Part 1: Whispers in the Dark
The storm was unlike any Elias had ever seen. It swept through the village in a violent fury, tearing loose thatched roofs and sending entire oak trees crashing to the ground. By the time night fell, the air was thick with smoke and the tang of wet earth.
Elias sat near the fire in his family's cramped home, his knuckles white as he gripped a hunting knife. Though his parents and younger brother had fallen into uneasy sleep, he couldn't shake the feeling that the storm wasn't just weather. It was something alive.
When the first whisper came, it was barely distinguishable from the howling wind outside.
Come.
He jerked upright, his knife clattering to the floor. His pulse thundered in his ears as he glanced around the room, searching for the source of the sound. But there was nothing—only the faint, uneven breaths of his family.
He tried to shake it off. It's just the storm. Nothing else.
But the voice came again, clearer this time.
Come.
Elias stood, his heart hammering against his ribcage. The word wasn't spoken in a language he knew, yet he understood it instinctively, as though it had been carved into the marrow of his bones.
The fire flickered violently, casting the room into darkness for a single, agonizing moment. When the light returned, frost clung to the edges of the hearth.
He staggered backward, his breath visible in the suddenly freezing air. "This isn't real," he whispered. "It's not real."
But deep down, he knew it was.
Part 2: The Frosted Path
By morning, the storm had passed, but the village was unrecognizable. Debris littered the dirt roads, and the fields where Elias hunted were flattened into muddy wastelands. The villagers murmured among themselves, eyes wide with unease.
"What kind of storm freezes the river in the middle of summer?" one woman muttered, her breath steaming in the air.
Elias barely heard her. The voice had returned during the night, persistent and unrelenting. Come. He had woken drenched in sweat despite the cold, his mind filled with images of snow-covered forests and a great wolf shrouded in ice.
Now, standing at the edge of the village, he couldn't shake the feeling that the voice was waiting for him beyond the treeline.
He told no one where he was going. It was easier that way. Slinging his bow across his back and strapping a small dagger to his belt, he stepped into the forest. The cold hit him immediately, unnatural and biting.
The deeper he ventured, the more the world seemed to change. The trees were heavy with frost, their branches sagging under the weight of icicles. The ground was hard as stone, every step echoing unnaturally in the silence.
Elias stopped at the edge of a clearing, his breath catching in his throat. At the center stood a massive tree, its bark shimmering with frost that pulsed faintly in the dim light. Beneath it, the snow was undisturbed except for a single paw print, larger than any animal he had ever seen.
And then he heard it again:
Come.
Part 3: The Wolf of Ice and Fire
The clearing was unnaturally quiet. Not even the wind dared disturb the frost-laden branches.
Elias stepped forward, his boots crunching softly against the snow. The air seemed to thrum around him, charged with an energy that made his skin crawl.
Then, the shadows shifted.
The creature emerged from the other side of the tree, its massive form gliding across the snow with terrifying grace. Its fur was the color of glaciers, shimmering with a faint, otherworldly light. Its eyes burned with cold fire, each one the size of Elias's clenched fist.
He froze, every instinct screaming at him to run. But his legs refused to obey.
The wolf's gaze pinned him in place, its voice a low growl that reverberated through his chest. "You are late."
Elias's mouth went dry. He forced himself to speak, though his voice trembled. "Late for what?"
The wolf's lips curled back, revealing fangs that glinted like shards of ice. "Your destiny."
Part 4: A Bond Written in Blood
The wolf circled him slowly, its movements deliberate and unnervingly quiet.
"Do you know why you are here?" it asked.
"No," Elias admitted, his voice barely audible. "I don't even know what you are."
The wolf's gaze darkened. "I am Fenraen, the first of the Frostborn. You called to me, whether you realize it or not. And now, your blood has bound us."
Elias's stomach twisted. "Bound us?"
Fenraen stopped in front of him, lowering its massive head until its glowing eyes were level with Elias's. "You carry the mark. The blood of the old world flows through you, hunter. It was only a matter of time before I found you."
Before Elias could respond, the wolf raised one massive paw and slashed it across its chest. Blue-silver blood oozed forth, steaming as it hit the snow.
"Kneel," Fenraen commanded.
Elias hesitated, but the weight of the wolf's voice left no room for defiance. He dropped to one knee, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
Fenraen extended a claw, slicing a shallow cut across Elias's palm. The pain was sharp, but fleeting.
Their blood mixed as the wolf pressed its paw to his hand. A surge of energy tore through Elias, freezing and burning at once. He cried out, clutching at his chest as the bond solidified.
"It is done," Fenraen said, its voice softer now.
Part 5: The Beginning of the End
When Elias woke, the clearing was bathed in pale moonlight. The frost on the trees had melted, replaced by a faint, green glow that seemed to emanate from the earth itself.
Fenraen lay beside him, its massive form coiled protectively around him.
"Rest," the wolf murmured, its voice echoing in Elias's mind. "You will need your strength."
"For what?" Elias asked, his voice weak.
Fenraen's eyes flickered with cold fire. "The end of the old world has begun. And you are at its center."