The storm began to die.
Snow still fell across Grey Hollow, but the wind had weakened, leaving behind a heavy, suffocating silence. The village lay buried beneath a thick blanket of white, its narrow streets empty and still.
Inside the healer's house, warmth clung to the air.
The fire crackled softly in the hearth.
Steam rose from a small pot of herbs simmering above the flames.
And on the wooden table—
The child fought for breath.
Arin's tiny body trembled beneath layers of cloth. His cheeks burned red with fever. Each inhale came shallow and uneven, as if the cold itself had wrapped its fingers around his lungs.
The knight stood beside him, motionless.
Watching.
Waiting.
Praying.
"Stay with me," he whispered.
His voice was low.
Unsteady.
Not the voice of a soldier.
Not the voice of a commander.
The voice of a man afraid to lose the last thing he had sworn to protect.
He pressed his hand gently against the boy's forehead.
Still burning.
Too hot.
Too fragile.
The healer worked quickly, grinding dried herbs into powder with steady, practiced hands. His movements were calm, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed the truth.
This was not a simple illness.
This was danger.
Real danger.
He lifted a small cup and carefully tilted it toward the child's lips.
"Drink," he murmured.
A single drop slid into Arin's mouth.
Then another.
Slow.
Careful.
Precious.
For a moment—
Nothing changed.
The knight's chest tightened.
Seconds stretched.
Then—
Arin's breathing steadied slightly.
Not strong.
Not safe.
But better.
Hope flickered.
Small.
Fragile.
Alive.
The knight exhaled slowly.
Relief washed through him like warmth after frost.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
The healer did not answer.
Instead, he stared at the child with narrowed eyes.
Studying.
Measuring.
Searching.
He closed his eyes.
Focused.
Like all trained healers, he reached out with his senses, feeling for the flow of life energy within the boy.
Mana.
The force that sustained every living creature.
He searched carefully.
Again.
And again.
Then—
His eyes snapped open.
Shock filled his face.
"There is nothing," he whispered.
The words fell into the room like stones.
The knight's jaw tightened.
"I know."
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Uneasy.
Suddenly—
The wind outside shifted.
The storm quieted completely.
Too completely.
The healer frowned.
"Do you hear that?" he asked.
The knight turned toward the door.
Listening.
At first—
Nothing.
Then—
A distant sound.
Soft.
Rhythmic.
Growing louder.
Hoofbeats.
Many of them.
The knight's instincts ignited instantly.
Danger.
Coming fast.
Coming now.
He moved to the window and pushed aside the frost-covered curtain.
Outside—
Dark shapes emerged through the falling snow.
Riders.
Dozens.
Their cloaks black.
Their movements precise.
Their arrival silent and deadly.
Hunters.
The knight stepped back slowly.
His hand closed around the hilt of his sword.
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"They found us."
The healer's face went pale.
Fear crept into his eyes.
"What will you do?"
The knight looked down at the child.
Small.
Weak.
Burning with fever.
Then back toward the door.
His expression hardened.
Steel replacing fear.
"I will protect him."
Outside—
The riders entered the village.
Snow crunched beneath their boots.
Doors slammed shut.
Lanterns flickered.
Fear spread through Grey Hollow like wildfire.
One rider dismounted and stepped forward.
His voice carried across the frozen street.
Cold.
Commanding.
Search every house."
Inside the healer's home—
The knight drew his sword.
Steel flashed in the firelight.
The sound echoed through the room.
Final.
Unavoidable.
Snow continued to fall over Grey Hollow.
Quiet.
Beautiful.
Merciless.
And the night of the hunt had begun.