior who had swung the axe. Silence, no one moved. The warrior stared at the green fire spreading across his chest.
"...What..."
He looked up at Lothær.
"...what is this?"
Lothær had no answer.
The warrior looked back down at the fire now spreading across his body.
"...Help me."
Two healers rushed forward.
"Don't touch him!" one of the hunters shouted too late.
The older healer seized the warrior's arm and the emerald fire surged. Like roots drinking rain. It raced across the old man's sleeves, his eyes widened.
"No..."
Both men collapsed into the snow as the fire consumed them, Hungrily. Their screams echoed across the village. The younger healer stumbled backward in horror.
"All Mother..."
The old healer's cries stopped first. His body blackened where he lay. The green flames burned brighter. Then...
Nothing remained, not bone, not cloth. Only a dark stain of ash melting into the snow. The younger warrior was not so fortunate, as he continued screaming. His body arched violently. Every muscle pulled taut beneath his skin. His fingers twisted backward with wet, sickening cracks. His jaw stretched wider than any living thing should allow. Bones shifted beneath his flesh. His back snapped, sending an echo akin to an old and powerful tree falling in a quiet forrest. Again, and again the cracks and snaps rang out.
Something beneath his skin moved, not muscles, not bone, but something… Growing.
"Lothær!" Bulrah shouted.
The warrior's skin split open from within and bright green light spilled through the cracks. His scream became something deeper, rougher. Until it no longer sounded human. The transformation spread through him like molten iron poured beneath his flesh. His arms lengthened, his shoulders broadened with violent pops, his teeth burst through his gums, growing into jagged fangs. Blackened bone forced its way through his forearms like crude armor.
Then...
Silence.
The thing slowly lifted its head. Its eyes no longer held fear. Only hunger. Lothær felt his stomach tighten.
"...Torvahn?"
The creature tilted its head. Almost as though it recognized the name. Then it screamed as it lunged towards Lothær. Bulrah met it halfway, driving a shoulder into its chest. The impact sent both crashing through a stack of timber.
"Lothær!" Bulrah roared.
"Move!"
The creature rose almost instantly. Bones that should have shattered knitted together beneath blackened flesh.
It smiled as if the violence pleased it. Lothær's blood ran cold as he regained his composure. Across the village, more screams echoed. He turned to see that the green fire had spread deeper into the encampment. A woman carrying her child stumbled through the snow. The flames overtook them both. The child was gone almost instantly. No cry. No body. Only drifting ash remained as it escaped his mother's tight grasp. The mother fell to her knees.
"No..."
She clawed desperately through the snow as though she could gather him back together. The fire reached her hands. Lothær started toward her. She looked up and their eyes met as time seemed to slow, for a moment, Nothing happened. Then, the flames engulfed her completely.
She screamed as her body convulsed and her spine bent impossibly backward. The scream broke into a guttural roar. Bulrah looked around in horror.
"It's choosing them..."
Lothær followed his gaze.
Everywhere...
The same pattern.
Some touched by the fire vanished into ash within seconds.
Others...
Changed.
Hunters, warriors, even the beasts. A great wolf burst through a burning fence. Its fur ignited emerald. It howled once. Its body swelled grotesquely, limbs stretching into unnatural proportions before charging wildly through the village with glowing green eyes. A flock of stone ravens flew through the drifting embers overhead. Half became ash before they reached the next rooftop while the others transformed mid-flight, their feathers falling away as skeletal wings carried twisted shadows screaming into the night. Lothær's breath caught in his throat. This wasn't a fire, this wasn't even magic.
It was...
Harvesting.
The word came from within Lothær's mind, but not his own voice. Lothær didn't know why. A guttural roar snapped him back to the present. The creature that Torvahn had become crashed through the burning remains of a wagon, scattering splintered wood across the square. Another emerged from the smoke behind him, then another. Their bodies still bore traces of the people they had once been. A familiar braid. A tattered hunter's cloak. The iron bracelet worn by a village blacksmith. Enough to recognize them, but not enough to save them.
"Lothær!"
Bulrah buried his axe in the shoulder of one of the creatures.
"Move!"
The first Fallen lunged.
Lothær's hand was already on the haft of his axe. The dark metal sang as it left the leather across his back. One clean swing, the creature's head struck the snow before its body did. Lothær didn't stop moving. He buried his shoulder into another, driving it backward before bringing the axe around in a brutal arc that split its ribs apart.
"Bulrah!"
His brother was already beside him. The younger warrior tore his own axe free from the skull of a third creature.
"Looks like the hunt came to us."
Lothær almost laughed.
Almost.
"Keep them away from the villagers!"
Bulrah nodded. Without another word the brothers moved. They had hunted together for decades. Words only slowed them down. Bulrah stepped into the path of a charging Fallen, catching its claws on the haft of his axe. Lothær appeared beside him an instant later. One swing, and the creature collapsed. Another sprang from the smoke. Bulrah ducked beneath its strike and hooked its ankle with the butt of his axe, sending it crashing into the snow. Lothær finished it before it could rise. Around them the remaining warriors rallied.
"Protect the children!"
"Get everyone to the northern pass!"
"Don't fight the fire!"
"Fight the monsters!"
The orders spread through the village. Warriors abandoned burning buildings they could no longer save and instead formed walls of steel around fleeing families. An elderly hunter shoved three children toward the mountains before planting his spear in the snow.
"If they reach you..."
"...run."
Then he charged alone into two of the beasts. Lothær wanted to help him. He couldn't. There were too many. Every creature he felled was replaced by another crawling from the emerald smoke. His axe dripped iridescent green blood. His shoulders burned. Still they came. Bulrah vaulted over a collapsed cart, burying his axe into the spine of another creature.
"Left!"
Lothær spun instinctively as claws scraped sparks from his breastplate. He caught the creature by the throat and drove his axe upward beneath its jaw. The body crumpled. Bulrah grinned.
"You're slowing down."
"You wish."
For one impossible moment...
It felt like another hunt. Then Lothær heard crying. He looked toward the western longhouse. Several children stood trapped inside. The doorway burned emerald.
"Lothær!"
Bulrah followed his gaze.
"I've got them."
"No."
"They're alive."
"So are you."
Lothær didn't answer. He was already running. He reached the burning door and cleaved it from its tired hinges as he burst into the longhouse. Lothær emerged from the smoke a second later, carrying the youngest child against his chest while the others stumbled behind him.
"Go!"
The children ran.
Lothær turned to see that Bulrah still held the line. Three Fallen already lay at his feet. A fourth collapsed as his axe split its skull, then a fifth, then a sixth. They weren't fighting him anymore. They were throwing themselves at him. One creature leapt onto his back. Bulrah slammed himself into a wall to crush it. Another seized his arm. He hacked it apart.
"Lothær!"
Bulrah shouted.
"I've got this!"
Then something emerged from the smoke. Not running like the other beasts, but walking. Its entire body burned with emerald fire. It said nothing. It simply reached for him. Bulrah struck first. His axe cleaved through its shoulder. The creature didn't stop. It embraced him. Green fire erupted around them.
"NO!"
Lothær sprinted. He buried his axe into the creature's spine and ripped it free. The creature collapsed. Bulrah remained standing, barely. Smoke curled from beneath his furs. Lothær followed the shape of his brother before seeing the emerald fire that crawled across Bulrah's shoulder. Like ivy climbing stone.
Lothær stopped.
"What?" Bulrah asked as he followed Lothær's gaze to his shoulder.
"It doesn't hurt."
"...It's cold."
His voice was calm, far too calm. Lothær tore off his Chieftain's cloak and beat at the flames.
Again.
Again.
And again.
Nothing.
"They won't go out."
"They have to."
"Lothær."
"They have to!"
Bulrah caught his brother's wrist. The touch made Lothær freeze. His hand was freezing. Not cold from the snow. Cold like winter itself had settled beneath his skin. Bulrah managed a faint smile as the flame creeped up his neck and across his cheek.
"I don't think this one's ours to win."
"Don't."
"Lothær…"
"I said don't." Lothær said frantically as he continued to remove the flame from his brother.
"You've always been stubborn."
"So have you."
A weak laugh escaped Bulrah's lips. It was faint, broken even, but it was still his laugh.
"That's why we made a good team."
A tremor ran through Bulrah's body, as his smile faltered, His breathing caught, and he looked down at his hand. Dark veins spread beneath his skin, glowing faintly green. His fingers twitched. Then bent backward with a sharp crack. Bulrah sucked in a breath through clenched teeth.
"...It's happening."
Lothær grabbed him by the shoulders.
"No."
"You have to listen."
"I'm getting you out of here."
"There isn't time."
"There is!"
"There isn't."
Another crack echoed through Bulrah's arm as his forearm twisted unnaturally. His muscles convulsed beneath his skin.
"Lothær..."
His voice wavered.
"Quickly… before it happens..."
"...don't hesitate."
Lothær stared at him.
"I won't kill you."
Bulrah smiled sadly.
"No."
"You'll save me."
As Lothær grasped his axe once again, preparing for what he must do, Bulrah cried out. His back arched violently. Green light burst through the cracks spreading across his skin. He fell to one knee.
"Lothær..."
His voice was changing. Growing deeper. Rougher as it did with the others. His eyes flickered emerald. Then a soft brown again.
Emerald.
Brown.
Every time the brown returned, they fixed desperately on Lothær's face.
"I can still..."
He gasped.
"...hear you."
Another crack.
His jaw shifted. Blood spilled across the snow. His fingers lengthened into blackened claws. The emerald fire climbed over the rest of his face.
"Lothær..."
"...don't let..."
As those last words were spoken in his own voice. His spine snapped with a sickening crack. His body lurched forward. The muscles across his shoulders swelled grotesquely. Bones erupted through his shoulders like crude armor. His legs twisted, his chest expanded. The creature slowly lifted its head. Bulrah was gone. Lothær staggered backward.
"No..."
He raised Darkblood.
His arms trembled.
Across from him...
The creature tilted its head, exactly as Bulrah always had whenever he was trying to understand something. Lothær couldn't bring himself to swing down onto his only brother, but still he raised his axe as the cold wind bit deeply into his throat…
For one impossibly eternal moment...
It doesn't attack, maybe some instinct remains, maybe not. Lothær hopes.
"Bulrah..."
The creature lets out a guttural growl and launches itself forward. Lothær couldn't move. His feet refused, his mind refused, his heart refused. A warrior burst between them.
"No!"
The Dalarii hunter drove his spear into the creature's chest. The beast barely noticed. One claw swept across the warrior's throat as blood stained the snow. The hunter collapsed without a sound. His sacrifice shattered Lothær's paralysis. The creature turned back toward him. Lothær's eyes filled with tears.
"I'm sorry..."
One step.
One swing.
Darkblood whispered through the air. The blade struck cleanly. The creature's body crumpled into the snow. Silence, Lothær stood frozen.
"I'm sorry..."
He fell to his knees, and reached out with shaking fingers to brush ash from what remained of Bulrah's brow. If there was anything of his brother left… He wanted his last touch to be gentle.
"I'm sorry..."
The words barely escaped his lips. A child's scream pierced the mountain air, then another. Lothær looked up. The village was still burning. More of the creatures stalked through the smoke. More Dalarii died defending one another. His grief hardened into purpose as he stood. His hands found the catches built into Darkblood's haft.
For years...
He had prayed he would never again call upon Stälgrim's blessing.
Tonight...
He had been abandoned by prayer, and by the All Mother. He closed his eyes.
"Forgive me."
He pulled. The single axe split into two with a deafening crack. Amber light erupted from the seam. Roots burst from each haft like living serpents. They wrapped around his forearms. Thorns pierced flesh as blood ran freely. The roots drank. Amber veins spread beneath his skin. Steam poured from his body as winter fled from his flesh. The mountain trembled beneath his feet. Every beast stopped. Every surviving warrior turned. Lothær opened his eyes and they burned like molten gold. He threw back his head and roared. The sound rolled across the Felmor Mountains like thunder.
The hunt had begun.
The nearest creature lunged.
Darkblood flashed. One axe severed its arm. The second split its skull before the first strike had finished. The creature collapsed without a sound. Another came. Then three. Then ten. Lothær met them all.
Amber light crackled from his body with every swing. Lightning leapt between the twin axes, turning the snow beneath his feet to hissing steam. Every strike carried enough force to shatter stone. Every heartbeat fed the rage growing inside him.
He no longer heard the cries of his people. He no longer saw the burning homes. Only monsters. Only green fire. Only Bulrah. Every one of the beasts that charged wore his brother's face. Every scream became the one Bulrah had made as the fire claimed him. Lothær answered each one with white hot metal. The battle became a blur. A claw reached for a child. It hit the ground without its owner. A creature burst through the wall of a longhouse. Lothær split it in two before it could take another step. One after another they fell. The surviving Dalarii gathered behind him, forming a wall around the last of the children and elders. No one spoke. No one dared step beside him. They simply watched. Their chieftain had become something else. The fury of Stälgrim walked among them.
Time lost all meaning. Perhaps minutes passed, perhaps hours. The green fire slowly began to fade. The screams grew fewer.
Then...
Silence.
Lothær's chest rose and fell in ragged breaths. A creature staggered toward him from the smoke, missing half its body. He buried an axe in its chest. It fell, and he swung again. There was nothing there. Again. Nothing. Again. The amber glow around him flickered.
"Chieftain..."
The voice barely reached him. He didn't answer.
"Chieftain."
Another voice, closer, gentler. Lothær blinked. The rage receded like a tide. The roots coiled around his forearms loosened their grip and withdrew into the hafts of Darkblood. Amber light faded from the blades until only polished steel remained. His arms trembled. The axes suddenly felt impossibly heavy. He looked around.
The village… Their home.
Was gone.
Longhouses had collapsed into blackened skeletons. The great bonfire had been replaced by a crater filled with emerald ash. The feast tables lay overturned beneath fresh snow. Mugs, bowls, children's carved toys. Everything remained exactly where it had been left. As though the celebration had ended only moments before. Except there was no laughter. Only bodies. Hunters, children, the old, and the strong. Even the great wolves lay scattered across the snow. Many had burned to ash.
Others...
Had not been so fortunate. Lothær lowered his gaze. Bulrah lay where he had fallen. The snow around him was stained black. Lothær walked toward him in silence. Each step felt heavier than the last. He knelt again. For a long time, he simply looked at his brother. Memories came flooding. Two boys racing through the mountain passes, Bulrah demanding another spar after losing, their father laughing as neither would admit defeat, the Winter Games, the feast.
"That's why we made a good team."
Lothær closed his eyes.
"I'm sorry."
No answer came. He reached out and unclasped the wolfskin cloak from Bulrah's shoulders. It was scorched along one side. He folded it carefully. Then draped it across his own. Around him, the surviving Dalarii slowly gathered. No one spoke. An old hunter stepped forward first. Without a word, he placed a stone beside Bulrah's body. Another warrior followed. Then another. Soon every survivor knelt. One by one, they added their own stone. Until a cairn stood where Bulrah had fallen. The first light of dawn crested the eastern peaks. Snow began to fall again , soft, gentle. It settled over the ruins. Over the blood, over the emerald ash, over the cairn.The mountains mourned with them.
Lothær stood.
He looked once across what had been his home. The training grounds where Bulrah had first bested him with a wooden axe. The pit where they had fought only hours before. The throne from which he had promised his people another year of prosperity. It was all gone. There was nothing left for a chieftain to lead. He turned toward the southern horizon. Toward the lands beyond the mountains. Toward the direction of city called Ralstrog. He did not know who had done this. He did not know why. He knew only one thing. Someone had taken his people. Someone had taken his brother.
The snow crunched beneath his boots as he took his first step away from home. He did not look back. Behind him, the last emerald flame flickered once...
...and finally died.