The sun was still clinging to the far edge of the sky when Magda brought Theo to the wall. The stone steps were worn concave from centuries of boots, and the air grew colder with each one he climbed. By the time they reached the parapet, his breath was visible.
From up here, the land beyond the keep stretched away in a darkening patchwork — frost-bitten grass, tangled thickets, and a crooked stream that caught the last sliver of light. Somewhere far beyond, the forest began — a black mass that seemed less like trees and more like a solid wall of shadow.
Magda handed him a lantern. Its flame was small, steady, and pale blue. "It won't keep it away," she said. "But it'll make it hesitate."
Theo hooked the lantern onto the low wall beside him. "That's supposed to be reassuring?"
"If you want reassurance, you shouldn't be up here."
The guards along the parapet moved with quiet efficiency, checking the claw-mark wards etched into the stone at intervals. Each mark glowed faintly when touched, then dimmed again. Theo watched one guard pause at a ward, frown, and scratch an extra sigil beside it.
"What's that for?" Theo asked.
"Reinforcement," Magda said. "Some marks fade faster when the guest is near."
Theo's grip tightened on the hilt of the sword. The hum inside it had been steady all day, but now it seemed to shift with the wind, growing stronger whenever his gaze drifted toward the fields.
As the light faded, so did the sounds inside the keep. The bustle of the courtyard stilled, the forge fires went dark, and the bell gave a single low toll — the signal that the gates were locked for the night.
By full dark, the only sound was the wind.
Until it wasn't.
It began as a faint rhythm beneath the night's quiet — soft, deliberate, wet footsteps. Theo's hand found the sword without thought. The hum surged.
From the far edge of the field, movement.Something tall. Thin. Too still for a living thing, yet somehow moving. The same figure he'd seen from the watchtower, head tilted as before. It stepped forward, and the wards along the wall nearest it flickered.
Theo's lantern dimmed.
The figure raised its hand again.Three slow raps in the air.
Magda's voice was low. "Don't speak. Don't answer. Don't move unless I tell you."
But the figure's head straightened.And though its mouth didn't move, Theo heard it:
Little wolf…
The wards flickered harder. The hum in the sword became a steady, resonant note. Theo's heartbeat matched it.
You're closer now, the voice said. The seam calls to you still, doesn't it?
Theo's mouth went dry. The seam in the records room. The cold in the stone. How could it know?
Open it, the voice whispered. And I will give you the truth.
Magda stepped in front of him, axe ready. "Back inside, now."
The figure didn't move. But the air around it shimmered faintly, as if something larger — something unseen — was leaning toward the wall.
Then the frost began.
It started at the base of the wall, spidering upward in fine white lines. The wards hissed as the ice touched them, their glow sputtering.
Theo's fingers tightened on the sword. The blade's hum was no longer steady — it pulsed, quickening, matching the rhythm of the frost's climb.
Let me in, the voice said, sharper now. Before they take you from me.
And then — without warning — the frost stopped.
Not melted.Not broken.Just… paused, halfway up the stone, as if frozen mid-breath.
The figure tilted its head again. Slowly, it stepped backward into the dark until even the memory of its shape was gone.
The wards steadied. The lantern brightened. The hum in the sword faded back to its earlier, quieter thrum.
Magda lowered her axe. "It's not done. It never stops on the first night."
Theo didn't look away from the empty field. "Then when does it stop?"
Magda's answer was barely audible."When one of you crosses the wall."