The rogues stopped moving when Blizzard raised his hand, his palm facing them and his eyes showing a calm but strong order. He did not speak loudly. He did not have to speak loudly. The power of his presence, tired from the trip but full of a clear goal, made them listen better than any threat could. Just before, they had given him the book, but Blizzard could sense their worry, their doubt, and the small chance they were hiding something. So he stepped closer, looking at them carefully, with a feeling as cold as ice.
"Show me everything," he said quietly.
The rogue holding the book jumped a little and quickly looked through the worn leather bag hanging on his shoulder. "This is all we found," he said, taking out the same old, ruined book they had shown him before. "Nothing else. Nothing less."
Blizzard took it from him, the cover making a cracking noise under his hand. Dust floated out as he opened it, the pages yellowed and fragile, with ink smeared in places, as if the book had survived age, water, fire, and maybe fear. It looked very old, older than the rogues, older than most groups he had visited.
Inside, simple drawings and faded words moved across the pages, listing sicknesses, curses, old diseases, things that wolves today had long forgotten. Each cure was written in an old runic style but was still easy enough for Blizzard to understand. He quickly looked through everything, flipping through the pages, his eyes focused.
Bone rot fever. Moon blindness. Star-touched rabies. Frost spirit possession.
None of these mattered.
Not when compared to the one thing he was looking for.
He turned another page, holding his breath tightly, and stopped.
There it was.
The drawing was clear: wolves standing still, frozen in a crystal-like state of paused life. The description next to it matched everything he had seen in his pack. His heart beat faster as he leaned closer, reading the words with a strong sense of desperation.
"Vrytin preservation," the heading read. "A rare problem for those connected to the moon."
Blizzard felt a shiver go through him.
Below the heading, the cure was written simply. Clear. Surprisingly simple in appearance. The same thing he had heard twice before. A need that seemed impossible, cruel, and yet… there it was, written in ink older than most modern groups.
A child with royal Night Walker blood.
A sacrifice, not necessarily of death, but of essence, something symbolic yet powerful, something related to old moon rituals. A ritual that needed innocence and family history. Blizzard's jaw tightened. He didn't know if the old writing meant a symbolic offering, moon blessing, life energy, or something else entirely. Old texts always changed meanings. But the suggestion was enough to make his stomach hurt.
He closed the book slowly.
And everything inside him became still.
With a quick movement, he put the book under his arm and moved away from the rogues.
"Thanks," he said, his voice as chilly as the winter air.
Then he changed direction.
"Wait!" one of the enemies called out to him. "That's all we have! You won't hurt us, will you?"
Blizzard did not look back. "If you don't want to die," he said in reply, "get out of this forest. Go now."
The enemies ran away quickly, hurrying through the trees like scared animals. Blizzard didn't bother watching them leave. He was already thinking ahead, about the path that went up the mountains. He held the book tighter and started to walk.
His journey now seemed harder than before. It wasn't because he had so far to go, but because of the truth, if it was true, that made him feel heavy. Every step reminded him of the frozen faces of his friends, the quiet streets of his town, the strange silence that stayed with him in his dreams. If this book could help them get better, he needed to use it.
It was not important how bad things could become.
---
Akira woke up with a strange empty feeling, not scared, just peaceful. The cold bed under her back made her remember she wasn't at home, and she slowly sat up, trying to think clearly. Her head hurt a bit, her thoughts jumbled and unclear, but she could remember feeling warm next to someone, the soft talking, the rare comfort she hadn't felt in weeks.
She looked all around the room. It was small, the wood floor made sounds when she moved, and the walls had marks from being old. The air smelled a bit like smoke and pine trees. But the person she had talked to, the man she didn't even know the name of, was not there.
Akira touched her head, trying to remember what he looked like.
Nothing.
His appearance was unclear, like a misty morning. She only remembered feelings: tired eyes, a calm strength, a voice that sounded like the sadness inside her. But she couldn't remember the details; they faded away like water. Maybe she didn't really look at him. Maybe she was too sad to notice.
Either way, he left without saying a word.
And strangely, she didn't feel like she had been left behind. Just... okay. Like the night was just a quick pause in her problems.
She stood up, put on her clothes, and wrapped her cloak tightly around her before leaving the room. The bar was louder now, with people talking in the morning, dishes clanging, and sometimes people laughing. No one really noticed her as she went outside into the cold morning air.
Her group was waiting for her.
She wasn't sure how they would act. She didn't know what she would say. But she had run away enough. And the strong feeling in her heart, for home, for things to be clear, for herself, helped her move forward.
A few hours later, when she got to the edge of her group's land, some wolves ran to her, very worried.
"Akira! Where were you? We thought,"
"We searched every place possible,"
"We believed that you had gone away for good,"
Akira slowly raised her hand in a gentle manner. "I feel fine," she said, her tone strong even though she still had sadness in her heart. "I really do. I only… needed some time by myself."
The friends glanced at one another yet didn't push for more details. They knew she had gone through quite a bit. Going through a bad breakup, losing the life she had dreamed of, feeling the deep cut of someone stabbing you in the back, could knock anyone down. But Akira stood straight, her expression calm, and her breaths steady.
Regardless, one thought stuck with her mind.
Who was the man she met the previous night? Also, why is his face blurry in her memories?
She shook her head from one side to the other.
It had no real importance.
Her life, despite its changes, was only beginning to unfold.