Arthur despised the cold.
He'd grown up in the south, where the air was thick with heat and the sweat of the forge. The rhythmic clang of hammer on metal, the fire burning bright enough to scorch the air, and the scent of iron—those were the things he remembered most about his childhood. Back then, he'd been apprenticing under his father, learning how to shape weapons and tools for the villagers. It was a steady life. Comfortable. A little boring, perhaps, but it would've been enough to live a quiet, predictable existence.
Except for one thing.
Magic.
The kind of magic that traveled the land, whispered about in hushed tones by wandering merchants and adventurers. The kind of magic Arthur had always longed to learn. The kind of magic that could make a simple sword into something legendary.
It was the one thing he couldn't ignore. His blood boiled at the possibilities.
But magic, of course, was expensive. Mages were prideful, and they didn't share their craft with anyone they deemed unworthy. They only taught the children of the rich and the powerful, the ones who could pay their inflated fees. Arthur, a simple blacksmith's apprentice with no noble blood or wealth, had no hope of ever getting close to that world.
Still, it gnawed at him.
Every time a traveling merchant came into town with enchanted swords and runes inscribed into armor, he couldn't help but dream of learning how to do it himself. He wanted to make weapons like that. He wanted to forge his own path into the realm of magic. But his master knew nothing of it. The old man was good at making solid blades and horseshoes, but he was blind to anything beyond that.
It wasn't enough.
So, at fourteen, against his family's wishes expect for his father who understood Arthurs dreams, even if he was hesitant of letting go of his eldest son, Arthur had left the comfort of the southern lands behind. He'd struck out on his own as a mercenary, hoping to earn enough coin to travel to a school where he could learn magic and explore the forgotten ruins of Ashlynd—lands filled with ancient relics and long-lost tomes of power. It was a risky, dangerous decision, but Arthur couldn't ignore his own dreams any longer.
It had led him here.
To the north. To this miserable, freezing hellhole.
The wind sliced through his cloak as he trudged through the deep snow. The wolves were close. He could feel it. The low, guttural howls echoed in the distance, sending a shiver down his spine. Not from the cold, but from the kind of anticipation that only came before a fight. This was the task he'd taken on—a contract to kill the double-headed wolves that had been terrorizing a nearby village. The coin was good, but that wasn't the real reason he'd come.
No, the real reason was the mountains. He'd heard rumors of ruins hidden deep in the northern peaks, ancient structures that might hold the keys to the very magic he craved. He hoped that the cold would have also warded away many others that came seeking the secrets that lay, like it should have admittedly done to him.
But first, he needed to deal with these wolves.
Arthur's grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, the metal cold beneath his fingers. He hated the cold. The air stung his skin, biting through the thick layers of fur and leather he'd wrapped himself in. The chill made his joints stiff and his bones ache, and no matter how many layers he wore, it never seemed to get any better.
The monsters of the land, long since evolved to be used to the environment didn't do him any favors. The snow crunched beneath his boots as he moved through the trees, the wolves' tracks already being covered by the snow, the only way he got so close was through the trail of blood they left. They had been hunting here for days.
Arthur crept through the snow, moving with practiced quiet. The cave wasn't far. He could see the jagged mouth of it in the distance, framed by trees draped in frost. A quick inspection revealed the tracks—fewer than he expected, but that only meant they were getting smarter. Still, it would be easy to slip in unnoticed. He knew the beasts wouldn't be able to hear him over the wind.
As he neared the cave, Arthur could make out the shapes of 5 wolves inside—massive creatures, their white fur blending seamlessly with the snow. They were curled up in a heap, asleep.
Arthur's hand went to the hilt of his sword, his fingers brushing the cool metal. His blade was special. It wasn't just forged with his skills as a blacksmith—he'd inscribed a rune into the steel himself. The Igni Rune. The one he'd learned from a fellow mercenary he had a contract with a year ago, the one that could set his sword aflame. He'd carved it into the blade near the hilt it glowed a very light orange, really only noticeable in the dark. He went through numerous pieces of scrap metal mastering his ability to carve it. Runes are very tedious to inscribe he learned, many pieces of metal blew up in his face during the process. It was the first piece of magic he learned during his journey, proof to him that he made the right decision.
It had served him well during his travels, and it was about to again.
He took a deep breath, squatting low and moving with deliberate quiet, his boots sinking slightly into the snow. The igni rune on his sword was still dormant, but the moment he willed it, it would ignite. He was certain of it. Runes worked by taking in the mana in the air around them to power themselves, anyone who could properly channel their own magic could use that as fuel to overcharge the effects, not that he knew how to do that.
Arthur stalked closer to the first wolf—a massive beast with two heads, its long snouts resting between its paws. The heads were silent, their breathing slow. He drew his sword from its sheath, the metal glinting faintly in the light. His movements were smooth, controlled. He approached the first wolf, positioning himself so that his strike would be clean, fast.
With a swift, precise motion, Arthur drove his blade into the beast's neck, cutting through its thick fur and sinew with practiced ease. The wolf's body jerked once, twice, then stilled. Blood pooled quickly in the snow beneath it.
The other wolves were still asleep. Arthur moved from one to the next, killing them quietly, swiftly, until there were only two remaining.
But then, one of the wolves stirred. The massive alpha—sleek black fur with icy blue eyes—lifted its head, sensing something. Its two heads snapped to attention. A growl rumbled in the back of its throat.
Before Arthur could react, another wolf's eyes fluttered open. This one was pale white with no imperfections in its fur, with a scar running across all four of its eyes. Its heads lifted, sniffing the air.
It was too late. They were awake.
Arthur cursed under his breath. He knew he wouldn't be able to cleanly kill the alpha in its sleep, so he went for the weaker packmates first to not be overwhelmed, leaving one alive alongside the leader wasn't ideal but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle.
He reached for the rune on his sword, and with a whisper, the Igni Rune flared to life. The blade ignited with a roar, flames licking the air as heat radiated outward.
The two wolves leapt to their feet in a blur of fur and teeth. The alpha's jaws snapped at him, but Arthur was faster. He sidestepped, bringing his fiery sword down in a vicious arc. The fire met the white wolf's chest, and the beast howled in agony as its fur ignited. It staggered back, yelping, but Arthur was already moving. He slashed again, the blade cutting through the second wolf's throat before it could retaliate.
The flames sent a wave of heat across the cave, lighting up the snowy walls. The alpha roared and charged, its jaws wide as it attempted to tear into him. But Arthur was already circling, moving with the confidence of a seasoned mercenary. He dodged the attack and struck, his sword finding purchase across the alpha's ribs, the flames cutting deep into its flesh.
The alpha staggered back, wounds half cauterized and blood sizzling on his blade. It growled, its heads low, watching Arthur warily. It knew its time was running out.
With a roar, it launched itself at him again. This time, Arthur didn't dodge. He met the charge head-on, pushing forward with the force of the strike. He brought his sword up in a savage upward slash, the flames catching the alpha's exposed underbelly, and drove the blade deep into the creature's chest. With a roar of exertion, Arthur cleaved his way through the wolfs body while pressing himself between the two whimpering heads. In a display of gore, his sword found itself in the air above the wolf with an arc of sizzling blood splattering on the cold stone of the cave.
He wiped his blade clean in the snow, the flames fading as he sheathed the sword. The wind howled around him, the blood on his clothes would be a pain to get out but was a problem for later. Kneeling down, he began ripping out the canines of the wolves he killed as proof of the contract being complete. Now, all he had to do was get out of the cold.
Later, at the Village
The village lay ahead, smoke rising from chimneys in the distance. Arthur made his way through the gate, his cloak caked with snow and blood. The village elder, a frail old man, stepped forward, his hands trembling as he reached for the coin pouch.
"You've… you've done it," the elder said, his voice a bit shaky but with a smile of relief. "The wolves are gone?"
Arthur nodded. "All dead."
The elder handed over a pouch. "You've done our small village a great service. No one else would have come this far out. You've truly saved us."
Arthur took the pouch without a word. Relived he got the payment without issues, this would help him as he began the search around the area for the ruins.
But the elder, seeing the condition Arthur was in, put a hand on his arm. "Please, stay the night," he said, his voice firm with kindness now. "The village is too small for an inn, but my home is open to you. We have food, warmth... and a bed for the night. You've earned it."
Arthur looked at the elder for a long moment. He hadn't expected such hospitality, but it had been a hard journey, and the warmth of a hearth was appealing. After a brief hesitation, he nodded.
"Thank you. I'll stay," Arthur said.
Without another glance at the grateful villagers, he followed the elder to his home. The wind howled outside, but it didn't matter anymore. For tonight, at least, he would be warm.
Tomorrow, the search would begin.
.
The ruins awaited.
And so did the magic.