The cold had become a familiar presence, an unwanted companion clinging to my skin, and yet, something felt off.
For days, I had trudged through the snow, battling against the biting wind that should have sunk its teeth into my flesh. I should have been freezing, my fingers stiff, my breath shallow.
But I wasn't.
I should have felt my extremities go numb, my every step becoming a torment under the relentless frost. Yet the cold felt distant.
I lifted my hand, studying my fingers—flexible despite the brutal environment.
Why?
A shiver—not from the cold, but from an old, buried memory—ran down my spine.
"The Valenhardt carry winter within them."
My father's words.
Back then, I had dismissed them, taking them as mere poetic metaphor. But today…
I shook my head. This wasn't the time or place for such thoughts.
Ahead of me, nestled between the ruins of the village, a wooden structure stood under the dim light of dusk. An inn.
Behind its frost-covered windows, flickering lights pierced through the darkness. From within, muffled murmurs seeped through thick walls—tired voices, but alive nonetheless.
An inn meant warmth. Shelter. Information.
More importantly… it meant a moment of respite.
My legs ached, exhaustion weighing heavily in my bones, but I ignored the pain and made my way toward the entrance.
Survival came first.
I pushed open the heavy wooden door, stepping into a world drastically different from the frozen wasteland outside.
The inn's interior was modest, lit by a few lanterns hanging on the dark wooden walls. The air was thick, saturated with the scent of burning wood, damp leather, and the sweat of weary travelers.
A stark contrast to the frozen silence outside.
My entrance went unnoticed. Most patrons were too absorbed in their meals or conversations to pay attention to a hooded figure moving quietly toward the counter.
A whisper caught my attention.
— …Seth?
I froze.
My hand instinctively clenched the coarse fabric of my cloak, as if that could hide me further.
I turned my head slowly.
A woman in her thirties stood near the counter, a tray in her hands, her face frozen in a mix of disbelief and fear.
A familiar face.
Memories resurfaced before I could stop them.
She was part of the castle staff. A former servant of the Valenhardt household.
The years and hardships had carved lines into her face, but I recognized her immediately.
Her lips trembled slightly before she darted a panicked glance around the room.
— It's… it's really you? she whispered.
I didn't respond.
My gaze instinctively swept over the other patrons. No one could hear that name.
She understood instantly.
With a swift motion, she set down her tray and grabbed my wrist.
— Follow me.
I had no choice but to comply as she led me through the room. We weaved between tables, avoiding the curious gazes of the few who had noticed our exchange.
She guided me to a small back room, a storage area filled with barrels and sacks of supplies.
As soon as the door shut behind us, she turned to face me, arms crossed.
— You shouldn't be here, she murmured.
Her voice carried weight, almost accusatory.
— If someone recognizes you…
I met her gaze without flinching.
— I need to leave.
She clenched her jaw before letting out a long sigh.
— The caravan leaves at dawn. They're still looking for people to guard the route.
An opportunity.
One step closer to Farhall.
One step closer to the truth.
A tense silence filled the storage room.
She was still staring at me, arms crossed, her sharp gaze dissecting every inch of my face as if trying to confirm that I was truly standing in front of her.
— You're… alive, she finally murmured, as if she couldn't believe it herself.
— For now, I replied flatly.
She flinched slightly, as if my words carried a weight too heavy for her to bear.
— Everyone thought that… well…
I was already tuning out her words.
My mind was elsewhere, focused on the information she had just given me. A caravan. A way out of this village. A way to reach Farhall.
— Who's organizing this caravan? I asked.
She hesitated for a moment before answering.
— A merchant from the South. He's transporting goods to the capital, but the journey is dangerous…
— That much is obvious, I cut in coldly.
She bit her lip, looking away.
— The roads haven't been safe since the North fell, she continued after a moment. Bandits, lawless mercenaries… and then, there are…
She stopped.
— There are what? I pressed.
Her eyes darkened with worry.
— Creatures, she whispered.
I straightened slightly.
— Creatures?
She nodded slowly.
— They started appearing after the North fell. Things no one here has ever seen before. Some say they are beasts from ancient times… others speak of a curse.
Monsters.
I had heard similar rumors before. But I had never paid them any mind.
Until now.
— And this merchant… does he take on travelers?
— Only those who can wield a weapon.
Silence stretched between us before I gave a slow nod.
— Then I'll leave with them.
She shivered slightly at the finality in my voice but said nothing.
Then, in a hushed voice, she added:
— Seth… the Empire is lying about what happened.
My body tensed instinctively.
— Explain.
She shook her head, glancing at the door nervously, as if afraid someone might overhear us through the walls.
— I can't… not here.
Her expression darkened.
— But you need to understand one thing: what the Empire is telling people… it's not the truth.
I remained silent, my eyes locked onto hers.
Then, slowly, I nodded.
I will uncover the truth myself.
— Thank you, I murmured as I stepped toward the door.
She opened her mouth as if to say something else but hesitated at the last moment.
I turned and walked away without another word.
The journey to Farhall had just begun.