The storm had passed.
Snow still drifted lazily through the air, but the sky above Frostvale was clear—an endless pale gray, bruised by sunrise. Smoke trailed gently from crooked chimneys. The rooftops sagged under thick white blankets, and icicles hung like fangs from every overhang.
Footprints crisscrossed the village paths. Children—furry-eared and thick-tailed—darted between buildings, chasing each other with handfuls of snow. Merchants swept out their doorways, muttering about spoiled stock. A dwarven elder rang a trio of brass chimes to signal a safe morning.
But the calm didn't last long.
A low shout echoed from the tree line.
Two beastkin hunters—one feline, one avian—stood frozen on the ridge just beyond the village boundary, their spears held tight. A small group gathered as they dragged something behind them.
It was wrapped in cloth, but the stain had already bled through.
A heavy, dark purple smear.
They laid the bundle near the village square. The gathered crowd stared, murmuring. Thamus was among them now, towering above the others, a thick cloak draped over his massive frame. His usually calm face was hard-set. He didn't blink.
One of the hunters knelt and peeled back the frost-stiff cloth.
Gasps. A few turned away.
What lay beneath had once been a man—or something like it. The limbs were mangled, the torso torn open from collarbone to gut. Snow had preserved it, but the expression on its face still looked fresh—mouth wide, eyes glassy, frozen mid-howl.
"We found him on the north path," the feline hunter said. Her tail bristled with unease. "Not a mark in the snow around him. No tracks."
The avian added, voice low: "Chest cavity hollow. Everything inside… gone."
A dwarven blacksmith crossed his arms. "Wolves don't do this. Not even desperate ones."
"It's not wolves," someone whispered. "It's them."
Silence.
Then Thamus spoke, voice like slow thunder.
"Burn the body."
Heads turned. The elder beastkin healer furrowed her brow.
"We should examine it first—"
"No," Thamus said, firmer now. "No risks. If it's what I think… the less left behind, the better."
The villagers obeyed. Wood was gathered, oil poured, and the pyre lit before noon.
As the smoke rose high into the pale sky, the scent of burning cloth and blood spread across Frostvale. The children were ushered inside. Doors shut early. Chimes were not rung that night.
And from a high window in the lodge, a gray-haired traveler watched.
Expressionless.
Silent.
The smoke still lingered in the village air by the time Thamus returned to the old stone lodge nestled near the pine edge of Frostvale. Its slanted roof was buried in snow, and the frost on its windows painted ghostly shapes in the afternoon light.
He climbed the creaking stairs slowly. His shoulders sagged beneath the weight of the morning. A quiet unease followed him like a second shadow.
Room three. End of the hall.
Thamus raised a hand and knocked—twice, firm and low.
The door opened.
The traveler stood there, cloak still damp from yesterday, gray hair unkempt, eyes flat and unreadable. The scent of smoke reached him from Thamus's fur.
They stared at each other for a moment—one tall, warm, and uneasy; the other smaller, colder, unreadable.
"Hey," Thamus said, voice quieter now. "Hope you're warming up alright."
The traveler gave no answer. Just waited.
Thamus scratched the back of his head.
"Listen… There was a body found this morning. Torn up bad. Same road we came in from." He paused, watching for any reaction. "You see anything yesterday? Anything strange before I found you?"
The traveler's eyes didn't change. His voice came flat, soft.
"No."
Nothing more.
Thamus searched his face a second longer, frowning faintly.
"Well… guess if you had, you wouldn't be standing here, huh?" He gave a breathless chuckle, but it didn't carry. "Thing was fresh. Whatever did it… didn't leave tracks."
The traveler said nothing. Just blinked once. Slowly.
Thamus sighed and took a half-step back.
"Right. Sorry to bother you. Just… had to check." He turned slightly, then added, "Welcome to Frostvale, I guess. Not always this exciting."
He started down the hall, but paused at the stairs, glancing back.
"Name's Thamus, if you didn't catch it yesterday." A half-smile. "Let me know if you need anything. Food, supplies, warmth. Not many humans around here, but you're safe."
The traveler gave a slight nod. Barely more than a breath.
"Thanks."
That single word—quiet, thin—seemed to surprise even Thamus. He gave a grunt of acknowledgment and left.
The traveler closed the door.
Inside, the room was dark but warm. A hearth fire burned low. The satchel sat on the floor near the bed, unopened. A mug of untouched tea had gone cold on the windowsill.
He returned to the chair by the fire.
Sat.
Watched the flames.
And said nothing.