After traveling for two, maybe three hours since sunrise, they had left the last of the fir trees behind, moving into open terrain dotted by jagged stone and wind-blown drifts. Kaavi’s senses had tensed. He had felt something.

  Or rather, his raven had

  “Blood,” Kaavi had muttered, crouching by the faint smear on a nearby rock.

  Kaavi crouched beside it, frowning.

  Viktor knelt beside him; brows drawn in concern. “Wounded animal?”

  Kaavi shook his head. “Too consistent. Too human.”

  Without another word, his raven, perched silently on Kaavi’s shoulder until now, flapped its wings and took flight. Kaavi’s fingers twitched ever so slightly; eyes fluttering shut for a heartbeat as he sent a silent thought outward.

  Search.

  The bird vanished into the sky.

  They followed the trail uphill, the drops of blood becoming thicker, scattered across a ridge dusted in pale ice. The wind howled through bare branches. Every shadow in the snow looked like it could be a fallen figure.

  Then the raven let out a sharp, singular caw.

  Kaavi stopped.

  “There,” he said quietly, and pointed toward a small clearing ahead.

  And that’s when they saw him.

  A man lay half-buried in the snow, slumped against the frozen corpse of a horse.

  When he spoke again, it was grim. “There’s someone ahead.”

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  The three of them—Kaavi, Viktor, and Gavril—pressed forward. The boy kept close to Kaavi’s side, while Gavril lagged slightly behind, his sharp eyes darting between the rocks and snowdrifts like a wolf on edge.

  It didn’t take long before they saw the collapsed horse first.

  It lay on its side, ribs jutting out, foam crusted around its mouth. The poor beast had run itself to death. Its legs had snapped beneath it, and it had dragged its body a few more meters before finally giving in. The blood trail resumed beyond it, thinner now.

  Then, nestled beneath a shallow rock outcrop, was the man.

  Kaavi dropped to a knee without a word. The fire had been built hastily—more smoke than flame, hidden beneath stones and a heap of dry twigs. But even that was fading.

  Viktor stared, wide-eyed. He had never seen a man in such a state.

  The soldier, however, still clung to life.

  Barely.

  His armour was bloodied and dented, but what stood out most was the crest: a silver wolf’s head on a navy-blue field.

  Kaavi’s gaze narrowed.

  A noble house. A soldier.

  Kaavi approached carefully, scanning the surrounding snow for traps or movement. But there were no signs of ambush—only the bitter wind and silence.

  The raven circled once more overhead, then landed on a frost-covered branch and went still.

  Kaavi knelt beside the man. The soldier’s skin was pale and clammy, lips cracked from exposure. His gauntlets were cracked. His side had been hastily bandaged with a bloodied cloth, soaked through and stiff. But Kaavi saw something else—cuts that were too deliberate. Deep bruises around his wrists. Burn marks on his arms.

  Torture.

  They hadn’t just attacked him. They’d played with him. Left him to die in the cold.

  “They thought he wouldn’t make it,” Kaavi muttered. “So, they let the snow do the rest.”

  Gavril’s eyes hardened. “Scouts.”

  Kaavi turned slightly.

  “The ones from yesterday,” Gavril said. “The ones we saw crossing near the stream. They were tracking someone.”

  Kaavi nodded slowly. “And now we know who.”

  Gavril stepped forward; eyes locked on the soldier’s armour. “That crest… House Draeger. They hold the northern pass.”

  Kaavi glanced up.

  “They’ve been under siege for weeks. Last I heard, they were close to breaking. If they sent a lone messenger this far, it means it’s worse than anyone thought.”

  This wasn’t their war—but fate had set it in their path.

  He turned to Viktor. “Get the firestones from my pack.”

  The boy nodded and scrambled to retrieve them.

  Kaavi shrugged off his cloak and wrapped it around the soldier’s chest. The raven remained above, watching the clearing in silence.

  Kaavi moved quickly—hands steady, thoughts racing. The scouts had failed to kill the messenger.

  The wind howled, carrying snow like daggers across the clearing.

  This night was far from over.