The wind howled across the frozen peaks as Caelum dragged Eric back to their campsite. His mentor's shoulder was torn, blood seeping through the bandages, but his breathing was steady. Caelum knelt beside him, tightening the wrappings.
"You'll live," he muttered, more to himself than to Eric. "You always do."
Eric groaned faintly, but sleep claimed him.
Caelum sat in silence for a long moment, staring at the cave mouth below. The cave Eric had insisted on exploring. The cave that had nearly cost them their lives.
"…Fine," he whispered, rising to his feet. "If you want your damned herbs, I'll see what's inside. But don't blame me if I find nothing but bones."
The climb down was slow, the snow crunching beneath his boots. He passed the battlefield where the Borealith had unleashed its breath. Shattered trees lay frozen, cliffs broken, the scars of battle etched into the mountain itself.
Something glinted in the snow. Caelum bent down, his heart skipping.
"My sword…" He lifted it, the steel cold against his hand. Relief washed over him. "Thank the gods. If Eric was here, he'd never let me hear the end of it."
He strapped it to his waist beside the other, the twin blades reunited. "Lost it after the breath attack. Figures. At least now I'm whole again."
The cave loomed ahead, dark and silent. Caelum lit his torch, the flame flickering against the stone.
"Alright, let's see what was worth nearly dying for."
Inside, treasures glittered faintly—coins, weapons, Armor piled in heaps. But scattered among them were bones. Not animals. Hunters. Monsters.
He frowned. "Not animals? Strange. Must be a picky eater… or something worse."
The torchlight danced across the walls as he ventured deeper. More treasure. More bones. And finally, herbs growing in cracks of stone, pale and delicate.
Caelum snorted. "Ah, the herbs. Worth less than my life, but here they are. Eric better make the finest tea in the world."
Then he saw it.
A small skeleton, silver hair still clinging to the skull, a torn dress draped across fragile bones. The wound in the stomach was jagged, cruel.
Caelum froze, his throat tightening.
"…A child." His voice was barely a whisper. "A girl. Highborn, by the look of her clothes. What were you doing here?"
He knelt, the torch trembling in his hand.
"You should've been safe in a hall, not… not here. Not like this."
Beside her lay a small box. Caelum opened it slowly, reverently. Inside was a ring, silver and delicate, untouched by time.
He stared at it, the weight of silence pressing down.
"…A gift? A promise? Or just something you carried because it was all you had left?" He swallowed hard, his voice breaking. "I'm sorry. Whoever you were… I'm sorry."
The torch flickered, shadows stretching across the cave. Caelum closed the box, his hands shaking.
"Eric wanted herbs. I found something else. Something that should never have been here."
He rose, the ring heavy in his pocket, the image of silver hair burned into his mind.
"Rest now," he whispered to the bones. "I'll carry your story with me."
Bonds Forged in Winter
Caelum trudged back to the campsite, his arms heavy with herbs and treasure. The torchlight flickered against the snow, and he muttered to himself as he walked.
"This will help the Sanctuary a lot… Miriam will be proud. She's probably reading right now, like always. Loves her books. Hah—looks like I found the perfect gift for her." He glanced at the tome tucked under his arm, sighing. "Too bad I can't read. Maybe I was a learned man once, before I ended up here. Guess I'll never know."
He pushed into the camp, dropping the bag beside the fire. Eric was awake, sitting up with a grimace, his shoulder bandaged but still bleeding through.
"Did you get the herbs?" Eric asked, his voice rough.
Caelum rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'm fine too. Just a minor scratch, defeated the great beast, carried you up the mountain… you're welcome, by the way." His sarcasm dripped like ice.
Before he could continue, Eric cut him off. "Thank you… for saving me."
Caelum blinked, caught off guard. "Wait. Did you just say thank you? Are you okay, old timer? Did the medicine hit too hard?" He smirked, setting down the bag. "You're scaring me."
Eric's gaze was steady, his tone serious. "Caelum. Stop. I mean it. I owe you my life."
Caelum froze, the humor fading from his face. "You're serious?"
Eric nodded. "But don't let it get to your head. You wouldn't beat that bear on your best day. It was tired—wounded from its own breath attack, and from being woken too early from hibernation."
Caelum snorted, leaning back. "And whose fault was that? Remind me again who wanted to poke around in its cave for tea?"
Eric chuckled despite the pain. "Ah, yes. Tea. Worth every claw mark."
Caelum laughed, shaking his head. "You're unbelievable. One day, you'll get me killed for a cup of tea."
Eric's smile softened, his voice quieter now. "Maybe. But today, you saved me. And that means something."
For a moment, silence hung between them, broken only by the crackle of the fire. Caelum looked at Eric, really looked at him—not just as the gruff teacher who barked orders, but as someone who trusted him, someone who saw him as more than a student.
"…You're not so bad, old man," Caelum muttered.
Eric smirked. "And you're not as hopeless as I thought."
Caelum grinned. "Careful. If you keep complimenting me, I might start thinking we're friends."
Eric leaned back, closing his eyes. "Friends, family… call it what you want. Just don't forget—you still have a lot to learn."
Before Caelum could reply, the Whisperstone pulsed in his bag. A voice rang out—the priestess. Urgent, sharp.
Caelum's eyes widened. "What… how is this possible?"
Eric's hand shot up, his tone firm. "Quiet. I'll explain later."
Caelum stared at him, suspicion and curiosity burning in his chest. But for now, he said nothing. The fire crackled, the wind howled, and for the first time, he felt the bond between them—teacher and student, yes, but also something deeper. Something like family.
The Whisperstone's Call
The Whisperstone pulsed in Eric's hand, its glow cutting through the dim light of dawn. Then came Elira's voice, trembling with urgency.
"Eric… the scouting party has returned. They bring terrible news. Please—bring Caelum and be at the Sanctuary by tomorrow. I beg you."
The stone dimmed, leaving only silence.
Caelum stared, wide‑eyed. "What was that? Who was that? What scouting party? And what in the gods' name is that glowing rock? And why did she sound like the world was ending?" His words tumbled out in a rush, his voice rising with each question.
Eric groaned, rubbing his temple. "One question at a time, boy. You're worse than the wind in winter."
Caelum crossed his arms, glaring. "Fine. Start with the shiny rock."
Eric held up the Whisperstone. "This is a Whisperstone. No, you cannot have it. It's expensive, rare, and made of enchanted runestones for short‑distance communication."
Caelum leaned closer, eyes wide. "So it's like… talking through air?"
Eric smirked. "Something like that. But again—no, you cannot have it."
Caelum huffed. "Figures."
Eric began dismantling the tent, his movements slow but practiced despite his wound. "As for the scouting party… I'll explain on the way down the mountain. Now pack up."
Caelum muttered under his breath but obeyed, gathering the herbs and treasure. He paused, staring at Eric's small, worn bag. "Wait. You want me to put the treasure, the books, the armor, and the herbs… into this tiny bag?"
Eric didn't look up, busy folding the canvas. "It's a Neverfull Bag. I don't know how it's made, but you can store more in it than any other bag. Nobody knows the limit."
Caelum blinked, baffled. "So it's magic?"
Eric shrugged. "Of course it's magic. And no, you cannot have it. It was given to me by someone special."
The last words carried weight, soft and final. Caelum's face fell, disappointment flickering across his features. He muttered, "Figures again."
By the time they finished packing, dawn had broken. The sky blazed with pale fire, the mountain winds biting at their faces. Eric mounted his horse, grim determination in his eyes.
Caelum adjusted the twin swords at his waist, tightening his cloak. "So you ride, and I walk? Typical."
Eric smirked down at him. "Consider it training. Besides, you're faster on foot than I am on horseback."
Caelum rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the grin tugging at his lips. "One day, old man, I'll make you carry me."
Eric chuckled, the sound warm despite the cold. "When that day comes, I'll know you've truly surpassed me."
Together, teacher and student—family in all but name—began their descent from Coldspire, the weight of Elira's words pressing heavy on their shoulders.
Three days earlier, the scouting party had begun their retreat. With the rescued child clutched close, they fought their way through goblin scouts at every turn. Seris never spoke of what she had seen inside the caves. Garrick tried once, his voice low, but when he saw the boy's hollow eyes and the fear etched across Seris's face, he held his tongue. Rhyven, too, wanted answers, but the silence between them was heavier than steel.
What should have taken a week, they completed in three days. By the time they staggered into the Sanctuary, their boots were torn, their gear gone, their horses lost. Only their weapons remained, blood‑stained and battered. The child clung to life by a thread, his breath shallow, his skin pale.
Priestess Elira had prepared for the worst. She rushed to the boy, her hands glowing faintly as she worked to save him. Relief washed over the hunters when his breathing steadied. But before any words of comfort could be exchanged, Seris straightened, her face pale but resolute.
"Priestess," she said, her voice hoarse. "Gather the elders. We need to speak. Now."
The council chamber was dim, lit only by flickering lanterns. Elira sat at the head, her expression grave. Around her, elders from nearby villages leaned forward, their faces lined with worry. Garrick and Rhyven stood at Seris's side, silent but tense.
One of the elders, a frail man with a trembling voice, broke the silence. "I suppose… there is no good news?"
Seris shook her head, her hands clenched at her sides. "No, old man. It's worse than we thought."
The room stilled.
"They've fortified the cave," she continued, her voice faltering. "Walls, sentries, outposts. And inside…" She swallowed hard, her eyes flickering with the memory. "Inside, there were cages. Women. Children. Hunters stripped of their gear. And the goblins—hundreds, thousands—wearing Armor fashioned from the slain. Training. Drilling. Preparing."
Gasps rippled through the chamber.
Elira's eyes narrowed. "So that explains why they haven't moved. They're not raiding anymore. They're building."
Seris nodded, her voice trembling but firm. "Yes. And the one leading them… was no ordinary goblin. A General. And with him—three red goblins."
The words struck like a blade. The elders recoiled, whispers breaking out.
"Red goblins?" one elder hissed. "Impossible. Those are myths."
Another slammed his fist against the table. "If they have red goblins, then we are doomed. No army can stand against them."
The frail elder shook his head, despair heavy in his voice. "We are finished. The Sanctuary will fall."
Seris's jaw tightened. She met their eyes, her fear burning into resolve. "Maybe. Maybe we are doomed. But I will not sit idle while they march. I saw what they are building. I saw the cages. If we do nothing, every village, every child, will suffer the same fate."
Rhyven stepped forward, his voice sharp. "Then we fight. Better to die with steel in hand than wait for slaughter."
Garrick shot him a glare. "And rush headlong into their fortress? You'd be dead before you reached the gates. We need strategy, not suicide."
Elira raised her hand, silencing them. Her voice was calm but heavy with sorrow. "Seris, you've seen the truth. And now we all know the stakes. This is no longer a war of raids. This is an army rising in the dark. If we falter, the Sanctuary will be the first to burn."
The room fell silent, the weight of her words pressing down like the winter snow.
Seris lowered her gaze, her voice quiet but steady. "Then we prepare. Whatever comes, we stand together. Or we fall alone."
A Fragile Hope
The council chamber was heavy with silence, the air thick with smoke from the lanterns. Seris stood at the centre, her shoulders rigid, her face pale. Garrick and Rhyven flanked her, but even they could feel the weight pressing down.
"I… I have some good news," Seris began, her voice trembling.
The elders leaned forward, eyes desperate for hope.
"Before I made my retreat," she continued, "I placed Boomstone strategically—on their food supply, on the walls of the caves…" Her voice faltered, her hands tightening. "…and on the walls of the prison."
The words hung in the air like a blade.
An elder shot to his feet, his voice sharp with fury. "So you killed the prisoners!"
Seris flinched, her gaze dropping to the floor. Shame burned across her face. She couldn't meet their eyes.
"Look at me," the elder demanded, his voice trembling with grief. "Tell me why you thought it was your right to kill your own instead of rescuing them?"
Seris's lips parted, but no words came. Her throat tightened, her chest heavy.
Before Elira or Garrick could speak, the chief of Bellowood rose. He bowed deeply, his voice steady but sorrowful. "Thank you, Seris. Thank you for carrying the guilt none of us could bear. You saved them."
The elder who had shouted turned on him, his face twisted. "Saved them? She destroyed them!"
The chief's eyes hardened. "No. I know the nature of goblins too well. The women would have been used to breed more goblins. The children and men—sustenance. They take their time, savouring the helplessness, the desperation, the fear. That is not life. That is torment. Seris spared them from a fate worse than death."
The chamber fell silent. Seris's hands trembled, her nails digging into her palms. "I… I didn't want to. I thought… maybe I could save them. But when I saw their eyes, their chains… I knew. I knew what awaited them. And I couldn't leave them to that." Her voice cracked, tears threatening. "So I chose. And now I carry it."
Elira stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. "The chief is right. It was better to end their suffering than keep them alive through hell. And based on what Seris has done, we have a new hope after all."
The elder who had shouted sneered. "Hope? Pray tell, what hope is this, Priestess?"
Elira met his gaze, her tone unwavering. "Seris destroyed their food supply and caved in their tunnels. With winter coming, we have—give or take—a year to prepare before their onslaught. That is enough time for our friends from Eldwyn'myr to send reinforcements."
A frail old woman shook her head, her voice bitter. "You want to place our hope in the Elven Saint? In promises from a people who have not walked these snows in generations?"
Elira's eyes softened, but her voice carried steel. "Yes. Because without them, we cannot stand. And in the meantime, I ask you all—move your people here. We make our stand at the Sanctuary until help arrives."
The elders exchanged glances, fear etched into their faces. Some nodded reluctantly, others muttered in despair.
The meeting ended, the weight of decisions pressing heavier than the winter sky.
Outside, Seris leaned against the wall, her breath ragged. The chief of Bellowood approached, his voice gentle. "You did what none of us could. You carried the guilt so others would not have to."
Seris shook her head, her voice breaking. "Don't thank me. I killed them. I hear their cries every time I close my eyes. I don't know if I'll ever forgive myself."
Elira placed a hand on her shoulder, her eyes kind but firm. "You chose mercy in the only way left to you. That burden is yours, yes—but it is also ours. You are not alone, Seris."
Seris swallowed hard, her voice trembling. "Then let me fight. Let me carry this guilt into battle. If I cannot save them, I will save the ones still living."
Elira nodded, her voice quiet but resolute. "And you will. We all will. But tonight, rest. Tomorrow, the world changes."