The cold settled thick over Whistler’s Rise.

  A pale dawn light filtered through low clouds, turning the snow-covered roofs into dull silver shapes. Smoke coiled sluggishly from chimneys, but few windows glowed yet. The village still slept, wrapped in its illusion of peace.

  Kaavi stood alone in the tavern yard, tightening the straps on his pack. Frost rimmed his eyebrows and the edge of his beard. His breath ghosted in the air. He watched the horizon in silence, as if expecting it to shift, to peel back and reveal whatever waited in the east.

  Behind him, the tavern door creaked open.

  Viktor stepped out, blinking against the cold. The thick cloak Kaavi had given him hung heavy on his shoulders, and his pack bounced slightly with each step as he approached.

  "It’s early," he said.

  Kaavi didn’t look back. "That’s the point."

  Viktor stood beside him, following his gaze. The sky was a strange mix of blue and grey, as if even the sun hesitated to rise today.

  "You didn’t sleep much," Kaavi said.

  "Neither did you."

  Kaavi gave a small grunt of agreement. "There’s a storm coming, we should move early."

  Viktor nodded. The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It never was. It just felt like something waiting to break.

  A few minutes later, Gavril appeared, rubbing his arms and muttering under his breath. He looked like he’d slept in his boots.

  "No one sane should be walking in this," he said, eyeing the sky. "But I guess we left sanity back on the mountain."

  Kaavi didn’t smile, but his eyes softened slightly. "We move quiet. Don’t draw attention."

  Gavril gave a mock salute. "As if I ever do."

  They left the village with little fanfare. A dog barked once in the distance. Somewhere a rooster crowed half-heartedly. No one watched them go.

  The road twisted east through brittle woods. Pines towered over them, black against the pale sky, their trunks slick with frost. The snow here was deeper, untrodden. Viktor walked near the front, close to Kaavi, and every so often his boots slipped. Gavril lagged slightly behind, humming tunelessly under his breath.

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  An hour passed.

  The only sounds were the crunch of snow and the occasional caw of a crow, distant and echoing. It reminded Viktor of Kaavi's raven, the one that used to scout for them. They hadn’t seen it in days.

  "Will it come back?" Viktor asked suddenly.

  Kaavi didn’t pretend not to know what he meant. "If it finds something worth telling."

  "And if it doesn’t?"

  Kaavi looked ahead. "Then we rely on our own eyes. Relying on your own abilities is much important."

  Viktor fell silent, chewing the inside of his cheek.

  They crossed a half-frozen stream by walking single-file along a fallen tree. Gavril nearly slipped, caught himself with a curse, and grumbled all the way to the other side.

  By mid-morning, the clouds had thickened. The wind picked up, sharp and dry. Kaavi stopped at a bend in the path, scanning the trees.

  "We need to take shelter soon."

  "Why?" Gavril asked. "We’re still half a day out."

  Kaavi knelt, brushing snow from a patch of earth. Underneath, the ground was soft. Damp. Not yet frozen.

  "The storm’s ahead of schedule. If it hits while we’re exposed... we won’t make it to the manor."

  They didn’t argue.

  They pressed on for another stretch, quicker now. Kaavi moved with purpose, taking side paths where the snow lay less thick, circling rocky outcrops, scanning every rise and dip for signs of shelter.

  Eventually, they found it.

  An old hunting shelter—little more than a stone half-dome, wedged into the base of a hill and mostly overgrown with vines and snow. But the roof held, and it faced away from the wind. Inside, it smelled of old ash and pine.

  Kaavi ducked inside first, checking the corners. Then he motioned the others in.

  Viktor sat near the entrance, grateful to be out of the wind.

  "It’s not the manor," Gavril said, "but it’s dry. And I’ll take dry over fancy."

  Kaavi set a small fire using dry pine needles and a flint from his pack. The flames caught slowly, but they burned hot. The warmth filled the small space in uneven waves.

  "How far now?" Viktor asked.

  Gavril answered. He was crouched near the entrance, brushing frost from the rim of his boots.

  "Six hours, maybe less if we cut across the old ridge trail. Assuming the storm doesn’t flood the ravine."

  Viktor looked over, surprised. "You know the ridge?"

  "I've travelled this stretch more than once," Gavril said, tugging at his scarf. "Did a job near the Baron’s estate a few winters back. Guard duty. Boring work, but I learned the routes."

  Kaavi nodded in quiet approval. "Then you’ll lead when we move."

  Silence returned. The fire snapped softly.

  Gavril shifted; arms crossed. "If the manor's still standing, that is."

  Kaavi didn’t respond.

  Viktor stirred. "He trusted Darian, didn’t he?"

  Kaavi met his eyes. "Yes. If Darian gave his word, the Baron would’ve listened."

  Viktor's voice dropped. "But Darian’s gone."

  "He is."

  The fire cast their shadows long against the stone.

  A gust of wind struck the shelter, sharp and sudden. Snow rattled off the roof. Gavril stood and checked the entrance.

  "Storm’s pressing in harder. Just in case, we should take shifts," he said.

  Kaavi nodded. "I’ll take first."

  "I’ll take third," Viktor added without hesitation.

  Kaavi’s gaze lingered on him for a beat. "Alright. Gavril, wake him when your shift ends."

  The three settled in as the wind howled beyond the stone walls. Inside, the fire glowed soft and steady.

  And somewhere far beyond the trees, something else moved—silent, tireless, waiting.

  The road east was not yet done with them.

  Dear readers,

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