Winter came to Thornhaven with surprising force.
konstant had felt cold before freezing nights in the cabin, early mornings where his breath fogged the air. But winter in Excelsior was different. It wasn't just cold, but a cold that seeped into the bones, that turned the air almost solid and made every breath hurt the lungs.
The forest changed completely. Trees that had been green and vibrant were now bare, black branches against a gray sky. Snow fell in large flakes that weren't exactly white they had a slightly bluish tinge, a reflection of the solar ring even through the clouds. The ground became covered in layer after layer, transforming familiar trails into an alien landscape.
"Winter is when true hunters prove themselves," Gareth said as they prepared to head out on a particularly brutal morning. "Anyone can track in summer. Winter... winter tests you."
He wasn't wrong. Tracking in the snow was paradoxically easier and harder. Footprints were obvious, but the cold dulled the senses, made movements slow and clumsy, made mistakes more dangerous because hypothermia was a konstant threat.
konstant learned to recognize the signs of frostbite, to build temporary shelters from snow and branches, and to make fire even when everything was wet and frozen. Gareth demanded more from him in winter, testing not just his capabilities, but his mental endurance.
"Cold kills more than any predator," Gareth said konstantly. "Respect it or it will kill you."
Luna appeared less in the forest during winter, which was too dangerous for a six year old when temperatures dropped below freezing. But she grew restless when cooped up inside, and whenever the weather was minimally tolerable, she begged to come along.
"I can handle it!" she insisted, bundled in layers of fur and wool until she looked twice her normal size. "I'm not made of sugar, I won't melt in the snow!"
Gareth usually gave in, but kept the expeditions short on those days. And konstant noticed how the hunter always stayed closer to Luna when they were out, more vigilant, as if winter brought dangers beyond the cold.
"You worry about her a lot," konstant commented one day when Luna had run ahead momentarily.
"She's all I have," Gareth replied simply. "After I lost my own family... Luna gave me a reason to not just exist. To actually live again." He looked to where Luna was making a snow angel. "When her parents disappeared... I saw a chance to maybe make up for not saving my own. A second chance."
It was more emotional vulnerability than Gareth usually showed. konstant didn't know what to say, so he just nodded in understanding.
"You're good for her too," Gareth continued. "You're better than me at some things. I know how to survive, hunt, and fight. But when it comes to talking about feelings, processing loss..." he shrugged, uncomfortable. "Not my specialty. You do that better."
"I don't do that much."
"You listen. You let her talk about her parents without making her feel awkward. You answer with honesty, instead of trying to make her stop hurting." Gareth adjusted the bow on his back. "It's important. Don't underestimate that."
konstant fell silent. It made him think about his own role, not just as a hunter's apprentice, but as... what? A substitute brother? A friend? An emotional anchor?
Whatever it was, he took it seriously. Luna deserved someone who took her emotions seriously.
For Keiko, winter meant less outdoor work and more indoor work.
Mira pulled her completely into the apothecary, teaching more complex preparations that required konstant heat and precise attention. Ointments that needed to be heated to exact temperatures. Tinctures that took weeks to infuse properly. Powders that had to be ground to a consistency so fine it felt like silk.
"In winter, we make stock for the whole year," Mira explained. "In summer, we collect. Autumn is for preserving. Winter for preparing. Spring for planting, and the cycle begins again."
There was a rhythm to the work, a pattern Keiko was beginning to appreciate. It wasn't random chaos, as she had initially thought. It was a well thought out system, tested by generations.
Mira also began teaching more theory, not just practice. How different herbs interacted, why certain combinations were dangerous, how dosage completely changed a substance's effect.
"Dreamleaf in small quantity helps sleep," Mira said while they showed different jars. "Medium quantity causes deep sleep for hours. Large quantity causes coma. Excessive quantity causes death. The line between medicine and poison is often just a matter of measure."
It was an enormous responsibility. Keiko would hold a small jar of innocent looking powder and know that the wrong amount could kill someone. It was frightening. But it also made the work feel even more important.
"You have good hands now," Mira commented, watching Keiko prepare a complex mixture. "Steady. Confident. They don't tremble anymore."
It was true. The hands that had been soft and useless, that shook with nerves and inexperience, now moved with purpose and precision. Calloused, stained with herbs, but competent.
"Next year you will treat simple patients on your own," Mira continued. "Basic injuries, common illnesses. Under supervision initially, but on your own."
Keiko felt a mixture of pride and fear. "What if I make a mistake? What if I hurt someone?"
"Then learn from the mistake. But you won't make a mistake if you follow what I taught you. You are careful when needed. That is good." Mira paused. "You were a spoiled child when you arrived. Irritating and dramatic, thinking the world should make everything easy for you."
"Thank you?" Keiko said sarcastically.
"I'm not finished. You were those things. You are not anymore. Or, at least, not as much." Mira's expression softened slightly. "You grew up. You learned the value of real work. Of contribution. Of being useful. That is good. It made you a better person."
Coming from Mira, it was practically a full emotional speech. Keiko felt something tighten in her throat.
"You made me better too," she said quietly. "Even though you're tough and impatient. Or maybe because of it. No one ever... no one ever expected me to actually do important things before. They always protected me from everything."
"Excessive protection is not love. It is fear." Mira returned to her work. "True care is teaching a person to defend themselves, giving them tools to survive. You have those tools now. Use them."
It was a lesson Keiko was beginning to internalize. And despite everything, despite still desperately missing home, there was genuine gratitude for Mira having forced her to grow.
Raid discovered that winter in the fields was a quieter period, but no less important.
Many plants were dormant under the snow, but the work didn't stop. There were structures to repair before heavy snow broke them. Tools to keep in perfect condition. Planning for spring planting. And, surprisingly, there were greenhouses.
Thornhaven had three small structures made of wood and something that looked like glass but was more resilient, where delicate plants were kept during winter. Tomos took Raid to help care for them.
"These are special," Tomos explained, pointing to plants Raid didn't recognize. "They only grow in warmth. Used for rare medicines, expensive spices. Worth the effort to keep alive during the cold."
Working in the greenhouses was different from the open field. It was more intimate, more delicate. And Raid discovered his natural affinity worked in subtle but present ways.
The soil he touched became slightly more compacted, more stable. When he stepped, he left shallower footprints than others, as if the earth beneath his feet supported him better. When digging holes for transplanting, the earth moved more easily under his hands, almost cooperating.
Tomos watched everything with growing silent approval.
"You have a rare gift," he said one day, watching Raid work the soil with his hands. "Very rare. In past generations, people with your talent were essential. Earth that recognizes you does not crumble, does not fail. It is a reliable foundation."
"Why does the earth do this?" Raid asked, looking at his own dirty hands.
"Because it recognizes something in you. Something solid, firm." Tomos stamped his foot on the ground. "The earth does not respond to just anyone. Only to those who have... a foundation. Inner stability, even if you don't yet know you have it."
Raid didn't feel stable. He didn't feel firm. But the earth seemed to disagree.
"When you go to Aethérion, if you are accepted... they will train you to develop this further. To do things beyond just feeling the earth respond."
"Like what?"
"Shaping. Controlling. Using the earth as an extension of yourself." Tomos gestured vaguely. "I don't know the details. I was never a Mystic. But I saw one once, many years ago. He raised a solid stone wall with just a hand movement. Made the earth obey as if it were his own will."
Raid tried to imagine doing something like that. It seemed like fantasy, far beyond what his hands could do now. But if the earth was already responding to his touch...
"It frightens you to think about it," Tomos observed.
"A little."
"It's natural. Power frightens. Especially when you didn't ask for it." Tomos put a heavy hand on Raid's shoulder. "But power itself is not good or bad. It is a tool. It depends on how you use it. And you..." he squeezed lightly, "you have a good heart. You will use it well."
It was a confidence Raid didn't know if he deserved. But he wanted to deserve it. He wanted to very much.
In the tenth month, strange things began to happen.
They were subtle at first. Animals acting strangely, birds flying in erratic patterns, nocturnal creatures coming out during the day, peaceful herbivores becoming aggressive for no reason.
Gareth was the first to notice. "Something is wrong," he murmured during a patrol. "The behavior is... off. Very wrong."
konstant had noticed it too. The forest felt different. That feeling of being watched had intensified, and sometimes he swore he saw shadows moving in the corners of his vision that disappeared when he looked directly at them.
"Do you think it's the creatures?" he asked. "The ones that hunt Mystics?"
"Perhaps. Or perhaps something else." Gareth inspected footprints in the snow that seemed... wrong somehow. Too deep, irregular shape. "The barriers around the village are strong. Aldric checks them regularly. But the forest is large. If something is entering Excelsior from the places between worlds..."
He didn't finish, but he didn't need to. The implication was clear.
Luna also grew more nervous, though she tried to hide it. She stayed closer to Gareth and konstant when they were out, wandered less, konstantly looked over her shoulder.
"You feel it too?" konstant asked one day when he caught her staring intently at the tree line with an expression too serious for a six year old.
"There's something wrong in the forest," she said quietly. "Like... like before my parents disappeared. The air felt heavy like this. The shadows got darker. And then..."
"And then they vanished."
She nodded. "Gareth says I'm imagining things. That it's just bad memory making me see patterns that aren't there. But I feel it. Something is wrong."
konstant believed her. He felt it too, that instinct of a predator sensing another predator nearby. And if Luna had felt this before her parents disappeared...
He mentioned it to Aldric when he saw him a few days later. The man grew very quiet and serious.
"I will reinforce the barriers. And warn the guards to double their watches." He looked at konstant. "If you feel anything specific, anything concrete, tell me immediately. Understood?"
"Understood."
But nothing concrete manifested. Just that persistent feeling of unease, like a storm forming on the horizon.
In the eleventh month, the ring around the sun began to pulse.
Not konstantly, and not obviously. But occasionally, at random moments, the bright blue would intensify for seconds before returning to normal.
The village people began to murmur. Aldric grew visibly more worried, though he tried to hide it.
"Has the ring pulsed before?" Keiko asked when she saw it happen for the third time in a week.
"Rarely," Mira answered, also looking at the sky with a furrowed brow. "Not in my lifetime. But there are ancient records mentioning it. It always preceded... changes. Usually not good ones."
"Changes like what?"
"Wars. Natural disasters. The emergence of great threats." Mira lowered her gaze. "But it could also mean nothing. The sky is the sky. Sometimes things happen for no reason."
But she didn't sound convinced. No one sounded convinced.
The night watches were doubled. Guards walked the village perimeter more frequently. Villagers were instructed not to wander off alone, especially children.
konstant, Keiko, and Raid met every night now, a ritual that had become essential. They shared observations, concerns, the small strange signs each had noticed.
"The plants in the greenhouses got agitated," Raid reported. "Like... vibrating. No wind, no reason. Just vibrating."
"Animals in the forest are migrating earlier," konstant added. "Birds that should stay until spring have already left. And predators are more aggressive."
"Mira is making extra stock of injury remedies," Keiko said. "Said it's a precaution. But she never does 'precaution'. She always has a specific reason."
They exchanged looks, all thinking the same thing, but no one wanting to say it aloud.
Something was coming.
In the twelfth month, when they were just weeks away from completing a full year, the village prepared for the Spring Festival a celebration of winter ending and the new season beginning.
It should have been a joyful time. Families planning feasts, children excited about traditional games, special food being prepared.
But there was tension underneath everything. Smiles didn't reach eyes. Laughter sounded forced. The watches remained doubled.
And then, three days before the festival, Luna disappeared.