The sky had dimmed to the color of ash by the time the caravan stopped for the night.
Snow continued to drift lazily down, gathering on branches, wheels, and shoulders. A clearing had been chosen—a half-frozen glade surrounded by pine and rock, the fire pit marked by old stones from travelers long gone.
Silius stepped down from the carriage, stretching his stiff limbs. His breath misted in the cold air, the silver-lined hilt of his mother's sword tucked tightly beneath his cloak. Odin was already unpacking the cooking kit, and Lonnie stood nearby, arms folded, surveying the treeline like a statue of war.
Gladus stood apart, sharpening his blade in slow, silent movements.
"So…" Odin said, breaking the quiet, "excited for the capital?"
Silius shrugged, brushing snow off his shoulders. "I guess."
"You'll love it," Odin continued, his voice too cheerful for the setting. "The food stalls alone—gods, the honey-braised pork ribs—"
"I'm not going for food," Silius muttered.
An awkward pause.
Lonnie cleared her throat. "Have you… trained with your core yet?"
"No," Silius said. "Not really. I don't know what it even is yet."
Another silence. The kind that settled in your bones.
Silius sat on a log near the fire, pulling his cloak tighter. The fire crackled, but the woods around them were unnervingly still. No owl. No wind. No crunch of distant deer.
Just stillness.
Lonnie turned her head sharply toward the trees.
Odin stopped mid-sentence, a stick of salted jerky halfway to his mouth.
Gladus rose.
The air changed—no longer cold, but sharp. Pressurized. Like a storm about to snap.
And then—
Snap.A branch cracked high in the trees.
Then another.
Silius looked up just in time to see a shape leap from the dark canopy—impossibly fast, unnaturally silent. Grey fur blurred against the black sky, and then—
Thoom.It landed on all fours just outside the firelight.
A dog's skull. Hollow eyes. Grey patchy fur matted with snow and rot. Its limbs were long and spindly, arms dragging like rope, claws arched into sickles. Its mouth hung open—not barking, not howling—just gaping with a grin that didn't belong.
Two more followed, leaping between trees with impossible grace. One skittered sideways on all fours, its whip-like tail curling behind it like a snake.
"Snow Triants," Lonnie growled, already pulling the war hammers from her back.
Silius froze. He'd heard stories—spirits of men who froze in the wild, consumed by wolves and reborn as beasts. They hunted only during the deepest winters. They were never alone.
The three beasts began to circle.
The fire hissed as one of them stepped near, its breath curling out like smoke.
"Protect the boy," Gladus said, drawing his sword in one fluid motion. The steel was thick and long, too heavy for most men—but in his hands, it moved like wind.
The first Triant leapt—straight at Odin.
And the clearing erupted into chaos.