Morning came quietly after the fight, a welcome stillness settling over the camp. It had been our first true moment of calm in days. Using the raiders’ tents, we had managed to rest, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that it wouldn’t last. We packed up as soon as dawn broke, the others moving a bit slower than usual as if savoring these few moments of peace. I couldn’t blame them.

As we gathered our things and started moving, I noticed the first snowflakes drifting down from the sky. They were light, almost delicate at first, but as we pressed on, they thickened. Winter was on its way, and it was coming fast.

“Snow this early?” Elyndor muttered, glancing up at the gray sky.

“We’re far north,” I said. “It’s going to get colder, and fast.”

Kael, walking beside me, glanced around, his eyes scanning the treeline. “The cold might slow us down, but it won’t stop us.” His words were casual, but there was a sharpness in his gaze, ever watchful for danger.

As the day wore on, the snow blanketed the ground, crunching underfoot with each step. The cold began to seep through our clothes, biting at our skin. That’s when we encountered the first of the Frostmaws.

Huge, hulking beasts—larger than any dire wolf I had ever seen—each one had a pair of glowing four eyes and thick fur coats that were well-suited for the harsh winter ahead. Their growls echoed through the trees as they circled us, their breaths coming out in frosty puffs.

“They’re called Frostmaws,” Elyndor warned, raising his sword. “Quick, lethal. Don’t let them catch you off guard.”

We spread out instinctively, weapons ready. One of the beasts lunged before I could even react, charging at Mira. She yelped, barely dodging out of the way.

“Mira, get back!” I shouted, rushing forward to meet the creature with my weapon.

It snarled, its fangs bared, but I struck first. My daggers sliced through its thick fur, and the beast let out a guttural growl as it staggered back. Kaldor was on it in an instant, his hammae colliding into its side. The creature fell with a heavy thud, but there were more coming.

“These things don’t quit,” Kael grunted as he skewered another Frostmaw with his dagger, his movements precise and deadly.

We fought off the pack, and after what felt like an eternity, the last of the Frostmaws collapsed into the snow. The air around us was still once more, save for the sound of our heavy breathing.

“Guess that’s dinner,” Kaldor said, kicking at one of the fallen beasts.

None of us were thrilled at the idea of eating monster meat, but we didn’t have much choice. We were out of food, and the Frostmaws’ thick meat, though unappetizing, would keep us alive.

Kaldor roasted the meat over a fire, eyeing it suspiciously. “Looks awful. Probably tastes worse.”

But to our surprise, it was... good. As good as roasted monster meat could get, I suppose. The warmth of the fire and the unexpected taste of the meal gave us a brief moment of respite. We sat around the campfire, huddled close as the snow continued to fall around us.

The tents were cramped, but we slept two by two, taking turns keeping watch. The days blurred together after that, the snow growing thicker with each passing day. The forest around us became a sea of white, the trees standing like silent sentinels, their branches heavy with snow. The cold was relentless, wrapping around us, slowing our steps.

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It was on one of these snowy days, as we trudged forward, that Kael broke the silence.

“Duke,” he said, his breath misting in the frigid air. “Why didn’t you kill that raider back there? You’re strong enough, but you didn’t.”

His question hit harder than I expected, sending a ripple through the calm I’d tried to maintain. It wasn’t something I had fully confronted myself. My grip tightened on my daggers as memories I had buried deep began clawing their way back to the surface.

“I just... can’t,” I muttered, the crunch of snow beneath our feet barely masking the hesitation in my voice. “I’ve seen enough death. Taking another life feels like it would take something from me I can’t get back.”

Kael glanced at me, his expression unreadable, before responding softly. “I get that.” He paused, his gaze dropping momentarily to the snow-covered ground. “My family... they ran an assassination operation.”

The weight of his words made all of us freeze in place. I turned to him, startled. “An assassination operation?”

Kael nodded slowly, his face hardening. “Yeah. Since I was a kid, they trained me to kill. Not to fight, not to defend—just to kill. My brothers and sisters were trained the same way. They turned us into tools of their trade, blades to be sharpened and wielded. My first kill...” His voice faltered, and he let out a bitter laugh. “I was barely six years old.”

“Six?” Sylas whispered, her face pale.

Mira looked relieved, but there was still a glimmer of hesitation in her eyes.

Kaldor’s expression softened, and he rested his hammer on his shoulder, his stance more relaxed.

Lily and Lara exchanged worried glances but seemed reassured by Kael’s sincerity.

As for me, I couldn’t help but respect Kael more for his honesty.

Elyndor’s expression darkened as he glanced at Kael. “So... what made you leave?”

Kael exhaled deeply, his breath visible in the cold air. “I couldn’t take it anymore. The last target they gave me... it was a kid, not much older than I was when I made my first kill. That was it for me. I ran and didn’t look back. And while I was running away near the highlands in the south, I got caught in a raid of a nearby village. I tried to help them but failed. And here I am, telling you guys about my backstory.”

“They told me it was the only way to survive,” Kael continued, his jaw tightening. “I hated it—every part of it. Every time I took a life, it felt like they took a piece of my soul. But they didn’t care. To them, all that mattered was loyalty to the association and the perfection of their craft.”

Kaldor furrowed his brow, shifting his hammer as he spoke. “Your parents really treated you like that? And your siblings? That’s messed up.”

Kael’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “All of us were treated like that, except for my oldest brother. He was their pride and joy—their masterpiece. Among all the Shadowfang practitioners, there are only 5 A-ranks, and my brother is among the 5 of them. They call him the 'Phantom Blade.'”

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The name sent a chill through the air, as if Kael’s words carried an unspoken weight.

Elyndor frowned. “Phantom Blade? I’ve heard of him. Isn’t he the one who took down an entire fortress singlehandedly during the Border Wars?”

Kael’s expression darkened further. “Yeah, that’s him. He slaughtered over a hundred soldiers in one night, all without a single alarm being raised. They found the bodies the next morning, and no one could figure out how he got in or out. He left behind a single mark on the fortress wall—the symbol of our family.”

A heavy silence fell over the group as the gravity of Kael’s words sank in.

Mira crossed her arms, her unease clear on her face. “Your brother... he sounds terrifying. Aren’t you worried he’ll come after you? You said you left them.”

Kael’s lips thinned, and his voice was laced with defiance. “I hate them. All of them. My parents, the association, and especially my brother. He’s everything I despise—a perfect weapon with no soul, no remorse. I left because I refused to become like him.”

Sylas, who had been quiet until now, tilted her head curiously. “But if they raised you like that, how do we know you won’t—”

“Kill you?” Kael cut her off, his voice sharp but steady. His gaze swept over each of us, searching for any sign of fear or doubt. “I get why you’d ask. But no. I left because I hated them, because I hated what they were trying to turn me into. The only reason I even know how to kill is because they forced me. If anything, I want to protect people, not hurt them.”

Mira still looked uneasy but nodded slowly. “Fair enough. You don’t exactly scream ‘cold-blooded killer,’ anyway.”

Kaldor placed a reassuring hand on Kael’s shoulder. “I believe you. Anyone who carries that much hate for their past isn’t going back to it.”

Kael glanced up at him, surprised, before giving a faint smile. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

Elyndor leaned on his staff, his sharp gaze softening slightly. “What about your other siblings? Are they still there?”

Kael sighed heavily, the weight of his past dragging at his words. “Most of them, yeah. My younger sister tried to run once, but they caught her. After that... she stopped talking. My older brother makes sure no one else even thinks about leaving. He’s ruthless, and no one’s ever beaten him in a fight.”

I clenched my fists, anger bubbling beneath the surface. “They’re monsters.”

Kael nodded, his expression grim. “Yeah. That’s why I left. I wasn’t going to let them turn me into one of them.”

Mira stepped closer, her usual energy tempered by a quiet determination. “For what it’s worth, I think you’ve done the right thing. It takes guts to walk away from something like that.”

Sylas chimed in with a sly grin, her tone lighter than before. “Yeah, and don’t worry—we’ll keep you on the straight and narrow. No assassin relapses on our watch.”

Kael chuckled softly, the tension easing just a bit. “Thanks. I mean it.”

As we resumed walking, the silence wasn’t oppressive—it was reflective. Each of us carried burdens from our pasts, but in that moment, it felt like we were sharing the weight. And though the snow continued to fall around us, there was a warmth in knowing we weren’t alone.

Elyndor, who had been walking just ahead, slowed his pace, joining the conversation. “You’re not alone in that,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “My village was always under attack from bandits. The only way to survive was to fight back. I didn’t have a choice, either. If I didn’t kill them, they would’ve killed me.”

He paused, his expression hardening. “The first time I killed someone, it was... horrible. But after a while, it became a necessity. It’s not something I enjoy, but it’s something I’ve had to do.”

I could see the strain in his face, the years of hardship etched into every word. It wasn’t easy for any of us, but it was a reality we had been forced to live with.

Kaldor let out a deep sigh, his breath misting in the cold air. “I’m the second son of the Beastkin Patriarch. My older brother, Malrin, is the heir. Strong, smart, charismatic—you name it. My younger brother, Vaelin, was doted on as the baby of the family. And me?” He shrugged, though the bitterness in his voice was unmistakable. “I was just... there. Not the heir. Not the favorite. Just the one who was expected to be strong enough to defend the family’s honor but not important enough to matter.”

Mira’s eyes softened, and Sylas frowned in quiet sympathy. Even Kael, who often masked his emotions, glanced at Kaldor with a flicker of understanding.

“My father believed strength was everything,” Kaldor continued. “He drilled it into us—fight to survive, fight to protect, fight to prove your place. I trained day and night, trying to earn his recognition. But no matter how hard I worked, it was never enough. I wasn’t Malrin, the golden son. And I wasn’t Vaelin, the cherished cub. I was just Kaldor.”

The group was silent for a moment, the weight of Kaldor's words sinking in. Then he continued, his tone softening.

"But... my brothers were different. Malrin might be the heir, but he’s always had my back. He’d sneak out to train with me, help me figure out my weaknesses, and tell me I didn’t need our father’s approval. Vaelin, for all the attention he got, would always share whatever he had with me. When I got hurt during one of those brutal training sessions, it was him who brought me food and sat with me until I could move again."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Kaldor’s lips, though it was tinged with melancholy. “They didn’t have to, but they did. They reminded me that even if my father saw me as just a tool, my brothers saw me as family. And for that... I’ll always love them.”

Sylas gave him a warm smile. “That’s what family is supposed to be like,” she said softly. “Even if it’s just one or two people, having someone who cares makes all the difference.”

Kael nodded. “Sounds like your brothers are the real strength of your family, not your father.”

Kaldor chuckled, his mood lightening slightly. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Then Mira spoke up. “I’ve never actually killed anyone before,” she said, her voice soft but tinged with an odd excitement. “But in battle... it’s thrilling. It’s like... like everything else fades away, and all that matters is the fight.”

Lily and Lara, who had been walking behind us, finally spoke. Their voices were quiet, but the fear in their words was unmistakable.

“We’ve never fought before,” Lily said, her voice trembling. “This... all of this... it’s terrifying. We were so scared, and we couldn’t do anything to help.”

Lara nodded, her eyes downcast. “We’re sorry. We’ve just been... useless.”

I stopped in my tracks and turned to face them, the guilt on their faces breaking my heart. “You don’t have to apologize,” I said gently. “If it weren’t for you, Lily, I would’ve been dead back there. And besides, we’re all in this together. You’re both doing more than you realize.”

The others nodded in agreement, and I could see the relief in Lily and Lara’s eyes. They had been carrying their own guilt, just like the rest of us. But here, in the cold, surrounded by snow and danger, we had no room for guilt.

As we continued walking, I felt the weight of everyone’s stories settle heavily on me. Their pain, their struggles—it was like a mirror reflecting my own. I glanced down at my hands, the memory of the raider’s life I had spared still fresh in my mind.

Could I have done it?

The thought churned in my head, twisting and turning like a knife. Kael’s words lingered with me: Every time I took a life, a part of me died with them.

I clenched my fists. What would I lose if I crossed that line? Would it be my humanity? My sense of self? Or would I just become... empty?

Looking at the group ahead of me—Kael’s quiet determination, Elyndor’s hardened resolve, Kaldor’s calm strength, Mira’s fierce passion, Lily and Lara’s tentative courage, Sylas’s cheerful smile—I realized something.

We’re all broken in some way, trying to hold onto what pieces we can. But maybe, together, we can be something more—something stronger.

I exhaled deeply, my breath misting in the cold. For now, I’d keep moving. One step at a time.

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Four days passed, the snow growing deeper with each step. By the time we reached the edge of a city, we were all exhausted, our bodies heavy with the weight of our journey.

The city of Brightmoor stood before us, its tall, frost-covered walls rising up like a fortress against the snowy landscape. The gates were iron, flanked by guards dressed in thick winter cloaks, their breaths visible in the frigid air. Beyond the gates, I could see the tops of buildings, their rooftops capped with snow, and smoke rising from chimneys. The faint sounds of life inside the city reached us even from a distance.

Brightmoor looked like something out of a story—cold, imposing, yet strangely beautiful. It was a reminder that even in the harshest of winters, life could endure.