Deborah's POV
I woke slowly to the sound of snow melting, the soft drip-drip pulling me out of my dazed state.
I lay nestled against Matthew's warm, solid chest, wrapped tightly in a thick blanket that shielded me from the biting cold outside.
Though exhausted, I could feel some of my strength had returned.
Peeking my head out from beneath the blanket, I saw a faint light in the sky.
The sun seemed to be rising, and the temperature was gradually lifting, but everything around us was still blanketed in white.
The snow had covered the entire forest, and the air still remained icy and sharp.
Matthew stirred awake at the same moment, smiling at me.
We exchanged a knowing look—we were both alive, and that was the best thing we could ask for.
I sat up, looking around.
The blizzard had left a landscape dressed in a shimmering layer of snow, but a thick fog still blanketed the forest, making visibility very low.
Even though the storm had stopped during the night, the dense fog and deep snow had made it impossible for us to move.
We had been forced to stay in place.
I heard faint noises around us, but they were soft, almost imperceptible.
It seemed that the others hadn't fully woken up yet.
Matthew and I stood, beginning to check on everyone.
We found that everyone had huddled in groups, each one like a blooming flower.
The werewolves had formed a protective circle on the outer edges, using their bodies to shield the others from the cold, and had helped those in the center stay as warm as possible.
However, in groups without werewolves, the outer rings were formed by FDB soldiers, strong men, and even elderly people.
Mark and Cora emerged from the crowd, joining us as we moved to the outer edges to check on things.
The werewolves slowly stood up, releasing their tight embrace.
The people in the center began to thank them for helping everyone survive the bitter night.
Just then, piercing screams shattered the brief peace.
"Wake up! Please, wake up!"
"Dad! You can't die! Daddy!"
"Mom! Don't leave me—"
In the groups protected by the FDB soldiers, strong men, and elderly, many had fallen into an eternal sleep in the cold.
And those who protected them were all wiped out.
Their eyelashes and hair were frosted with ice, and the red marks of frostbite on their faces and hands were terrifying to see.
I saw several elderly people, their arms still wrapped tightly around the children in their care, as if using the last of their strength to keep them warm for just a little longer.
The young people or children they had protected survived under the shelter of their sacrifice.
Their cries filled the air, filled with despair and helplessness.
A man knelt on the ground, clutching his wife's cold hand, holding onto the last traces of her warmth.
His face was twisted in pain, tears streaming down his cheeks, though he didn't dare make much noise.
Even though he had been holding her in his arms all night, she hadn't survived.
The FDB soldiers had done the same, using their mortal bodies, just like the werewolves, to protect the ordinary people from the cold.
They didn't have the strength of the mutants, but their sheer will had seen them through to the end.
Their sacrifice was something to be admired.
As we stood in shock at the scene before us, we suddenly heard the sound of children crying in the distance.
It was the children from Tirnanog, who had been playing in the woods with their mothers yesterday, before the weather had turned.
The forest was peaceful and calm then, with no hint of the blizzard that would come.
I immediately ran toward the sound and found the women from Tirnanog, dressed in white gowns and wrapped in white blankets, gathered in a circle with the children in the center.
Snow had settled on their faces, and a gentle smile remained on their lips, as if their lives had frozen in that moment.
Some held babies in their arms, and a few were heavily pregnant.
The children were still alive, protected by these brave mothers who had given their lives to shield them.
But those mothers had long since passed.
They looked like angels, having left their final warmth to the children.
The only survivor was Mary, an elderly woman who had once given me a small pouch.
Her eyes gleamed with golden light—she was a werewolf.
I saw Matthew running toward the wounded werewolves.
All 27 injured werewolves, even though they had drunk my blood the night before, had not survived.
It was a heartbreaking reality.
Matthew suddenly realized something—he hadn't seen David anywhere.
Panic gripped all of us.
Matthew's voice echoed through the air as he moved frantically through the crowd, calling out for David, but no response had come.
My heart tightened with worry, fearing he might have lost his life in the terrible weather last night.
Finally, we had found David among a group of children.
He was lying on the ground, his face flushed, clearly suffering from a high fever. A few golden-eyed wolf children were huddled around him, their eyes full of worry and helplessness.
"David protected us all night," one of the young werewolves said with a trembling voice, gratitude mingled with fear.
Matthew knelt beside him, gently placing a hand on David's forehead. His expression was filled with concern.
David's temperature was dangerously high, and his breathing was labored.
The children, being werewolves, were stronger than normal humans, with higher body temperatures. It was this small group of young werewolves who had kept David alive with their warmth through the deadly night.
Matthew immediately called for other werewolves to bring the medical kit and treat David.
Our supplies had been running dangerously low, there was just some fever medicine left—it was his only hope.
David had been the last surviving FDB soldier.
The once powerful FDB force had been reduced to just him, and that was only because of his selflessness in protecting the children through the fatal storm.
We were all barely clinging to life by a thread, but the harsh reality was undeniable.
Murias was no longer the home we once knew.
During this migration, I had been seeing a darker side of humanity.
The cold winds and blizzard last night had pushed fragile human nature to its breaking point under the pressure to survive.
While helping the injured, I saw a man who had taken blankets from his wife and two children, leaving them to freeze to death, just to save himself.
He had a look of sorrow on his face, but all I could feel was terror—how could human selfishness be so brutal?
Some had even strangled those next to them, just to steal a blanket for warmth.
These actions filled me with unease and anger, but Murias had no system of justice left. We had no military, no authority to punish these heinous acts—not even concrete evidence.
We were like a fragile pile of sand, held together by the faint threads of trust and shared belief in survival.
Even though I could use Telepathy to see the truth, to know who had done what, I couldn't change the situation.
All we could have done was watch it unfold.
What made matters worse was that many had begun to fall ill after the terrible weather last night, with fevers spreading and people growing weaker.
The medical supplies we had brought from Murias were nearly depleted. The remaining stock of medicine was far too little to sustain us through the rest of the journey.
This meant we had to avoid another outbreak of illness or mass injury at all costs, or the consequences would be unimaginable.
The final count was devastating.
The blizzard had claimed the lives of 27 werewolves, and except for Mary, all 877 women from Tirnanog had perished.
In the FDB, all 4,961 soldiers had died, except David.
Among the other survivors, 7,853 people had been lost.
In total, 13,718 lives were taken on that horrific night.
Murias had only 16,574 people left, just one-third of the original population of the underground city.
One more disaster could wipe us out entirely, leaving us unable to reach Tirfothuinn.
We quickly dealt with the bodies, holding a simple cremation ceremony and a moment of silence for the dead.
It was the third time we had done such a grim ritual, but this time, the death toll was far greater than before.
After the moment of silence, there were no further words, no emotional outbursts. We couldn't afford another blow, and everyone understood that if we faced one more disaster, the survivors of Murias would likely disappear from this harsh land forever.
There was no time for grief.
We had to keep moving forward.
Cora, Mark, Mary, and I walked at the back of the group, guiding the children from Tirnanog step by step.
The sky was overcast, the snow melted, and the wind carried a biting chill, as though a sense of death lingered in the air. Everyone kept their heads down, silently trudging on, not a word exchanged.
After some time, Mary discreetly motioned to me, indicating she had something to say.
I nodded, holding the baby in my arms as I casually distanced myself from the group with her.
The atmosphere around us felt even heavier, and I could sense that whatever Mary had to say would not be easy.
"I hope you can keep my words secret."
I nodded.
"The werewolves' seal must be broken," she said, her voice low but firm.
My heart leaped into my throat at her words.
I frowned and asked, "How can it be broken?"
Mary stopped walking and looked at me deeply, her eyes filled with a mixture of resignation and determination.
"To break the seal placed by the witch, a priestess is needed. And… a werewolf must be sacrificed."
"A priestess?" I was at a loss for words, a wave of helplessness washing over me. My mind raced with thoughts. Maeve had never mentioned anything like this.
"I know you are the priestess, Lianora." Mary's words struck me like lightning, piercing straight through my heart.
How… how did she know this? My heartbeat quickened, the shock cleared on my face.
Did Maeve tell her? Or had she figured it out herself?
"That's impossible," I shook my head, trying to stay calm. "And a werewolf sacrifice? You mean a werewolf has to die? No, I can't allow that."
Mary's gaze was steady and serene, unwavering in her resolve. "Yes, you can. I'm willing to be the werewolf sacrificed."