The snow had begun to fall in quiet defiance of gravity—slow, heavy, each flake seeming to hesitate for a moment before settling upon the earth. It lent the land a solemn stillness, as if even the sky held its breath.
The barbarian leader reined in his mount, a great snowhorn elk with darkened antlers marked by rings of old battle scores. The creature's hooves dug sharply into the crusted white, sending a fine burst of frost into the air.
Kel stood with his bow lowered, the string relaxed but still taut against his grip. His cloak fluttered lazily at the hem, swaying with the soft wind that came rolling down from the distant peaks.
Reina and Landon waited beside him, their silhouettes sharp against the blank expanse—the three figures aligned like quiet sentinels against the encroaching cold.
The barbarian leader, his breath thick and steady in the freezing air, focused his gaze upon Kel.
There was no aggression in his eyes.
Nor friendliness.
Only a hunter's appraisal…and a faint trace of curiosity, like a man acknowledging something he had not expected to find on this path.
He spoke.
The words came in harsh syllables, tongue shaped by the coarse dialect of the northern tribes.
"Va'shal krum… vetho dras?"
"Where do you go, small hunter?"
Kel lifted his chin slightly.
Not defiantly.
Not submissively.
Simply acknowledging the question.
"Toward the mountains," he replied, his voice calm. "Toward the northeast."
The barbarian leader's expression shifted.
Not surprise.
Confirmation.
He turned his head briefly, glancing toward the fog-veiled range ahead. The wind blew from that direction, cutting across their faces like the first hint of a blade before battle.
He looked back at Kel.
Something measureless moved in his eyes.
Then he lifted his hand.
A sharp gesture.
Two of his riders peeled away from the group immediately, without hesitation. They dismounted with heavy, practiced movements and pulled their beasts—two snowhorn mounts with minor injuries but still strong—from formation.
They stepped before Kel.
One of them, a tall barbarian with ash-grey braids, struck a fist to his chest.
"Ride," he said in broken imperial tongue, chin tilted.
Kel blinked once.
Reina and Landon exchanged brief glances.
The leader leaned slightly forward in his saddle.
"Our Chief is preparing to move camp along the mountain-edge," he said. His voice now shifted to more formal imperial, spoken slow but clear. "Storm draws close. Something older than the wind walks behind it."
He paused.
"We ride to meet it."
Kel watched him.
The wind turned cold enough for pain to settle against skin.
He exhaled slowly.
"And you offer…"
His eyes flickered to the beasts presented.
The leader gave a small, razor-edged smile.
"You walk mountainward. Alone."
He gestured to the expanse behind them.
"Snow changes. Beasts flee. Sky stirs. Alone means swallowed."
The barbarian's head tilted by a fraction.
"Ride with us. You do not become one of us… but you travel in shadow of our fire."
A breath.
"Fewer teeth will find you."
Landon shifted, eyes narrowing slightly.
Reina's posture softened—just enough to mark calculation rather than resistance.
Kel absorbed every word. Every pause.
He turned to Reina.
Grey eyes met hers.
She did not speak.
She did not need to.
The certainty in her gaze said enough.
He looked to Landon.
Landon gripped the hilt of his sword lightly.
"Traveling in step with a storm is wiser than trying to outrun it," Landon said quietly.
Kel nodded once.
Then turned back toward the leader.
"Then we accept," he said. "We will ride with you until the paths part."
A low, rough chuckle escaped the leader.
No mockery.
Only acknowledgment.
He lifted his axe slightly in gesture—not pointed, but lowered as if to a companion entering risk.
"Ride, traveler. Ride stormward."
He gestured sharply.
The two barbarians who had offered their mounts stepped back.
One motioned toward the larger of the two beasts, its nostrils flaring, breath rising in heavy puffs.
"This one carries two," he said, glancing at Kel and Landon.
The second mount snorted, muscles rippling beneath its thick, frost-coated hide.
It approached Reina.
She reached out.
Gloved fingers brushed the beast's side.
It did not flinch.
Only exhaled—a deep, steady breath that seemed to mirror her own.
She mounted, smooth and controlled, her cloak falling around her legs like black ink spilled over snow.
Landon stepped toward the larger mount and placed a hand against the beast's mane. It snorted, eyeing him briefly. He moved with grounded simplicity, climbing up behind the saddle formed of layered furs and hardened leather.
Kel approached last.
His steps were deliberate.
The wind pressed against him.
He paused a moment beside the mount.
His gaze rose toward the mountains.
Their shadows moved like ancient creatures beneath the storm.
He murmured quietly—only for himself.
"One step forward—even if the snow tries to erase it."
Then he mounted.
Smoothly.
Without difficulty.
As if he belonged in motion.
The beast shifted, adjusting to the weight of two riders. Kel took position at the front, Landon settling securely behind him.
Reina looked across the slight distance separating their mounts.
Kel's gaze met hers.
Unspoken, but certain.
This is not shelter.
This is direction.
The barbarian leader lifted his axe.
"To the Spine!" he roared.
His mount reared, hooves rising like the first hammerbeat of war.
The other beasts responded.
Hooves thundered.
Breath spilled like smoke.
Snow erupted around their advance.
Kel's mount surged forward.
Wind struck his face.
His bow trembled against his back.
The curse pulsed beneath his skin—not weakening… warning.
Reina's mount trailed half a length behind, her posture upright, coat snapping in the rising gale.
Landon's grip tightened on the saddle as the momentum drove them forward.
The barbarian hunting party formed a rough spear formation, riding across the tundra with primal elegance—chasing what remained of the storm's secrets.
Kel leaned into the wind.
His eyes stayed forward.
His breath aligned with the beast's rhythm.
The snow moved against them.
The land rose slowly.
The mountains stared down like ancient judges.
Somewhere far ahead, beyond layers of ice and ridge, beyond the reach of ordinary roads—
Scarder Lake waited.
Its existence obscured by time.
Its discovery whispered by game lore.
Its waters said to cure what fate once deemed incurable.
Kel's heartbeat slowed.
Steady.
Resolve deepening with each hoofbeat.
To walk alone is strength.
To know when not to walk alone is wisdom.
The snow parted beneath them.
The path did not ease.
It sharpened.
They rode not beside the storm.
They rode into it.
And for the first time since leaving Rosenfeld estate…
Kel did not feel like a singular figure resisting death.
He felt like someone moving toward something.
Even if what awaited was deeper darkness.
He spoke under his breath.
Barely audible.
Not a vow.
Not a curse.
Simply truth.
"I will reach the water."
Reina's head lifted.
As if she had heard.
Perhaps she had.
Landon's grip strengthened.
The wind howled.
White swallowed the world.
And within that snowstorm of beginning—
three travelers rode beside the wildborn toward the mountain gates.
Not spared.
Not safe.
But no longer walking alone.