Snow.
That was all Kairos could see when he opened his eyes an endless field of white stretching to the horizon. He sat up beside the dying campfire he'd built the night before, its last ember fighting against the wind. The cold bit through his cloak, but he barely noticed.
A week had passed since he'd wiped out the cult that had taken that merchant caravan. He felt... lighter, somehow. Not good, never that, just less burdened. He hadn't bothered to remember their faces or their names. To him, they were weak.
And in this world, the weak died. The strong decided who lived long enough to complain about it.
He didn't feel bad for the boy. The boy had just been in his way.
But still… why was he thinking about him now? Was it regret? No, couldn't be.
Kairos exhaled, shook off the thought, and began gathering his things. The cult would be hunting him again soon, they always were, but that was fine. The more attacks they sent, the closer he came to finding where their leaders hid. From what he'd learned, most of them operated within forty miles of the northern mountains. That had to be their base.
He had tried interrogating their followers before, but it never worked. They all said the same thing: orders came from faceless voices and shifting messengers. Always the same command:
"Gather the Reborn. Attack this place."
"'Reborn,'" he muttered, almost laughing. "What a joke. They're just another cult."
He caught himself speaking aloud and sighed.
"Is it that bad? I'm talking to myself now."
No point dwelling on it. He turned toward the distant treeline. The next village lay somewhere ahead, close to the mountains. If he was lucky, he might finally catch one of the cult's agents in the open. They wanted him dead, though he never cared to ask why. Life and death were simple things: kill or be killed. Their reasons didn't matter. Neither did anything they said.
Only one thing did.
They had taken his father.
By midday, he reached the edge of the forest. The outline of the village slowly appeared before him. He could hear voices drifting from it: loud chatter, trade, and laughter. Even in this frozen wasteland, the northerners were too stubborn to fear the cold.
"It's about time," he murmured.
He stepped toward a nearby birch tree, took a small knife from his bag, and sliced a strip of bark. Holding it in his hand, he closed his eyes and focused. For a long second, nothing happened. Then a faint thread of smoke curled upward. A short while later, the bark burst into flames.
Kairos stared at the fire as it danced across his palm. Fire obeyed him, always had since... his childhood. He didn't know why, but to him, it didn't matter. If he concentrated, he could ignite almost anything, and yet the flames could never touch or harm him. Maybe it was magic. Maybe. Mages didn't last long in the north, so he never had a chance to ask anyone. And from his experience, corpses weren't eager to share their secrets, so no way to find out.
When the bark burned down to ash and coal, he crushed it between his fingers and smeared the soot into his hair. His white hair was too distinctive, it drew eyes he didn't want. The soot darkened it enough to blend in. With enough practice, it was almost not noticeable.
If only he could hide his amber eyes as easily.
Well, he'd just have to keep his hood low and his head down.
"All right... that'll do," he muttered, brushing off the ash. Then slowly started walking toward the village.
All of the roofs were covered in a thick blanket of snow. Beneath it, a layer of thatch kept the cold away.
There were no farmlands. Obviously. "People must have lived from hunting and fishing," Kairos pondered. Despite that, he noticed that the village looked bigger than average.
It was also alive with noise.
Kids running around playing games, adults discussing politics. He could hear all the merchants at once before he even entered the marketplace.
"Bear meat! Fresh bear meat!"
"Animal skins! Good quality!"
"Salt straight from the mine! Cheapest you'll find!"
Vendors shouted over one another, waving their goods in the icy wind. The place looked wealthier than most settlements he'd seen, likely thanks to the nearby salt mine.
"So they have a mine nearby," he thought, weaving through the crowd. He needed shelter before nightfall. The cult's orders usually spread in the dark, whispered in back alleys. Looking for them now would be pointless. Besides, he wasn't in a hurry. If necessary, he'd stay here for a month to find the messenger.
Kairos moved through the village, his gaze observed every face, every building. He didn't trust anyone. It had been too long since he'd let his guard down. His footsteps were quiet on the snow, but his mind raced. The cult could be anywhere.
As he passed a merchant, a voice caught his attention. "Need a warm meal, traveler?"
He glanced at the merchant, an old man with a missing tooth and a dim smile. He held up a steaming bowl of stew.
Kairos considered the offer for a moment, then shook his head. "I'm fine."
"Don't let the cold eat you. You look like you've been through hell."
"Maybe I have," Kairos muttered, but he didn't stop walking.
The village felt alive, people moving like clockwork, each step felt as much chaotic as calculated. The chill in the air didn't bother them. They were used to it. For Kairos, however, it kept reminding him of his goal.
He wasn't here for food or comfort. He was here to hunt.
"Excuse me, sir…"
Kairos turned. A small girl stood behind him, no more than ten years old. She had long dark hair and was clearly well-fed, probably from a rich house. Her hands were holding the coat with all her might against the cold.
He said nothing, just watched her.
"I'm sorry, but… I've never seen you here before. Are you a traveler?"
He tilted his head. "What if I am?"
She swallowed nervously. "Ah. I was just wondering… Have you seen a caravan nearby? My father, Otto, he owns one. He should've come back three days ago." Her voice cracked. "You haven't heard anything, have you?"
Kairos looked her dead in the eyes.
"No idea who you're talking about," he said flatly. Before the girl could reply, he turned and walked away. She gave him one last look of sadness, yet he couldn't see it, and if he did, he wouldn't care.
Kairos kept walking through the village. His eyes were observing each detail on every house, every person that walked past him. He could never be sure who to trust. Finally, his eyes caught sight of the building he was looking for. A big wooden plate was dancing in the strong wind, away from the center of the village. The stable for horses was right next to it, at least assuming that cows didn't learn to whicker overnight. He couldn't read what the plaque was saying, but one doesn't need to be a genius to recognize the tavern when needed. With a couple of quick steps, he found himself inside.
Inside, a bunch of people sat down eating or talking to each other. The place looked like any other. A couple of tables with people drinking on them. Exactly in front of him, a big fireplace was illuminating the whole tavern. The flame was dancing calmly, keeping the inside warm.
A couple was eating dinner somewhere in the corner. One black cat the size of a small dog was looking at him.
Out of the humans, however, none but two guys seemed to care about him. The first one was a tall man with a reddish beard. He was observing him the moment he entered this building. His eyes were full of disgust, whether because of the alcohol or because he was a stranger, Kairos couldn't tell. The other one was exactly who he was looking for.
"How much for a room?" Kairos asked, walking to the person behind the counter.
The bartender, an old man with a blind eye and a scar that split his brow, gave him a long, wary look.
"For people like you? We don't have rooms."
"Shit," Kairos thought. "Did he see my eyes?" The amber hue was rare this far north, rare enough to make people whisper.
"Why's that?" he asked, forcing his voice calm.
"Listen," the man said, lowering his voice. "I've got nothing against magic folk, but I don't want my tavern burned to the ground. Last time one of you showed up, two houses burned to the ground. So get lost before I call someone."
"I'm not a magic user," Kairos said evenly, flipping a coin onto the counter.
The man didn't move. His one good eye flicked down to the coin, then back to Kairos's face.
"Fine," Kairos thought. He reached into his pocket, grabbed five more coins and dropped them all in front of the bartender.
"This enough?"
The man grunted then slowly grabbed the coins and bit one of them, trying to tell if it's real. When the hardness of metal had been confirmed by his teeth, he said, "You can sleep in the stable. And before you complain,that's more hospitality than most would show your kind."
Kairos's jaw tightened. "All this money for that? I could have bought a room for a week for this." He'd never been good at bargaining, or talking, for that matter. He had spent too many years alone.
"Fine," he said. "But keep what you saw to yourself."
Without waiting for an answer, he left the tavern. Even though it was only afternoon, he wanted to sleep. He'd have a busy night ahead. Horses didn't seem to protest about his arrival; some even seemed eager to see him. At least he could trust them not to snitch on him. Kairos looked around once more to make sure no one was observing him. If anybody would be foolish enough to sneak up on him, they wouldn't live long enough to regret it.
His hand gripped around the hilt of his sword.
He found a clean patch of hay, lay down, and closed his eyes. Before he knew it, he fell asleep.
He woke to the smell of stew.
For a moment, he thought he was home. He was small again, a child, and the light of the fire painted the walls gold. The room was warm, much warmer than the stable; he didn't feel so relaxed in so long. He looked down and saw a table. It wasn't there before...
"There you are, boy! Eat up!"
A man's voice, rough but kind. Kairos looked up to see a figure placing a bowl in front of him. The face was blurred, as if hidden behind smoke, but something about it felt familiar. He knew him. He was his father.
Kairos began to eat greedily, shoveling the stew into his mouth. The man chuckled softly.
"Don't worry, it's not going to escape," he said. His voice quickly turned serious. "You know, son, I have something to ask you."
"Mhm?" Kairos mumbled through a mouthful of food. He could feel the delicate taste of each part.
"When I'm gone, I want you to live your own life. Don't chase after things that'll leave you empty."
Kairos frowned. The words made no sense, but before he could ask, the bowl vanished. So did the floor.
He was standing outside now, beneath a tree. The man hung upside down from one of its branches, his face now clear, the lifeless eyes staring at nothing.
Time seemed to slow down for Kairos at this very moment. It seemed to stretch into eternity before the shock made him act.
"Dad!" he screamed and tried rushing toward him. Each step felt heavier and heavier. He looked down.
Then the ground turned to water. Kairos fell, sinking, unable to breathe, he could feel somebody's hands catching him by the throat. And just before the dark swallowed him whole, he gasped awake. Cold sweat was running down his back, and he was grown again. For a second, he felt regret. Then it turned into determination.
One quick look around revealed his current situation.
It was night. The village was silent, covered in frost. The only sound was his heartbeat. The light from the moon danced calmly through a nearby hole in the roof.
He rose, brushed the hay from his coat, walked out from the stable, and looked toward the sky.
"It's time," he whispered.
The hunt begins.