Winter did not welcome them.
It tolerated their presence.
For four days, the world answered their footsteps with teeth and silence.
Day One – The Snow That Listens
The morning light filtered dimly through clouds as they left the last whisper of the camp behind. The wind tugged at their cloaks, an invisible hand testing their resolve. The trees grew sparser, roots broken by ice, and the air tasted of stillness and iron.
Kel walked at the front.
His coat—dark wool, long enough to brush the snow at his boots—shifted with each step like a faded banner caught between retreat and advance. He breathed in measured cadence. In. Hold. Out. His hair escaped the thin leather tie, falling across his eyes, frost biting at the strands.
Reina walked slightly behind, hands moving occasionally to adjust the length of her spear. Her cloak whispered as she moved, fur brushing over leather. Her gaze scanned the treeline—careful, calculating, already expecting resistance.
Landon's steps were heavy, deliberate, like a mountain testing if the earth was worthy of weight. Behind him, the snow gave way and did not reclaim the impressions. His coat was shorter, reinforced with hide around the shoulders. One gloved hand rested loosely at his sword hilt.
Chief Sera walked at the flank, unhurried. The snow avoided her, drifting around her boots like wary petals. Her hair, pale like breath on glass, caught the wind differently—it did not flutter but flowed.
They walked.
And the forest watched.
The First Encounter
It came from beneath.
A rumble, then a split. Snow parted like a wounded lung, and from its depths, a beast rose—white fur matted with blood, tusks blackened by rot. A Frostmaw Boar, larger than any documented, its breath releasing clouds tinged with violet. The ground tremored with its rage.
Reina moved first, spear sweeping low across its jaw. Landon met the rear charge with his shoulder like an unmovable boulder. Kel did not step back.
He stepped inward.
His breath sharpened, core lightly ignited. For one instant, the air compressed around him. He touched his fingers to the beast's exposed flank as it recoiled from Landon's impact.
His palm trembled.
But the strike landed.
The boar fell still.
The tremor in Kel's fingers remained longer.
Sera's eyes lingered on those fingers.
She said nothing.
That night, they camped beneath skeletal branches. Snow fell softly. Kel lay silent, breath faint. Reina sharpened her spear though it needed no honing. Landon sat against a tree, gaze fixed on shadows. Sera stared at the moon, lips parted like she was listening to something too distant to reach.
Day Two – The Snow That Hunts Back
The path narrowed.
Ice cracked when stepped upon.
A pack of Icetide Wolves tracked them for hours before striking at dusk. They moved like whispers—fur gray-blue, eyes pale, their paws leaving no trace. Five lunged from the ridge.
Sera's arm flicked, a bone dagger whistling through wind, skewering the first. Landon intercepted the second with his shoulder, pushing it into a third, snow erupting under the collision. Reina twisted through the chaos like wind between trees.
Kel remained where he stood.
His eyes locked with the alpha.
No breath.
Only silence.
The wolf hesitated.
In that pause, Reina's spear found its throat.
They moved on.
That night, Kel coughed once. Blood stained his glove. Reina looked over but said nothing. Landon noticed and shifted his posture further forward in the next march, still silent. Sera stoked the fire.
"…the lake judges resolve," she said to no one.
Kel did not react.
Not outwardly.
Day Three – The Snow That Breaks the Weak
The wind turned feral.
Snow became needles.
Reina wrapped additional cloth around Kel's collar when frost began to collect at his pulse. He allowed it without protest.
Landon used his body to break the wind's path when gusts became cutting. His coat tore at the shoulder, skin beneath bruised from flying shards of ice.
Sera moved ahead this time, navigating the path where branches were buried beneath lethal drifts.
At midday, a mountain drake descended—scaled, wings torn, frost clinging to its flesh like parasites. It screamed, a jagged sound, and struck. Its talons shattered the ice at their feet.
Kel staggered.
Not from the impact.
From the resonance in its cry.
That sound—ancient, desperate.
He felt it echo through the curse locked at his core.
The drake circled, swooping low. Landon thrust sword upward, the bladework heavy but precise. Sera wove frost magic—her curse resonating with the creature's suffering.
But it was Kel who ended it.
He stepped forward, snow crunching underfoot. His coat split open behind him, wind catching it. His hair whipped across his face. His eyes—clear, too clear.
When the drake lunged, he raised his arm.
And did not stop it.
Reina moved.
Too late.
The beast clashed not with flesh, but with something unseen—Kel's aura core reacting under strain. A thin shimmer of energy pulsed at the point of contact.
The drake reeled back.
Then Sera's blade cut its throat.
It fell.
Kel's knees nearly buckled. He inhaled sharply, pain flickering down his spine.
Reina's hand came to steady him.
He straightened before she could.
That night, no one slept.
Day Four – The Snow That Accepts
They moved slower.
Kel said little.
Each step was measured against his body's limits. His breathing technique held, but the ache grew into something more. Landon noticed—the tremor in Kel's shoulders, the slight pause between steps. Reina noticed—how Kel never let his hands fall too low, protecting his core. Sera noticed—how his gaze kept drifting toward the horizon, not toward them.
Near dusk on the fourth day, the trees fully receded.
Ahead, the mountain rose—not in majesty, but in silent threat. Granite walls blackened by time. Cracks filled with ice like veins of frozen blood. The sky above it split open briefly, allowing the last light of the sun to catch on its peak.
It looked like winter had carved itself a throne.
Kel stopped.
Snow fell upon his coat, lacing its edges. His hair, half-frozen, brushed his cheek. His eyes—calm, unwavering—reflected the mountain.
Reina stood beside him. Her cloak had been worn thin at the shoulders, frost etched along the hem. Her hair stuck to her cheeks; her palms were red from gripping her spear too long.
Landon stood slightly behind, blade resting against his shoulder, coat torn but never once closed tighter. His expression was unreadable.
Sera stepped forward, cloak rippling like a pale banner. Her breathing was steady, but her eyes—sharp—looked not at the mountain.
But at Kel.
"The beasts will not touch this path," she said softly. "Only those who walk."
Kel looked ahead.
And accepted.
He stepped forward.
The crunch of snow beneath his boot was quiet.
But it carried.
Reina followed.
Landon moved.
Sera walked.
Their footprints carved a thin line beneath the mountain shadow.
Not as four travelers.
Not as allies.
As witnesses of what comes next.
Kel's final thought, before the wind swallowed sound:
Whether it breaks or heals… I will walk until it answers.
Snow fell silently.
And did not cover their tracks.