Silence woke Caelum. For the first time in seventeen years, the rain had stopped.
The quiet pressed on their ears like a scream. They stumbled from bed, katana in hand, and slipped outside. Moonlight bathed the village in pale silver, and the clouds had parted to reveal a sky so full of stars it hurt to look at.
Then the wind howled.
The first gust slammed Caelum against the wall. Roofs were torn away as if by an invisible hand. A roar rose from the forest as ancient pines snapped like twigs. Snow began to fall — not gentle flakes, but jagged shards of ice that hissed when they struck wood and flesh.
Screams burst across Nareth. Oren emerged from his home with a spear, bellowing for villagers to run. Shapes moved in the storm: wolves of shadow, eyes burning red, jaws snapping with unnatural speed. They leapt from fog, dragging screaming men and women into the darkness.
Caelum raced to their family's door. Inside, their mother crouched, shielding the youngest. "Take them!" she cried, thrusting the child into Caelum's arms. A window exploded inward as a shadow crashed through, sending icy shards flying. The katana swept up in an arc, steel flashing in the moonlight. The shadow fell apart like mist — but more kept coming.
The masked figure appeared among the chaos, drifting across the square untouched by ice or wind. His head tilted, as if studying Caelum. A gesture of his gloved hand sent shadows surging toward them in a tide.
Caelum backed into the street, holding the katana in one hand and their sibling in the other. Oren fought at their side, his lantern casting a flickering glow. Each swing of Caelum's blade was precise but desperate, the storm swallowing every shout, every cry.
Then Caelum slipped on ice slick as glass. The katana clattered from their hand as they crashed to the ground, the world tilting into slow motion. The masked figure advanced, boots silent on the frozen mud, hand outstretched as if to snuff out the last ember of hope.