The Eclipse Peak Gorge fell silent once more, as if the brief, brutal battle had been nothing but an illusion swallowed by the storm. Valerius did not waste time. The cold fatigue left by the use of the Eternal Blizzard was a constant reminder of his limits. He had to reach shelter before his stamina drained completely, leaving him vulnerable in this merciless wilderness.
The descent from the mountains was no less dangerous than the climb. The snow-covered path hid holes and slick stones. On either side, frozen pines loomed like skeletal fingers clawing at the grey sky. The silence pressed even heavier than the howling wind before—a silence that watched, a silence that waited.
After hours of tense travel, Valerius finally saw it. In a small hollow embraced by dense forest, thin columns of smoke rose into the air. Oakhaven.
The village looked more like an improvised fortress than a settlement. Newly erected, sharpened wooden palisades encircled it, clearly built in haste. A few rickety watchtowers stood at the corners, manned by figures in heavy leather armor and iron helms. No children played. There was no laughter, no market chatter. Only a suffocating quiet.
As Valerius and Boreas approached the main gate, two guards on a tower raised their bows. The arrowheads gleamed coldly.
"Halt! State your business!" one of them called, his voice strained by fear and lack of sleep.
Valerius stopped his horse and pushed back his hood, revealing his hard features and ice-blue eyes in the dim twilight."My name is Valerius. I come at the summons of Elder Elian."
The guards exchanged uneasy looks. The name seemed to carry some weight, but Valerius's intimidating presence did not reassure them. After a long, tense moment, the heavy wooden bar securing the gate scraped and creaked as it was pulled free from within. The gate opened, just wide enough to admit a single rider.
Valerius led Boreas through. Inside, the village was as grim as its walls. Thatch-roofed wooden houses looked drab and neglected. Windows were shuttered tight. A few villagers dared to peek out, their faces pale and hollow. They watched Valerius with a mixture of hope and fear before hurrying back indoors.
A broad-shouldered man in worn leather armor, an old scar bisecting one eyebrow, strode toward him. His gaze was hard and suspicious.
"You're Valerius?" he asked gruffly.
"I am," Valerius replied evenly.
"I'm Gregor, captain of the guard. Elder Elian's been expecting you." Gregor's eyes flicked to Valerius's side, where no sword hung. "I hear you're some sort of mage."
"I am the solution to your problem," Valerius said calmly, unbothered by Gregor's hostility.
Gregor snorted. "We'll see about that. Follow me."
They walked along frozen, muddy streets to the largest building in the village—the meeting hall. Inside, a great fire blazed in the hearth, casting the only warmth in the wide, shadowed room. An old man in a thick robe sat in a large chair near the flames. Deep lines of worry creased his face, but his eyes still held a keen intelligence. This could only be Elder Elian.
"Master Valerius," Elian rasped, his voice brittle with age. "Thank you for coming in our darkest hour."
"I have come as agreed," Valerius said, his gaze sweeping the hall. In one corner, a young woman with honey-brown hair was tending to a guard's wounded arm, wrapping it in clean linen. She looked up briefly, her green eyes full of compassion meeting his icy blue. Only for a moment—then she returned to her work. But that look was enough to stir faint echoes of memories Valerius had tried to bury deep.
"The ghouls you encountered in the gorge," Elian went on, drawing Valerius's attention back. "They were only the watchdogs. The attacks have become more organized—bolder. They are no longer mindless dead rising from frozen graves. There is intelligence behind them."
"What sort of intelligence?" Valerius asked.
"We believe the source is the old ruins to the north," Gregor interjected sourly. "The Frozen Raven Fortress. That cursed place was supposed to have fallen centuries ago."
Elian nodded with a weary sadness. "Each night, the hordes come down from there. We've lost twelve people in the past month. We built walls. We doubled the guard. But we can only hold on. We can't strike back."
"We need soldiers, Elder," Gregor said bitterly, glaring at Valerius. "Not a mage with ice tricks."
Valerius turned to face him, his expression unshaken."Your sword might slay one or two ghouls. But can it freeze an entire legion? Can it raise an ice fortress in the heart of a blizzard? Can it call forth guardians from the snow itself?"
Gregor fell silent, his jaw tight with anger but no retort.
"You will have what you have paid for, Elder Elian," Valerius said, turning back to the old man. "I will investigate the Frozen Raven Fortress at dawn. Tonight, I will need rest."
Elian exhaled in relief. "Of course. Gregor, see that Master Valerius has everything he requires."
Gregor gave a stiff nod, plainly unhappy with the order. He led Valerius out of the hall toward the village's only inn—the Resting Stag. The building was deserted, the owner having yielded it to the guards.
Valerius was given a small room on the second floor. It held only a straw bed, a crooked table, and a tiny window facing north—toward the mountains where the Frozen Raven Fortress waited.
After Gregor left, Valerius stood before that window for a long while. The wind outside began to rise again, carrying strange voices from far off. He could feel the familiar cold of dark sorcery clinging to the distant fortress—a silent challenge to his own power.
His hand drifted into his cloak, fingers closing around the hidden silver locket. The chill of the metal against his skin anchored him amid the storm of memories threatening to break loose. Loss, victory, defeat—these had shaped him. And Oakhaven, he knew, would be the stage for a new chapter in that endless cycle.
Night would bear witness. And dawn would take him into the enemy's heart.