The wind howled like a living thing, swirling around the jagged peaks of Eldermoor with an eerie, bone-chilling intensity. Brison tightened his fur-lined cloak against the biting cold, his breath fogging as he trudged through knee-deep snow. The hunter had ventured farther from the village than usual, following faint tracks of a stag that had eluded him for weeks. But the snowfall was worsening, threatening to erase the trail completely.
Brison paused, his sharp eyes scanning the landscape. He knew every slope and crevice of this unforgiving mountain, yet something about the storm felt… wrong. The air carried whispers—faint and indistinct, like voices carried on the wind. He shook his head, dismissing the sensation. Isolation could play tricks on the mind.
As he adjusted his bow and turned to head back toward the village, a flash of movement caught his eye. At first, he thought it was the stag, but as he approached, his pulse quickened. There, half-buried in the snow, was a figure—a woman.
Brison dropped to his knees, his gloved hands brushing snow off her face. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, framed by bright red hair that clung to her face. She wore a cloak of fine material, far too delicate for the harsh environment, and around her neck hung an ornate amulet, glowing faintly against the gathering twilight.
"By the goddess ," Brison muttered, his voice hoarse. She wasn't from Eldermoor—he'd never seen her before, and no one outside the village ever dared venture this high.
The woman stirred, her eyes fluttering open. For a brief moment, they locked with his—a piercing, stormy gray that seemed to hold secrets older than the mountains themselves.
"Help…" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the howling wind.
Without hesitation, Brison lifted her into his arms, her body alarmingly light. The journey back to Eldermoor was treacherous, the storm growing fiercer with every step. Snow whipped around him, blurring his vision, but he pressed on, driven by a strange determination he couldn't explain.
When he finally reached the gates of the village, a group of watchmen rushed to meet him.
"Brison, what in the goddess is that?" one of them exclaimed, his eyes widening as he saw the woman.
"I found her out on the northern trail," Brison said curtly, brushing past them. "She needs warmth and care. Fetch Elthar."
The watchmen exchanged uneasy glances but obeyed. Elthar, the village elder, was the keeper of their traditions and the closest thing Eldermoor had to a healer.
Brison carried the woman to his cabin, placing her gently on a cot by the hearth. He added logs to the fire, the flames roaring to life and casting flickering shadows across the room. The woman shivered, her lips moving as if trying to form words. Brison leaned closer but couldn't make them out.
Moments later, the door creaked open, and Elthar entered, his weathered face set in a frown.
"You brought her here?" the elder asked, his voice low and stern.
"She would've died out there," Brison replied, standing his ground.
Elthar knelt beside the cot, his sharp eyes examining the woman. When his gaze fell on the amulet, his expression darkened.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?" Elthar hissed.
Brison frowned. "What are you talking about?"
The elder stood, his posture rigid. "This woman carries an amulet marked with the sigil of the Shadowed Peaks. No one has borne such a symbol in centuries."
Brison glanced at the glowing amulet. "So? She's just a woman—she needs help."
Elthar's voice dropped to a near whisper. "That amulet is a relic of the cursed ones. If she brought it here, it could spell doom for us all."
Before Brison could argue, the woman stirred again, her gray eyes opening fully. She sat up abruptly, clutching the amulet as if to protect it.
"Where… am I?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"You're in Eldermoor," Brison said gently. "I found you on the northern trail. Do you remember how you got there?"
Her brow furrowed in confusion. "I… I don't know. I was running… from something. Shadows… they were everywhere."
Elthar stiffened. "Shadows?"
The woman nodded, her gaze darting to the elder. "They were chasing me. They wanted this." She held up the amulet, its glow intensifying.
Elthar turned to Brison, his voice low and urgent. "You must take her to the council. They need to decide what to do with her."
Brison shook his head. "She's weak. She needs rest, not more fear."
"The safety of Eldermoor comes first," Elthar snapped.
Before the argument could escalate, the woman spoke again. "Please… I don't mean any harm. I don't even know what this is." She held up the amulet, her eyes pleading. "All I know is that it's important—and dangerous."
Brison felt a pang of sympathy. Despite Elthar's warnings, he couldn't shake the feeling that this woman was more victim than threat.
"She stays here tonight," Brison said firmly. "We can decide what to do tomorrow."
Elthar hesitated, then nodded grudgingly. "Fine. But keep her out of sight. If the villagers see that amulet, they'll panic."
As the elder left, Brison turned back to the woman. "What's your name?"
She hesitated, as if trying to recall. "Kate," she finally said.
"Kate," Brison repeated, the name unfamiliar yet strangely fitting.
"Thank you," she said softly, her eyes meeting his. "For saving me."
Brison nodded, unsure of how to respond. The storm outside raged on, but inside the cabin, a strange calm settled.
As Kate drifted back to sleep, Brison sat by the fire, his thoughts racing. Who was this woman? What was the amulet's connection to the cursed Shadowed Peaks? And why did he feel so compelled to protect her?
Outside, the wind howled again, carrying whispers that seemed to echo his unanswered questions.