The snow was relentless.

  Each gust of wind felt like it carried a thousand needles, slicing through the layers of torn leather and threadbare wool I wore. My lips were cracked and frozen, every breath coming out in desperate, shallow gasps that misted the air in front of me. My hands, frostbitten and trembling, clutched the handle of a dimming lantern as if it were the only anchor keeping me tethered to life. The flame inside sputtered weakly, barely more than a flicker, but I couldn’t let it go out. Not yet.

  The forest loomed around me, an endless expanse of skeletal trees wrapped in frost. Their branches stretched skyward like the fingers of the damned, clawing at the storm clouds above. Somewhere behind me, the baying of hounds broke through the howling wind—a cruel reminder that I was not alone in these woods.

  They were still hunting me.

  I stumbled forward, my legs barely responding as I pushed through the knee-deep snow. My body screamed for rest, for warmth, for relief from the endless cold, but I knew better. Stopping meant death. I’d seen it before—fellow deserters who thought they could outlast the frost, their bodies turning to frozen statues before the sun rose.

  But I wasn’t just running from the cold.

  The image of Captain Vassel’s face was burned into my mind, his sneer twisting into something almost animalistic as he barked the order. “Kill them. Every last one.”

  The village had been nothing more than a collection of wooden shacks buried under a layer of snow, its people gaunt but kind. They had offered us bread and water, unaware that their act of charity had sealed their fate. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t raise my blade against women and children, against old men whose only crime was living too close to the wrong border. But the others? They obeyed. The screams had followed me long after I fled into the forest, and now the army hunted me as a traitor.

  Traitor.

  The word tasted bitter, even in the frozen wasteland of my mouth. But what else could I have done? The blood staining my comrades’ swords had nothing to do with honor or loyalty—it was madness, plain and simple. I’d seen enough of war to know the difference.

  Another howl cut through the night, closer this time. The dogs were gaining on me, their handlers not far behind. My heart pounded in my chest, a frantic rhythm that matched the crunch of my boots against the snow. I wouldn’t survive another encounter. My ribs still ached from the last skirmish, where I’d barely managed to fend off a pair of scouts. My sword had shattered on the first blow, leaving me with nothing but a broken hilt and a prayer.

  And yet, even now, part of me wondered if I deserved the hounds’ fangs. If they tore me apart here, in the belly of the woods, would it balance the scales? Would it erase the guilt that gnawed at me like a starving rat?

  My knees buckled, and I fell hard into the snow. The lantern slipped from my grasp, its weak light casting jagged shadows across the forest floor. My breath hitched as I scrambled to retrieve it, cradling it against my chest like a dying ember. I couldn’t stop. Not now.

  That was when I saw it.

  A light.

  It pierced through the storm like a blade, warm and golden, so starkly different from the cold, pale glow of the snow. For a moment, I thought I was hallucinating—just another trick of the frost claiming my senses. But no, it was real. It swayed gently, as if carried by some unseen hand, and with it came a faint hum, low and resonant, like the first note of a song too beautiful for mortal ears.

  I forced myself to my feet, my body trembling with the effort. The light grew brighter as I stumbled toward it, the snow parting before me as though it too were drawn to its glow. My heart hammered in my chest, not with fear but with something else—hope.

  The trees thinned as I approached, revealing a clearing bathed in golden light. At its center stood a creature unlike anything I had ever seen.

  A stag.

  Its coat was pure white, unmarred by dirt or shadow, and it shimmered as though it were made of frost and moonlight. Massive antlers crowned its head, each branch adorned with small lanterns that burned with the same golden light I had followed. They swayed gently, casting an otherworldly glow that turned the snow beneath them to gold.

  The stag turned its head toward me, and for a moment, I forgot the cold, the hounds, the army—all of it. Its eyes, deep and endless, locked onto mine, and I felt something stir within me, a warmth that spread through my chest and into my frozen limbs. It wasn’t just heat—it was life. A force so ancient and so vast that I couldn’t comprehend it.

  I fell to my knees, the lantern slipping from my grasp once more. The stag took a step forward, its hooves leaving no marks in the snow, and the hum I had heard earlier grew louder, filling the clearing with a resonance that seemed to vibrate in my very bones.

  “Are you here to save me?” I whispered, my voice hoarse and broken.

  The stag didn’t answer—not with words. Instead, it lowered its head, bringing the lanterns closer. Their light enveloped me, warm and blinding, and I felt my body relax, the pain and cold melting away like snow under the first rays of spring.

  But as the light consumed me, a voice—not my own—echoed in my mind.

  “Not to save you. To change you.”

  The light consumed everything.

  It was not the blinding, harsh light of a midday sun, nor the pale and distant glow of a winter moon. This was something alive—warm, golden, pulsing in time with a rhythm I could not place. It seemed to reach into me, finding every aching muscle, every broken bone, every frozen vein, and flooding it with something far greater than heat. It was renewal. Rebirth.

  I opened my eyes—or thought I did. The world had shifted, stripped of its frost-bitten palette and remade in hues of amber and gold. The clearing was vast now, far larger than it had been before, the edges of the forest stretching out into infinity. The trees were crowned with crystalline ice that shimmered like glass, their trunks alive with veins of liquid light. Above me, the sky was not dark but deep and endless, swirling with constellations I had never seen before.

  And there, at the center of it all, stood the stag.

  It was even more magnificent now, its form sharper, more real than anything else in this strange dream. Its antlers seemed to stretch forever, their lanterns burning brighter than before. The hum that filled the air—its voice, perhaps—resonated with impossible clarity, vibrating through the ground, the air, and my very soul.

  I tried to speak, to ask what this place was, but my voice failed me. Instead, the stag stepped closer, its movements impossibly graceful, and lowered its head until its lanterns hung just above me. Their light flickered and swayed, casting shadows that seemed to dance across my skin.

  When the voice came, it was everywhere—inside me, around me, as if the forest itself were speaking.

  “You seek shelter.”

  The words were simple, but they carried the weight of ages. I nodded, unsure if the creature could even understand such a small gesture.

  “Shelter is earned, not taken.”

  My heart sank. I had nothing left to offer, no strength, no weapons, no purpose. My hands hung limp at my sides, trembling from exhaustion. I tried to find the words to plead my case, but the stag’s voice cut through my thoughts before I could form them.

  “You fled, but you did not abandon your honor. You were hunted, but you did not hunt in return. You are broken, but not lost.”

  The stag tilted its head, and the lanterns’ light grew softer, warmer. I felt the weight of its gaze, not judgmental but searching, peeling back the layers of who I was and laying them bare. Every scar, every regret, every failure—I could feel it all rising to the surface, exposed under that unyielding golden light.

  For a moment, I thought I might break apart entirely.

  But then the light changed. It grew brighter, hotter, and the warmth that had filled me began to shift into something else. Power. It coursed through me, setting every nerve ablaze, making my body tremble and my vision blur. I gasped, clutching at the ground to steady myself, but the light only grew stronger, overwhelming me.

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  And then, suddenly, it was gone.

  I opened my eyes to find the stag standing above me, its antlers still aglow. The clearing had returned to its original size, the infinite forest replaced by the familiar trees of the mortal world. But something was different. I could feel it in my chest, in my limbs, in the air around me.

  I was not the same.

  The stag’s voice echoed once more, softer this time, almost gentle.

  “You are marked now. Bound to this place, to its power. You will carry the light into the darkness, and the darkness will fear you. But this gift is not without its price.”

  I swallowed hard, my throat dry and raw. “What price?”

  “To carry the light is to shoulder its weight. To guide is to fight. You will return to the world, and you will face those who hunt you—not to flee, but to stand. Not to destroy, but to protect. Do you accept this?”

  I hesitated. The thought of turning back, of facing the soldiers who had cast me out, made my stomach twist. But the alternative was worse. To keep running, to hide in the shadows while the innocent suffered—it was a fate I could not bear.

  “I accept,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

  The stag stepped back, raising its head high. The hum returned, louder now, filling the clearing with its resonance. The lanterns on its antlers flared, and the light spilled over me once more, not as a flood but as a steady stream. It sank into my skin, my bones, leaving me warm and whole.

  When the light faded, the stag was gone.

  I stood alone in the clearing, the snow beneath my feet unbroken, as if no creature had ever stood there at all. But the warmth lingered, and when I looked down, I saw the faint glow of golden veins tracing their way up my arms, pulsating faintly like a heartbeat.

  I clenched my fists and took a deep breath. My body felt different—stronger, steadier, alive in a way it hadn’t been in years. I wasn’t just surviving anymore. I was ready.

  The distant baying of hounds broke through the silence, sharper than before. They were close now, closer than I had thought. But this time, I didn’t feel fear.

  I turned toward the sound, lantern in hand, and began to walk.

  The hounds’ cries tore through the stillness like jagged blades, each howl carrying the promise of blood. I gripped the lantern tighter, its handle warm in my frostbitten hand. The golden glow within it pulsed faintly, responding to the rhythm of my heart, which now beat not with fear but with a steady, rising purpose.

  They were close. Too close.

  The first soldier emerged from the storm, his fur-lined cloak whipping in the wind, a short blade drawn in one hand and a leash in the other. The hound beside him growled low, its black eyes locking onto me. Behind him, more figures materialized from the white—a phalanx of shadows, bristling with steel and venom.

  The hound surged forward, its powerful legs cutting through the snow as its jaws snapped open. My body moved before my mind could catch up, the lantern flaring as I raised it high. Light exploded outward, golden and fierce, slamming into the beast mid-leap. It howled in agony, its momentum twisting into a limp arc as its body slammed into the snow, steaming and twitching. The soldier holding its leash cursed and stumbled back, raising his blade as he shouted to the others.

  “On him! Now!”

  They came like a wave, blades glinting, their shouts merging with the howling wind. I stepped forward to meet them, the lantern’s glow searing through the storm. My breath hung in the air, mist mingling with the light as I swung the lantern in a wide arc. The golden glow flared, carving into the first soldier like molten iron through wax. He screamed, his body collapsing to the snow in a heap of charred flesh and broken steel.

  Another came at me from the side, his sword aiming low, but the stag’s gift coursed through my veins, quickening my limbs and sharpening my senses. I ducked under the blade, spinning as I brought the lantern up in a sharp, deliberate motion. It connected with his jaw, shattering bone and teeth in a spray of blood. He crumpled, his scream cut short as the golden fire from the lantern’s glow engulfed him.

  I turned to face the next soldier, but a sudden impact from behind drove me to my knees. The weight of a hound bore down on me, its claws raking across my back as its teeth sought my throat. Pain flared, hot and raw, but the light within me surged in response, forcing the beast back with a crackling burst of golden energy. It whimpered and fell away, its body writhing in the snow as the light consumed it.

  I rose unsteadily, the warmth within me now a roaring fire. Blood dripped from my wounds, staining the snow beneath me, but I felt no weakness—only the relentless drive to end this. The captain’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, as he stepped forward from the chaos.

  “Enough of this sorcery!” he bellowed. His blade gleamed, its edge hungry for blood. “Face me, coward, or die like the traitor you are!”

  I met his gaze, the lantern’s light reflecting in his eyes. He didn’t flinch. He was stronger than the others, colder, more resolute. But I could see the cracks in his armor—the doubt lurking beneath his bravado.

  “You don’t understand what you’re fighting,” I said, my voice calm but edged with something sharper. “Turn back. You don’t have to die here.”

  “Silence!” He lunged, his blade arcing toward me with deadly precision.

  I stepped into his strike, the golden veins beneath my skin flaring to life. His sword bit into my arm, but the light surged through the wound, turning the pain into raw energy. I grabbed his wrist with my free hand, the heat of my touch searing through his gloves and burning his flesh. He screamed, dropping the sword as I wrenched him forward and drove the lantern into his chest.

  The light burst outward, swallowing him whole. His body convulsed, his armor melting away as the glow seared through him, leaving nothing but ash and molten steel in its wake.

  The remaining soldiers faltered, their courage snuffed out as quickly as their captain. Some dropped their weapons and ran, their retreating forms swallowed by the storm. Others simply fell to their knees, their eyes wide with terror as the snow around them turned red.

  I stood amidst the carnage, the lantern’s glow dimming but steady. The warmth within me pulsed, slower now, like the fading echo of a battle cry. The snow was still, the storm abating, as if the forest itself had paused to bear witness.

  The golden veins beneath my skin flickered, then faded, leaving me alone with the silence and the bodies of the fallen.

  The forest was quiet now, its silence broken only by the soft crunch of snow beneath my boots. The lantern swayed gently in my hand, its glow steady but subdued, as if it too was catching its breath after the storm. The warmth within me had settled into a calm rhythm, its pulse echoing faintly in the stillness of the woods.

  The bodies of the soldiers lay scattered behind me, their blood staining the snow in jagged, crimson patches. Their weapons lay abandoned, forgotten in the aftermath of violence. I had not stayed to bury them. The forest would take them, as it had taken so many before. It was not my task to mourn the dead—not yet.

  Ahead, the trees began to thin, their frost-covered branches giving way to the faint outline of the village I had once fled from. Smoke rose from its ruins, curling into the pale light of dawn. The air carried the scent of ash and charred wood, a bitter reminder of what had been taken.

  I stepped out of the woods.

  The first thing I saw was the church, its steeple blackened and broken, leaning precariously against the skeletal remains of its walls. The snow around it was trampled and stained, the aftermath of the slaughter still fresh. Beyond it, the village stretched out in a patchwork of destruction—houses reduced to ash, carts overturned and shattered, fields blanketed not in frost but in ruin.

  And yet, there was movement.

  Figures emerged from the shadows, their shapes faint and hesitant. Survivors. They were gaunt and hollow-eyed, their faces pale with hunger and fear. Some carried crude weapons—sticks, rusted knives, farm tools—while others clutched children to their chests, shielding them from the cold. Their eyes found me, and I felt their suspicion, their doubt, their quiet, desperate hope.

  I raised the lantern.

  Its light spilled across the village, soft and golden, banishing the shadows that clung to the ruins. The survivors flinched at first, their eyes wide with alarm, but as the glow touched them, something shifted. The fear in their expressions melted away, replaced by something fragile but unmistakable—trust.

  “You don’t have to stay here,” I said, my voice steady but quiet. “The king has abandoned you, but the forest has not. Come with me. There is a place for you—a haven.”

  They didn’t move at first. The weight of what I was asking hung heavy in the air, thicker than the smoke that lingered over the ruins. To leave meant abandoning what little they had left—their homes, their past, the memories of the lives they’d once lived. It meant stepping into the unknown, following a man they didn’t know into the depths of a forest that had always been more predator than protector.

  But the light was patient. It wrapped around them, warming the frostbitten, soothing the weary, filling the broken spaces where despair had taken root. One by one, they began to step forward. A mother holding her child. An old man leaning on a cane. A boy clutching a dagger too large for his hands. They came, their faces pale but resolute, their movements hesitant but sure.

  The forest waited for them.

  We moved as a single line, the lantern’s glow leading the way. The survivors walked in silence, their breaths rising in pale clouds, their footsteps muffled by the snow. The forest loomed around us, its trees tall and silent, but I felt no threat in their presence. The stag’s warmth pulsed faintly in my chest, a steady guide through the twisting paths.

  As we walked, the village faded behind us, swallowed by the trees and the storm. I didn’t look back. There was nothing for me there—only ashes and ghosts.

  The forest opened before us, its branches parting to reveal a clearing bathed in golden light. The survivors murmured softly, their eyes wide as they took in the sight. At the center of the clearing stood a massive oak, its roots stretching deep into the earth, its branches adorned with faintly glowing lanterns that swayed gently in the breeze.

  They gathered around it, their voices rising in quiet awe. Children ran to touch the roots, their laughter breaking the silence. The wounded sank to the ground, their faces softening as the warmth of the clearing enveloped them.

  I stood at the edge, watching as the light embraced them. For the first time in years, I felt something stir within me—peace.

  But it was fleeting. The warmth in my chest pulsed again, stronger now, insistent. The stag’s gift was not just for shelter. It was a call to action, a fire that demanded more than quiet refuge. The king’s shadow still loomed over these woods, and the villagers would not be safe until it was driven back.

  I turned away from the clearing, the lantern’s light brightening as I stepped into the forest once more. The path stretched ahead, winding through the snow-dappled trees, leading toward the edge of the kingdom.

  The stag’s hum echoed faintly in my ears, a reminder of what lay ahead.

  The villagers would be safe. I would ensure it. But first, the mad king would fall.

  “This, I swear.”

  Written By: Grimm Lorehound ()

  Writing Prompt: ??"Stumbling through the snow; my lips cracked and frozen, frostbitten hands clenched firmly around my dimming lantern, just as my knees are about to buckle I catch a glimpse of a warm light; piercing through the thick veil of white."

  Themes: Medieval, Low Fantasy, War, Supernatural