Ethan had never cared about what other people thought of him.
So, when his colleagues ridiculed him for suggesting a trek on a snowy mountain, he kept his emotions hidden. The next day, he stood at the base of the mountain, his large bag packed with trekking essentials.
He had chosen to trek alone—not to prove his colleagues wrong but because it felt right. Others could hate him for all he cared; no one truly understood him anyway.
As he ascended the mountain, his boots left faint imprints on the pristine white snow. The silence around him was calming yet deafening, pulling his mind into a familiar swamp of memories.
From childhood, Ethan had known he was different. Rules and restrictions suffocated him; he longed for freedom, untethered by societal expectations. His disdain for conformity alienated him. At school, at work, and even within his family, he had always been the outsider. Yet, he told himself it didn't matter—he was happier alone.
By noon, the sun had climbed high, painting the snow in blinding brilliance. Ethan decided to camp at the mountain's peak for the night. After all, no one was here to stop him.
Sitting to rest, he spotted something small moving against the white expanse. A wolf cub played in the snow, oblivious to his presence. Its fur shimmered like freshly fallen snow, and its icy blue eyes reflected the sky. Ethan felt drawn to it—a wild, untamed creature that mirrored the freedom he valued.
But when he took a step closer, the cub noticed him and darted into the bushes. Instinctively, he chased after it, a fire igniting within him—an unfamiliar need to hold onto something, to not let it slip away.
He pushed through the snow, unaware of his surroundings until he leapt forward, arms outstretched. The cub, however, wasn't there. Instead, it rested in the arms of a striking woman who stood before him.
She was unlike anyone Ethan had ever seen. Her silver hair fell in waves, blending seamlessly with the snowy landscape. Her pale skin glowed faintly, and her piercing blue eyes held a depth that made him pause.
"You look lonely," she said softly, petting the cub on her shoulder.
Caught off guard, Ethan replied, "I didn't realize it was someone's pet."
The woman chuckled, her voice light but knowing. "You didn't think it could belong to someone, did you? You saw its freedom and thought it was just like you."
Ethan's eyes widened. She had read him perfectly—a feat no one else had managed.
"Don't worry," she added with amusement. "I have some experience with lonely, lost souls."
Ethan frowned. "I'm not lonely. I just chose to be alone."
Her faint smile turned into a grin as she gestured for him to follow her. Despite his reservations, he did.
After a short walk, they arrived at a large wooden cottage nestled in a clearing. It looked too grand for a single person.
"Do you live here alone?" Ethan asked.
She turned, her grin widening. "I live with my pets."
Inside, Ethan was met with a surreal sight. The room was filled with animals, each in its younger form: a red-feathered chicken, a white tiger cub, a small turtle, a snake coiled neatly in a glass enclosure, and many more. Yet there was something otherworldly about them, as though they weren't entirely alive—or entirely dead.
"They were all lonely when I found them," she explained, her voice carrying a warmth Ethan hadn't expected. "They've healed my loneliness, and I've healed theirs."
Ethan nodded, his gaze lingering on the wolf cub now curled up by the fire.
"You remind me of them," she said suddenly.
Ethan frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You're not just alone," she said, her tone gentler now. "You're lost, much like they were. But even wolves thrive in a pack, Ethan."
He blinked. "How do you know my name?"
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she handed him a glass filled with a strange liquid. "Drink. It's a welcoming gift—to join us."
Hesitant, Ethan sipped. The drink warmed him from the inside, a sensation he hadn't felt in years.
"I never introduced myself, did I?" she said, sitting beside him. "You can call me Hail."
Something about her voice made him feel both comforted and unsettled.
As if sensing his unease, she smiled softly. "Don't worry. You belong here now."
He wanted to protest but couldn't. Deep down, he felt it too—a connection to her, to the animals, to this place.
Hail gestured toward the wolf cub. "I think he's yours now."
Ethan stared at the cub, his heart inexplicably aching. "What's his name?"
"Fenrir," Hail said, her smile widening.
Something clicked in Ethan's mind, but before he could piece it together, his memories blurred. He remembered leaping toward the cub, the sensation of weightlessness, the sharp pain as he hit the ground.
Realization dawned as Hail's voice echoed in his mind: You're like them now. Lonely, lost... but no longer alone.