The wind howled across the frozen plains, a relentless force that bit through layers of fur and leather. Snow swirled in the darkness, erasing all sense of direction. For most, this place was death—a wasteland where frost claimed everything it touched. For Kael, it was just another night.

He trudged forward, his boots crunching in the thick snow, his cloak pulled tightly around him. The ruins ahead were a jagged silhouette against the gray horizon, crumbling pillars rising like the bones of some forgotten giant. They offered no warmth, no safety, but perhaps a place to rest before the next leg of his journey.

Kael's hand hovered near the hilt of his sword, his sharp eyes scanning the area. The cold stung his face, but he'd long since learned to ignore it. He had to. Out here, hesitation meant death.

He stopped just inside the shadow of the ruins, his breath curling in the air. The stone walls were etched with faint carvings—ancient symbols and figures worn smooth by centuries of wind and ice. He traced one with his gloved hand, wondering what it might have meant, who had built this place, and what stories had been lost under the snow.

Then it came again.

"Kael."

The voice was barely a whisper, but it sliced through his mind like a blade. His head jerked up, and his fingers gripped his sword. He scanned the ruins, every muscle in his body tense, but there was nothing. Just the wind and the shifting snow.

"You cannot ignore me."

Kael clenched his jaw. He pressed two fingers to his temple, willing the voice to silence. It was always there, lurking in the corners of his mind like a shadow, cold and persistent. No one else could hear it—just him. And deep down, he knew why.

The ground trembled slightly, and a low growl echoed through the ruins.

Kael spun toward the sound, his heart pounding. From the shadows, two glowing eyes emerged, unblinking and predatory. The creature stepped into the faint moonlight, its massive frame covered in frost-crusted fur. A frostbeast. Its jagged teeth glistened as it snarled, the sound vibrating through the frozen air.

Kael's breath slowed. His right hand gripped the sword at his side while his left began to glow faintly, black frost curling at his fingertips. The corruption. He hated using it, hated what it was doing to him—but he had no choice. Not now.

The beast lunged, its claws extended. Kael dodged to the side, his movements sharp and practiced. He slashed his sword across its flank, leaving a deep gash. The frostbeast roared in pain but wheeled around, its red eyes burning with fury.

Kael thrust his hand forward, and black frost spiraled out like shards of ice. The magic hit the creature square in the chest, knocking it back into the snow. Steam hissed from the wound as the frost spread, cracking and freezing the flesh beneath.

The beast gave one final, pitiful growl before collapsing. Kael stood over it, breathing heavily, his hand still glowing with dark magic. He flexed his fingers, willing the frost to fade, but it lingered for a moment, curling and twisting like it had a will of its own.

"More," the voice whispered. "You are stronger than this. You could be so much more."

Kael swore under his breath. He turned away from the corpse and crouched near one of the ruined walls, his body trembling—not from the cold, but from the weight of the voice in his mind. He had been running from it for years, but it always caught up to him.

"Shut up," he muttered, his voice low and rough.

The voice laughed softly, cold and mocking, but it fell silent. For now.

Kael pushed himself to his feet, shaking the snow from his cloak. He had no time to dwell on whispers and curses. The frostbeast was just one of many dangers in this wasteland, and there would be more before dawn.

He reached into his pack and pulled out a piece of dried meat, chewing it quickly before moving deeper into the ruins. The cold gnawed at him, but he pressed on, weaving through the crumbled walls and shattered pillars. At least the wind wasn't as fierce here.

As he turned a corner, his sharp eyes caught something glinting in the snow—a small, metallic object half-buried near a broken column. He crouched and brushed the snow away, revealing a strange medallion.

The medallion was circular, etched with intricate patterns that seemed to shimmer faintly in the dim light. In its center was a symbol he didn't recognize—a flame surrounded by jagged lines. He frowned, turning it over in his hand. It was warm to the touch, a strange contrast to the bitter cold around him.

Before he could examine it further, the ground shook again.

This time, it wasn't a growl that followed—it was the sound of footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, and far too human. Kael's grip tightened on his sword as he rose to his feet, scanning the ruins.

A figure emerged from the shadows, draped in dark robes that rippled in the wind. Their face was obscured by a mask of polished bone, but their voice was unmistakable—sharp, cold, and laced with authority.

"A Shardbinder," the figure said, their tone almost amused. "And yet, you survive out here. Impressive."

Kael didn't respond. He shifted his stance, his sword ready, his corrupted hand already beginning to glow.

The masked figure tilted their head. "No need for hostility. I'm not here to kill you. Not yet."

"Who are you?" Kael demanded, his voice steady despite the tension in his body.

"A servant of the Frostbound Order," the figure said. "But you can call me Maerith."

Kael's stomach tightened. The Frostbound Order was relentless in their hunt for anyone who wielded magic, branding them as heretics and abominations. If Maerith was here, it meant trouble.

"You've been marked," Maerith continued, gesturing toward Kael's corrupted hand. "That power inside you—it's not yours, is it? It belongs to something older, something far more dangerous."

Kael didn't answer. He didn't need to.

Maerith chuckled softly. "You're walking a dangerous path, Shardbinder. But perhaps it's not too late for you. Surrender to the Order, and we can help you control it."

Kael took a step back, his jaw clenched. "I've seen what your 'help' looks like. I'll pass."

"Pity," Maerith said. "Then I suppose we'll meet again. And next time, there will be no offer. Only death."

Before Kael could respond, Maerith raised a hand, and the air around them seemed to shimmer. The figure dissolved into the wind, leaving nothing behind but the faint echo of their laughter.

Kael stood there for a long moment, the medallion still clutched in his hand. The warmth of it was a small comfort, but it also felt like a warning—a reminder that he was being hunted, not just by monsters, but by those who saw him as one.

He tucked the medallion into his pack and pulled his cloak tighter around him. The ruins offered no more shelter than the wilderness outside, and if the Frostbound Order was on his trail, he couldn't afford to linger.

The wasteland stretched endlessly before him, cold and unforgiving. But Kael kept moving. It was all he could do.

And somewhere, in the back of his mind, the voice whispered again, softer this time.

"You cannot run forever."