The night pressed down like a weight, swallowing the land in silence. Frostmaw Hollow loomed ahead, no longer a cave but a fortress. Crude walls of timber and stone rose high, jagged spikes crowned its towers, and sentries paced with cruel discipline. Torches burned at every corner, their flames casting grotesque shadows across the snow.
From within came the cries—the agonies of prisoners. Women's voices, pleading, broken. The sound carried across the wind, chilling the hunters more than the frost ever could.
Seris crouched low, her eyes scanning the battlements. "The sentries change every hour. If we move when they rotate, we'll slip closer. Patience will keep us alive."
Garrick adjusted the strap of his quiver, his jaw tight. "Patience?" His voice cracked with frustration. "Every scream we hear is another soul lost. Sitting here feels like cowardice."
Rhyven smirked, though his hand gripped his sword so tightly his knuckles whitened. "Better cowardice than chains. You want to rush in? Fine. But don't expect me to drag your corpse back to the Sanctuary."
Garrick turned sharply, his eyes flashing. "And what would you do, Rhyven? Swing your blade until you drown in goblin blood? That's not leadership—that's suicide."
Rhyven leaned closer, his scarred face hard. "At least I'd die fighting. Better that than listening to those cries and doing nothing."
Seris cut between them, her tone sharp but steady. "Enough. Both of you. We're here to watch, not to die. If we misstep, the Sanctuary burns next. Do you understand?"
The two men glared at each other, but the weight of her words silenced them.
They crept forward, hiding behind a ridge of stone. From there, the truth revealed itself: goblins drilled in formations, their weapons sharpened, their armor scavenged from fallen men. Fires burned in pits, casting light on cages filled with prisoners. The cries rose and fell like waves, each one a dagger in the hunters' hearts.
Garrick whispered, his voice trembling. "This isn't a fortress. It's a breeding ground for war. Look at them—organized, disciplined. They're not raiders anymore. They're soldiers."
Rhyven's jaw tightened, his rage barely contained. "Then let's strike. Tonight. We cut them down before they grow stronger."
Seris shook her head, her eyes never leaving the fortress. "No. We move at night, but not to fight. We count their numbers, mark their defences, and return. The Sanctuary must know what we face. If we die here, no one will know what's coming."
Garrick exhaled, his breath steaming in the cold. "And if we're caught?"
Seris' gaze was cold, unwavering. "Then we fight. But until that moment, we stay shadows."
The three exchanged a look—fear, anger, resolve. The stakes pressed heavy on their shoulders: if they failed, the Sanctuary would fall, and every cry from the fortress would become the silence of death.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Frostmaw Hollow loomed like a wound upon the land, its torches burning against the night.
At the Sanctuary, snow drifted in from the north, the wind colder than memory. Winter had finally arrived, long and merciless. Miriam stood by the fire, her hands clasped tightly.
"I hope Caelum is okay," she whispered.
Priestess Elira placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "He is with Eric. And if anyone can temper the boy's fire, it is him. I am sure they are doing well."
Four weeks passed.
On the frozen peak of Coldspire, "doing well" was far from the truth.
Caelum's breath tore from his lungs as he charged, blade flashing against the snow. The Borealith roared—a monstrous white bear, its fur matted with scars, one eye blinded from battles long past. It was the guardian of the mountain, a beast that even seasoned hunters feared. Yet somehow, Caelum and Eric held it at bay.
Eric's voice cut through the chaos. "Hold back, boy! This is the guardian of the mountain. It's not meant to be slain."
Caelum ducked beneath a swipe of its massive paw, snow exploding around him. "You know we wouldn't be in this mess if you had listened to me!" His voice cracked with fury. "Why on earth would you venture into its cave and wake it from its slumber?"
Eric parried with his staff, grinning despite the danger. "Because I heard its cave was filled with the finest herbs. Herbs that make a tea so rare, it warms the soul even in the dead of winter."
Caelum's eyes widened in disbelief. "Tea? Tea? This was all for a cup of tea?" He screamed, barely dodging another strike. "We're fighting for our lives because you wanted a drink?"
Eric shrugged, sweat freezing on his brow. "A man must have his comforts. Besides, you'll thank me when you taste it."
Caelum's blade scraped against the beast's flank, sparks flying. "If we survive this, I'll shove that tea down your throat myself!"
The Borealith roared again, shaking the mountain. Caelum stumbled, his shoulder burning from the strain. Eric grabbed his arm, steadying him.
"Listen to me," Eric said, his voice suddenly serious. "This beast isn't our enemy. It's a guardian. If we kill it, the mountain itself will curse us. We need to drive it back, not destroy it."
Caelum gritted his teeth. "Easy for you to say. It's trying to rip us apart!"
Eric's eyes narrowed. "That's because you charged it like a fool. You fight with anger, Caelum. Anger blinds. Watch its movements. Feel the rhythm. The mountain teaches patience."
Caelum spat blood into the snow. "Patience won't stop its claws."
Eric smirked, though his voice carried weight. "No, but wisdom will. Strike only when it gives you the chance. And for the love of the gods, don't tell the priestess about the tea."
Caelum barked a laugh despite himself, half‑mad from exhaustion. "Oh, I'm telling her. I'll carve it into the Sanctuary walls if I have to."
The Borealith lunged, its massive paw crashing down. Caelum rolled aside, his blade cutting deep into the snow. Eric slammed his staff against the ground, sending a shock through the ice that staggered the beast for a heartbeat.
"Now!" Eric shouted.
Together, they struck—not to kill, but to drive the guardian back. The Borealith roared, retreating into the shadows of its cave, its single eye burning with fury.
Caelum collapsed into the snow, chest heaving, sweat and blood mingling on his skin. "All this… for tea."
Eric sat beside him, grinning through the pain. "The finest tea in the world."
Caelum groaned, covering his face with his hands. "If we die up here, I swear I'll haunt you."
Eric chuckled, his voice softer now. "Then haunt me with a cup in hand."
The mountain trembled.
Snowflakes froze in mid‑air, suspended like shards of glass. The Borealith's single eye glowed with a sickly purple ether, and the sigils carved into its scarred hide flared to life. Its massive jaws opened, sucking in the air with a sound like the world itself collapsing.
Eric's face drained of colour. "Caelum! Its breath attack—move!"
The beast roared, unleashing a torrent of frozen death. The blast tore through the peak, shredding trees, shattering stone, and coating the world in ice. Caelum dove, the force burying him beneath a wave of snow. Eric staggered, his shoulder ripped open by the blast, blood staining the white.
When Caelum clawed his way back to the surface, gasping, the world was unrecognizable. The forest was gone—trees frozen solid, cliffs sheared away, the ground itself cracked and broken. Eric lay sprawled in the snow, unconscious, his breath shallow.
Caelum's chest tightened. "Eric… damn it, don't you dare die on me." He shook him, but Eric didn't stir. "Looks like you're just passed out," Caelum muttered, forcing a grin that didn't reach his eyes. His hand tightened on his sword. "That means it's my turn."
He rose, pointing his blade at the Borealith. His voice rang across the ruined peak.
"Alright, monster! Let's end this!"
The beast swung, its massive paw cutting through the air with the force of a falling boulder. Caelum dodged, rolling to the side, snow exploding around him. His movements were sharper now, more precise. He wasn't just surviving—he was fighting.
But the stakes were higher than ever. Without the trees, without cover, there was nowhere to hide. Every strike could end him.
The Borealith lunged again, its breath steaming, its claws gouging trenches in the ice. Caelum ducked, his blade scraping against its hide. He could feel the weight of Eric's words echoing in his mind.
Patience. Watch its rhythm. Don't fight with anger.
Caelum steadied his breath, forcing himself not to rush. He dodged once, twice, three times, each movement smoother than the last. The beast's roars grew weaker, its swings slower. Its chest heaved, its breath ragged.
Caelum's eyes narrowed. "You're tired, aren't you? Even monsters have limits."
The Borealith staggered, its blinded eye twitching. Caelum seized the moment. He sprinted forward, leapt onto its back, and climbed, his fingers bleeding as they dug into its fur. The beast bucked, roaring, but Caelum held on, his determination burning hotter than the cold.
"Eric… you said patience. Well, I've waited long enough."
He launched himself high into the sky, the world spinning beneath him. His sword flared, light surging through the steel as if answering his will. With a cry that tore from the depths of his soul, Caelum brought the blade down, punching the beast with such force that the ground itself collapsed.
The shockwave shattered the peak. Ice split, stone crumbled, and the Borealith crashed into the earth, its roars silenced.
Caelum landed hard, his body trembling, his breath ragged. He stared at the fallen guardian; disbelief etched across his face.
"I… I did that?" His voice shook. He looked at his hands, at the sword still glowing faintly. "After all the pain, the blood, the sweat… this strength… it's real. Just a glimpse, but enough."
He staggered toward Eric, kneeling beside him. "You're right, old man. Patience. But next time, leave the tea alone."
The mountain was silent now, save for Caelum's ragged breathing. The Borealith lay unconscious, the guardian defeated but not slain. And for the first time, Caelum felt the strength he had fought so hard to reach—a strength born not of anger, but of endurance.
The hunters waited for nightfall, the cold biting at their bones as the torches of Frostmaw Hollow flickered in the distance.
Rhyven broke the silence first, his voice low but restless. "We've wasted enough time. Let's strike before dawn."
Garrick shook his head, adjusting the fletching on his arrows. "Strike blind and we die blind. We need a plan."
Seris crouched, her eyes fixed on the fortress walls. "Then we vote. One of us goes in, the other two create a distraction. It's the only way."
The Whisperstone pulsed faintly as they cast their votes. In the end, the decision was clear—Seris would infiltrate, while Garrick and Rhyven thinned the sentries from afar.
Rhyven smirked, gripping his bow. "Fine. But if you get caught, don't expect me to sneak in after you. I'll be cutting my way through the front."
Seris gave him a sharp look. "That's exactly why you're staying outside. You're too loud."
Garrick chuckled under his breath. "She's not wrong."
When the signal came, arrows flew into the night. Silent, precise, they struck goblins one after another, dropping them before they could cry out. Panic rippled along the walls as shadows fell.
Seris slipped inside, daggers glinting faintly. She moved like smoke, hugging the shadows, every step measured. A goblin turned the corner—her blade flashed, and he fell without a sound.
She whispered a chant, her hands weaving a sigil. Purple light shimmered, wrapping around her form. Her body shifted, her face twisting until she wore the visage of the fallen goblin. She pulled the hood low and walked deeper into the caves.
The tunnels were vast, carved into the mountain like veins. The stench of rot and smoke filled the air. She pressed forward until she reached a chamber—and froze.
A throne room.
But instead of trophies, cages lined the walls. Women and children huddled inside, their eyes hollow, their cries muffled. Chains rattled as goblins jeered, tossing scraps into the cages.
Seris's heart clenched. So this is what they're building… not just an army, but a prison of souls.
Outside, Garrick loosed another arrow, dropping a sentry from the battlements. He exhaled, his voice tight. "She's been gone too long."
Rhyven growled, his patience fraying. "I told you this was a mistake. She should've let me go in. At least I wouldn't be skulking around like a rat."
Garrick shot him a glare. "And you'd be dead before you reached the gate. She knows what she's doing."
Rhyven's hand tightened on his sword. "Then why hasn't she answered the Whisperstone?"
The stone lay cold in Garrick's palm. No pulse, no signal. His jaw tightened. "If she's in trouble, we go in. No more waiting."
Before they could move, the ground shook.
A series of explosions erupted inside the fortress, fire and smoke tearing through the tunnels. Goblins screamed, their cries mingling with the shrieks of prisoners. A roar followed—deep, guttural, filled with hatred louder than the rest.
Rhyven's eyes widened. "What in the gods' names was that?"
Garrick nocked another arrow, his voice grim. "Something worse than goblins."
The gates burst open, smoke billowing out. And from the shadows, Seris emerged, her face streaked with blood and ash, a child clutched tightly in her arms.
Rhyven rushed forward, his voice sharp. "Seris! What happened in there?"
She staggered, her breath ragged. "A throne room… cages filled with women and children. They're not just raiding—they're breeding war. And something else… something stronger than goblins. I don't know what it was, but it hates us. It hates everything."
The child whimpered, clinging to her cloak. Garrick's face hardened, his voice low. "Then we've seen enough. We need to get back to the Sanctuary. Now."
Rhyven's hand tightened on his sword, his eyes burning. "No. We strike while they're wounded. End it here."
Seris shook her head, her voice firm despite the tremor in it. "You didn't see what I saw. If we charge now, we die. And the Sanctuary dies with us."
The three hunters stood in the snow, the fortress burning behind them, the cries of prisoners echoing in their ears. The stakes had never been higher.