The wind bit through Martin's cloak as he ascended the first ridge of Winter Peak.
Beneath him, the forest had long vanished—swallowed by mist and distance. Ahead, endless cliffs stretched skyward, jagged and slick with ice. The higher he climbed, the quieter the world became, as though the mountain itself resented noise.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
His breath steamed. His fingers ached. But still, he climbed.
---
By midday, a storm rolled in.
Snow fell sideways, flung by shrieking winds. Martin pressed forward, shielding his face with his forearm. The narrow path before him was barely visible. Ice crackled underfoot, daring him to slip.
Then—crack.
A loose stone gave way beneath his boot.
Martin lunged forward, grabbing onto a frozen root protruding from the cliffside. He dangled for a breathless second before pulling himself up, heart pounding.
The wind howled louder.
"This is madness…" he muttered.
But when he looked up—he saw it.
A narrow cave in the side of the mountain, its mouth dark and half-hidden by a curtain of icicles.
Shelter.
---
Inside, the cave was cold but still.
Martin lit a small torch using flint and dried bark from his pack. The flame hissed, dancing shadows along the walls. He settled by the back wall and unwrapped a strip of dry meat. As he ate, exhaustion set in.
He leaned back.
Closed his eyes.
And dreamed.
---
In his dream, the mountain was covered in blood and bodies of both Imperials and Areise.
His father stood at the summit with a imperial soldier behind him, sword buried into his back, face turned toward Martin.
"Why didn't you come sooner?" his father asked, voice broken.
Martin tried to reach him, but his body dropped into the snow as the Imperial turned to him with a demonic smile, "IT'S TIME TO DIE YOU AREISE SCUM!!!"
---
He woke up, breathing in and out.
The torch had gone out. The wind outside had softened to a distant moan.
Once he caught his breath, Martin packed his things and stepped back into the snow.
The climb continued.
---
By dusk, the world was white.
He reached a plateau—flat, wide, and strangely quiet. Here, the mountain stretched out like a broken temple. Pillars of ice jutted from the ground, and an old shrine stood at the center, partially buried.
Martin approached it slowly.
The shrine was ancient. Moon elf script lined its frozen stones. Most of it was unreadable—but one phrase still glowed faintly beneath the frost:
> "Only the one true king may rest upon the Throne."
Then—a sound.
A low, guttural growl.
Martin turned quickly, hand on his wooden rapier.
There, just beyond a drift of snow, lay a wolf—huge, white as the frost around it, with eyes like molten gold. It was limping, a jagged wound across its flank. Its breaths came in harsh pants, steaming in the cold.
But its eyes were alive with pain.
Martin raised his hands slowly, not drawing his blade.
"I'm not your enemy," he whispered.
The wolf growled again, but made no move to strike. It tried to rise—then collapsed in the snow with a soft whimper.
Martin stepped closer, kneeling beside it. Its fur was matted with blood, but the wound wasn't deep enough to be fatal—yet.
He pulled off his scarf, tore it in half, and carefully pressed it against the bleeding flank.
The wolf flinched.
"Easy. I know it hurts."
Its eyes locked with his.
And finally… accepting.
---
Night fell.
Martin built a fire beneath a windbreak of stone and curled beside it. The wolf lay across from him, still breathing raggedly, but calm now. He had wrapped the wound and offered some dried meat.
It hadn't eaten, but it hadn't left either.
Martin stared into the flames.
"That was a sword wound?" he muttered. "Maybe my father was the reason?"
The wolf didn't answer, but its ears twitched.
Martin lay back, exhausted.
As he drifted off to sleep, he could feel the weight of eyes watching him from the dark.
---
In the morning, the wolf was still there.
It stood now, favoring its injured leg, but watching him closely. When Martin stood, the wolf followed.
Not too close.
But not far either.
And as he continued his climb, it remained just behind him, "Looks like I will have a new traveling buddy?"
---
Above them, the storm churned.
The summit waited.
And neither boy nor beast would reach it alone.