A month passed since Ander’s time with Nina: a precious, fleeting moment that was. She stayed with him always, waking with him at every new day's dawn, and falling asleep by his side as they watched the stars. There was no physical form for her to possess, but he knew she was there, watching him from the world beyond his own. Her presence had been personified in her knife, the only token he had to remember her by. Ander had grown quite fond of the blade. It had a great deal of uses and came in handy quite often. It was kept clean and dry by his hand, leaving it in good condition every time he used it. It, alongside his well-preserved portrait of his family, were the only possessions he felt a strong connection with. This, in nature, made the two items double-edged swords. Both were great for use, but both would plague him with painful memories.

A great deal had changed within him after his night with Nina. His blocked emotional canals had become unclogged, and he was finally able to begin properly mourning those he lost. He imagined if Elara or his parents were with Nina in the world beyond, hovering near him always. Thoughts of their spirits huddled around his ragged body as he slept in the snow were common in his mind. He could only imagine what his mother would say about his first love. What a beauty she is, Ander, he could hear her cry from the ethereal veil. What gorgeous hair. What striking eyes!

His tally wasn't perfect, but by his estimate, it had been six months since the fall of Sylrel. Six months since he was forced to flee his home. Six months since he was stripped from everything, and everyone, he ever loved. Soon enough, winter would begin to melt and pass into spring, making way for warmer weather and surely better times. The arrival of the warmer months had already begun manifesting in Vimbaultir, as merchants from all across the Pact of Aeon began to descend on the city. Being known for its exports of fish and general products sourced from the river Brux, it was a jewel for merchants of every trade. A great pilgrimage would soon befall the city as all who sought out riches would flock there, ready to profit off its marinas and seaborne cargo.

His days, being long and cold, gave him room to lose himself in thought. Buried beneath his winter layers, his mind toiled away to make sense of his existence, to make sense of the countless losses he had endured, to make sense of his endless struggles. He thought long and hard, not just about himself, but of the world surrounding him. What kind of plan had been designed for his life that required so much pain, so much agony? Who, mortal or immortal, was the architect of his existence? Could a cause be found for the wickedness plaguing his existence, and the existence of his fellow man? To him, no matter what angle he approached it, all of his conclusions shared a like ending. His life, and every other mortal life like his, had been designed and sculpted by the gods. The roots of his labors, the progenitors of his suffering, were undeniably the immortals who ruled over him.

The longer he processed his emotions, the more they began to change and evolve. It didn’t take long for his woes to manifest as anger and hatred. Hatred for the world that stripped so much from him. Hatred for the ones who destined him to lose everything he held so dear. He knew it was wrong to think this way. The gods, by principle, lived to have passion for the mortals of their world. Surely, they held no disdain for him, nor grievances they purposely inflicted upon his sorrowful flame. But if that were the case - if gods only existed to love the mortals, and nothing more - then why were they fine with their creations enduring so much hardship?

He had a great many questions, but thus far no answers. There was one thing he was quite certain of, however. Whether his heart bled with sorrow or hatred, he never shook the notion that he had to keep breathing. If not, what would all of the loss have been for? What would his family's deaths have been for? What would Mr. Etro's words, and Nina’s struggle, have been for? His time in the gutter taught him not just how to survive, but that he had to survive, especially for all of those who he knew that had failed to do so.

These many thoughts, whether it was about his will to survive or his hatred for the natural world, were often pastimes for the boy. Thus, during the weaning hours of a cold, and rather unextraordinary day, he found himself snug beside the large stone wall of a merchant shop, lost in his memories and fixations. He was on the edge of waxing into sleep, filled with a blurry consciousness as a light flurry fell upon him. As late as it was in the season, it would surely be the last snowfall. The idea that it brought a bit of comfort to him. Soon the town would be reborn, and he would be free to work to regain his savings. Due to unforeseen troubles, his diet kept him just above dying from malnutrition. His concept of starvation from a year back was his everyday norm now, but for not much longer he hoped.

He began to flutter his eyes, yawning as he relaxed against the warm heat vent in the side of the building. Ander didn’t often choose to settle in the alleyways of central Vimbaultir. Being a place for the wealthier members of society, there was a greater chance he would find himself at the mercy of the city guard, who frequently made a game of chasing and antagonizing the homeless. But whenever he did choose to settle there, it was always a much grander experience. Vimbaultir, because of its status as a semi-major settlement, had advanced heating systems in the central city, keeping the cobblestone perpetually warm and barren of snow. It was a comfort to him, as it allowed him to strip off some of his heavier layers, but not all of them seeing as it was, at that time, snowing.

That was when he noticed something rather peculiar lurking in the dark shadows at his side. On top of the building facing him, squatted along the edge of the overhanging roof, was a figure cloaked in darkness. It would stand still for a moment, before making quick, snapping movements with what Ander assumed was its head. Held out from the mass was what appeared to be the outline of a curved object, unmistakably a bow. It was fitted with an undrawn arrow bearing no tension from the string, yet the shadow kept a firm grip on the bolt’s fletching. This raised a red flag inside the young Idris. Weapons were strictly forbidden from being carried inside of Vimbaultir, save for soldiers and sanctioned guards. The form, being veiled in secrecy, clearly belonged to neither of these sects. There was only one reasonable option left for Ander to consider: he was in the presence of outlaws.

His breathing quickened, yet he made sure to stay silent. If the shadow hadn’t noticed him thus far, there was a chance he could skate by the whole interaction without being detected. Armed with the goal of staying hidden, Ander sunk into the light layers he had on, trying to contain himself in the dark space provided by the merchant shop behind him. That was most likely their target if they were, in fact, outlaws. Thieves weren’t especially rare, but they were notorious for leaving no witnesses.

Ander found himself unable to turn his gaze away from the shadow, too intrigued by its mystery to properly hide himself. He was well aware of the risk he put himself in, yet his inner curiosity got the better of him. No matter how much the gutter changed him, his old soul was still buried in him.

*Woosh*

The heat vent behind him let out a large burst of air, creating muffled howls as it entered the alley. The second he was made aware of the gale, it was already too late. The shadow, once distracted by several objects that weren’t him, promptly turned its head to face the vent, and by extension, Ander. It perked up as it noticed the boy, dropping the bow onto the roof to fiddle with something strapped to the figure’s side. It pulled out a small flute-shaped device and proceeded to fit it into its mouth to blow into it. Yet when it did, it made no noise, almost like a muted jester putting on a show. It only went to further stir up Ander’s nerves. He was a witness to an outlaw, a grim title that few alive bore in Vimbaultir.

As the figure finished blowing into the whistle, it retrieved its bow, and disappeared from Ander’s view completely, sinking off into the shadows of the overhanging roof. He was left alone, without a soul to comfort or frighten him. For a moment, he questioned if it was all but a mirage, a trick played by his weary mind. A minute passed, and still there was nothing, the air only hosted the gentle breeze of the night, and the light glow of the stars above.

“*Sigh*, maybe it was just a tri- MHHH!”

From behind him, a bag was thrown over his head, as were a set of hands to silence his mouth and hold down his neck. Other sets of hands took hold of him, restraining him to the ground as he tried to call out. His weariness was whisked away in a split second, yet his attempts to fight against his assailants were fruitless. As he fought, he overheard the voices of his kidnappers.

“Really, Scout? A homeless? You were caught by a homeless?” Came a stern voice, echoing right next to his ear.

“I’m sorry, I am! I didn’t see him, I swear!” There sounded a faint voice from nearby.

“Damnit, you had one job!” The voice spoke again, subdued yet bellowing with strength. “What use is a scout if you can’t scout anything?”

“Point, lay off him,” a feminine voice rang out, quiet as all the rest were. “We all make mistakes.”

Silence followed the feminine voice, before the one named Point sighed and spoke, all the while Ander continued to struggle. “If it were a mistake, you best learn from it, Scout. Snipe, you’re on disciplinary when we get back.”

“Understood, Point.”

“Alright, Soul, Fangs, get him on a horse, we’ll make for ‘The spot’ before heading home.”

“Must we kill him?” Came the voice of Scout, to which Point replied.

“Of course we have to kill him! We can’t risk word about us hitting Monrose getting out, and he’s heard too much to either way.”

Hearing this, Ander ramped up his thrashing, trying desperately to break free of the bonds imposed by the outlaws. There came a swift strike to his head, which instantly knocked the fight out of the malnourished boy. His head filled with dazed thoughts as his body went limp, being held up by the outlaws

“We’ll be doing him a favor anyway, the kid looks like he’s hanging on by a thread.”

“Put him on Scout’s horse, we oughta make this into an actual learning experience,” called out Snipe, followed by the echoes of numerous muted footsteps. Ander, in his hazy state, felt himself rise off the ground as his abductors hauled him up by the arms. He was dragged for a short while, before being hoisted over one of the individual’s shoulders.

“This one’s so light, he must be starving,” came a new voice, one much deeper and almost monotone. Based on how easily he was positioned on the man’s shoulder, Ander assumed he had to have a right stature, unlike him.

“Yeah, we all know what that feels like,” replied the distant voice of Point. The group continued to walk under the veil of the night, giving the young Idris time to recollect himself. His body had been overcome with a sudden frigidness, concentrated around his arms and head. His winter layers, of which he had only a few on, had been stripped off him to make transporting the boy an easier task. In his state, all he had on was his old pair of nightwear - the same he had worn during Sylrel’s destruction - and his brown coat bought from Ver Del. Panic rose in him, but it died down as he felt the outline of his knife in his back pocket, as well as the portrait at his side.

“Alright, put him down. Scout, go fetch some rope from Fang’s horse!” The order came from Snipe seconds before Ander was dropped to the ground. He wasn’t tossed from the man’s shoulder, rather he was placed down somewhat gently. His arms and head were still held down, but after a few minutes, he was fully bound, unable to move freely. Again he was hoisted into the air, and placed face-up on a soft, sloped surface, before being tied down to it as well. It didn’t take him long to reason he was on the back of a horse, tied to a saddle strapped on the beast. It moved slightly, and then in a great amount as its driver saddled up.

“Soul, take front, Fang and Blade in the middle, keep an eye on the haul.”

With a grand chorus of reigns being whipped, Ander felt himself begin to move as the group began to ride off. The ride was quite rocky, keeping him constantly fearing he would fall off the back of the horse. He still had absolutely no idea as to where he was, or where he was going, other than the faint mention of ‘The Spot’. Throughout it all, he was thoroughly terrified. That sensation was common amongst those who had just been told they were about to face execution.

“I’m sorry.”

The words flew by him, sourcing from the master of the horse he was strapped to. It was Scout, the person he assumed had spotted him next to the air vent. He - assuming Scout was a male by how his voice carried - was the shadow posted on the overhanging roof of the alleyway, and the person responsible for his current predicament. Ander had no words for the man. He was still in shock, unable to process what was happening.

The frozen wind continued to bite at his feeble form, making him shiver profusely as the ride continued. The sounds of horseshoes against cobblestone had morphed into the sounds of crunching gravel and snow, signaling their departure from Vimbaultir. They had crossed into the woods, marking the boy’s first time out of the confines of the city since his arrival during early Autumn. The course being taken by the thieves had its fair share of turns and maneuvers, being a rather long trip in its entirety. Eventually, the death march ended, and the whole brigade came to a standstill.

“Here we are. Dismount!” Point, the presumed leader of the outlaw gang, no longer spoke in a whisper. Ander could only assume they were deep in the woods, with no other sapient person around for miles, and thus no need to conceal their activities. “Drop him.”

The bindings attaching him to the horse were cut, and thus he toppled off its back, landing face-first into the snow. His face was still covered by the brown bag, as were his hands and legs tied up with ropes.

“Cut him loose,” commanded Point, standing near the bound boy. “Sit him upright, too.”

Without much protest, he let his kidnappers free him from his bondages, finding himself propped up on his knees. The bag was stripped off his head, freeing him from his dark tomb. It took a while for his vision to fully adjust to the low light level of the woods, but when he came to it, he found himself stationed on the side of a thin road paved with snow. Around him, all covered in black attire were six men. They came in various sizes, and from what Ander could only assume, some wore the figures of what looked like women. Flurries continued to fall upon the group before one spoke.

“Do you know where you are?”

The voice belonged to the one named Point, and now able to see, Ander matched the voice to its body. Point stood at the center of the six, with his arms crossed. He had two bearded axes hung from his hip, as did he have various other pieces of kit hung there too.

“Speak, boy!”

“I-I-I,” Ander’s vision darted between the six, unable to properly string a sentence together. Clearly put off by his unintelligible babbling, Point drew one of his axes to aim at the boy, making him speak hurriedly. “N-No sir, I don’t!”

“Good,” Point stowed the ax, sighing. “Do you know why you’re here?”

“B-Because I sa-saw you…?”

“Very good,” Point spoke softly, a contrast to his earlier tone. “You’re here because you’re a witness. You might not know, but we don’t like witnesses. Not. One. Bit.”

“But we don’t kill witnesses either.” To Point’s right, there came the deep voice of Blade, the same man who had carried Ander over his shoulder. The man sported a full build, more so than Point did, not that any of them were small, save for one figure at the very end of the pack. Blade, true to his name, had a long sword strapped to his back, as did he have a shield held over it, peaking over the sides of his shoulder. For a thieving group, they were relatively well-armed.

“Y-You’re not going to kill me!” Ander shot up on his knees, turning to face Blade.

“No,” Point spoke, shaking his head. “Nature will.”

Ander froze as the man spoke, falling back onto his heels as he stared vacantly at Point. His suspicions were indeed true. This was an execution, but instead of a painless death, they were quite all right with him succumbing to the elements. It was, after all, a good way of disposing of witnesses with a somewhat clear conscience. Smart as it may be, it was still murder.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“We’re going to leave you here,” Point began. “And that’ll be that. You may move if you like, or whatever the hell you end up deciding on. But considering the state that you’re in, you’ll most likely die before sunrise no matter what you choose to do. You’re free to head towards a town, which I believe the closest one is north, northeast from here, but it’ll be a rather long walk, one that I’m certain you won’t make.”

Are we really that far out, he thought in distress. The ride did take a decent amount of time to complete, but without a set measurement, he hadn’t a clue how long it actually was.

“Well, that’s about it. Good luck, kid.” Point wished him the best before turning his back to Ander, signaling for the others to do the same. As they began pacing back towards their horses, the young Idris was given a respite to understand his situation. The moment they left, he was destined to die, that was certain. He was nothing more than skin and bones, and without actual winter clothing, he was liable to freeze before midnight. Terrible thoughts of his demise filled his head, making him conjure tears from his eyes.

Is that the only response I have, he demeaned himself, trying to suppress his sobs. Is crying all I can do?

That was when a quaint memory came to him, nothing more than a spark in the endless snow. Before his eyes flashed a moment in time, one of many that evoked great grief in the boy. It was of Nina during the time he mourned over her dead body. Tears streamed down his face, both in the memory and in the present. A single phrase occurred to him, layered between sobs and shudders from the recent past.

I will live on, for us.

“Wait!” Ander called towards the six, who were just a moment from saddling up to depart the woods. At his request, they all stopped and turned to face him, waiting for what the boy had in mind.

“L-Let me… Let me join you!”

It was the only thing he could think of that had a faint chance of saving his skin. If he was a witness, the only way he could be trusted not to break their secrecy was if he was a part of the secret. It was a stretch, and in his current state he had legitimately no desirable traits to aid the team, but his resolve had made up its mind. He would live on, no matter the cost, no matter the chances.

“You wish to join us?” Spoke Point, resting his hands on his axes. “Are you quite sure?”

“Yes, I am!” He yelled, fire in his eyes. His tears were long gone, replaced with the fiery will. “I am sure of it, please! I’ll do anything, I beg you!”

Point, looking between his associates, nodded his head at the boy’s words before taking off his black veil. He showed his face to the boy, as did the five other outlaws in tandem. Ander’s original suspicions had been proven correct. In total, there were four men and two women. Strangely enough, there were only five humans, with one of the girls clearly not belonging to the race of man. The event jarred the boy before he resumed his efforts.

“What must I do to join, I beg you!”

“Thaddeus, go fetch the map,” Point said to the man at his side. Thaddeus, a pale man who sported a sharp undercut, had a bow strung across his back, much larger than the bow belonging to the figure he had seen before. He nodded in response to Point, turning to pace toward his respective horse in search of ‘the map’.

“Listen close, boy,” Point held up a finger, before aiming said finger at the first person of the group. “That over there’s Nallia, that’s Bella, that back there is Thaddeus, this is Leon, that’s Damien, and I’m Sylas. Got it?”

“Y-Yeah,” Ander mumbled, trying to put faces to all the names. He had enough context to try and match the outlaw’s names to their cover names, starting with Fangs, who was clearly Nallia seeing as she had actual fangs peaking over her lower lip. Next was Damien, who could only be Scout based on his size matching the figure who had spotted him. Leon was Blade, a statement aided by the longsword he was armed with. He had no clue whether Soul was Thaddeus or Bella, but names and faces were the least of his worries at the moment.

“You best listen close, because after I say this, you’re on your own,” Sylas kneeled down in the snow before Ander, looking him dead in the eyes. Thaddeus had returned with the map and handed it down to Sylas, who took the paper and thrust it into Ander’s chest. “This is a map, give it a quick look.”

Following the man’s instructions, Ander undid the bindings of the map to gaze down at its inscriptions. It wasn’t like any map he had come across, that much was obvious. All it contained was a mess of lines like a small child had free reign over it with a thin brush. At the top right of the map, there was a small red dot, next to which there was a faint compass. As far as maps go, this one was terrible in quite possibly every regard, and it didn’t take the boy long to realize that was intentional.

“Pipe up, boy. This here’s a challenge,” Sylas said in a calm and cool voice. He stood, towering over Ander with his larger frame. “This map details the southeast region of the Vern's forest, the very place we’re in now. You may have noticed, if you haven’t already, that there’s a red dot in the right-hand corner of the map. That’s your objective. You’re going to use this map, and you’re going to try and find us. You’ll have till sunrise, and let me warn you, it is a very long walk, and seeing as it’s winter, it’ll be quite cold as well.”

“W-What happens if I don’t find you before sunrise?”

“If you don’t find us, well, we get back up on our horses here, and we hunt you down. And when we hunt you, and when we find you, which we will, Thaddeus here is going to send a bolt right between your eyes. Ain’t that right, Thad?”

“Right as rain, boy,” the archer replied. The voice was enough to tell Ander that Thaddeus was Snipe, the man who had been given discipline duty for Damien.

“W-Why?” He began to stutter, the cold making his teeth chatter. “I m-mean, if I find you, w-what happens next? Do I join the group?”

“It depends,” Sylas chuckled, running a hand through his black hair. “The more you ask now, the less time you’ll have to find us, boy. But if you do, we’ll bring you up as one of us, that is, so long as you survive making it to the hideout.”

“O-Okay,” Ander pushed himself off the ground, shivering as the cold air made contact with his frail body. “I-I will find you, you have my w-word!”

“A word from a bag of bones doesn’t mean much, kid. Either way, I wish you luck on your journey,” Sylas bode him well once again before turning around to approach his horse. The others did the same, and eventually, all of the six were mounted up, reigns in hand. Sylas glanced down at him, calling to him one final time.

“Here begins your test, lad!” He bellowed with a smile. “We’ll be waiting for your return, and if you don’t, you’re well aware of what comes next! Kyaa!”

The man whipped the leads of his horse, and off he went, trailed by the five other thieves. The pack sped off down the snow-covered road, yet, despite their horses clearing trekking through the drift, they left no footprints of any kind. Tracks would have made the affair all too easy, yet it did raise suspicion in the boy that one of the thieves was a Magii, an extraordinary sight in any environment, let alone amongst the outlaws. Nevertheless, the group was quick to disappear into the foliage, and there he was left alone, armed with nothing but his map, and his wavering mind.

“No…” He pushed aside his worries, knowing they would hold him down. He made a vow to Nina, he gave her his word. Even if he had nothing else, he would make sure his promise meant something. “I will live… I will, for the both of us.”

O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O

The crunching of hardened snow followed the boy with every pace, breaking the still air of the forest. The wood around him was cloaked in silence despite the many creatures lurking beyond its curtains. Even though he couldn't see them, Ander could feel countless eyes following him with each step he took further, watching the shivering boy from the darkness. There would often come a call, or even the crackling of broken twigs from beyond the wooden wall, but they were scarce, and faint at best.

The boy trudged through the snow, one hand stuffed into his woolen pocket, and his other hand holding up the forest map. It took him quite a while, but he was able to come to grasps with its speciality. The forest was home to a great many paths, but not nearly as many as were depicted on the map. Rather, there was an excess of routes drawn, made to try and confuse whoever was unfortunate enough to be reading it. He had little education when it came to cartography, but a bit of sense was all that was needed to crack it, and thus he was well on his way toward the red dot in the right-hand corner.

Sylas was right, it was quite a long walk. It had been a solid hour, if not two, since the thieves had left him in the forest. And by his rough estimate, he had yet to make it halfway to the thieve’s ‘hideout’. Furthermore, his body had gone from cold, to shivering, to absolutely freezing. Any sane person would have agreed with Sylas’ comment about the journey being impossible for the frail boy, and they would be right to believe so. Yet, Ander felt no urge to stop, nor rest, nor slow down in the slightest. He had his route to survival, and it involved making it back to the thieves, no matter what pain it brought him.

Through cracks in the wooden canopy above, a full moon shined bright upon him, masking his face and form in a pale luminescence. It was enough for him to read the map, with only the need for a little squinting. It wasn’t just the trail, but rather the whole wood was covered in dim light, enough for him to peer through the forest walls at his side deep into the secrets held behind them. If it weren’t for his dire condition, or looming threat of death, the scene would have come across as absolutely wonderful. A relaxing image for all those burdened with trouble. One calm and tame, without an inkling of a threat.

Or so it seemed.

There came a shuffling from beyond the forest wall, sounding off from behind the small hill the oaks were rooted on. It brought the young Idris to a stop, his worn boots halting in the snow as he looked towards the direction the scampering sounded from. Overtop the peak of the small hill, there appeared two black masses, prancing through the snow with a clear urgency. As they progressed out from beneath the trees onto the clear pathway, Ander was able to make out plainly what the creatures were. Before him, separated by a few dozen feet or so, were two small bear cubs, huddled together on the side of the pathway. They were frozen in sight of him, clearly startled by the human’s presence, as most small creatures were. Yet, unbeknownst to them, the boy was filled with a greater amount of fright. It was made apparent to Ander that they had company in the forest, as a murder of crows took to the trees above.

“Caw!”

The sight of bear cubs was an immediate sign of danger for all those acquainted with the wild, as they heralded the vicious mother bears. The beasts were terrible on their lonesome, but with the drive to protect their kin, they were beyond savage, much too dangerous for Ander, even if he were at his fullest. He began to pace backward, eyes pried open, scanning for any additional creatures.

And that’s when he heard it. From beyond the same hill came the thundering sounds of footsteps, belonging to a creature far larger than the two bearcubs. The third creature took no latency in making its debut, and a moment after it began sounding off, there came about a large black bear atop the small hill, teeth bared towards Ander. His heart raced, pounding out of his chest as his breath caught in his throat

Oddly enough, Ander wasn’t the only one in attendance who was put off by the third bear. The two smaller cubs, once frozen in sight of Ander, were quite jarred by the adult’s presence, whimpering in the snow. The cubs were only a little distance from the adult, and that’s when the human realized: the bear wasn’t after him, it was after the cubs.

“Caw!”

Letting out a great roar, the bear bolted forward, and collapsed its maw over the neck of the closest cub, slaying the poor creature with a loud *Crack!*. The remaining cub cried out, scampering away as the larger bear began to rip apart the dead whelp. It clawed its pelt to pieces and spat out onto the snow whatever remained. The bear wasn’t hunting the cubs for food, it was all for sport, as ambitious males would do to thin competition. Such a situation made Ander’s mental processes shut down, but only briefly, as not a moment later the larger bear looked up to snarl at the thin boy, announcing who its next target was.

It let out a second roar, pounding its front paw into the snow, smearing the dead cub’s blood into the pearly white drift. The map was quick to drop from Ander’s hands as his fear took hold of him. What could he do? Where could he run? There was no escaping such a large beast, especially in its own forest. His thoughts were interrupted when the bear roared again, flashing its teeth almost as if it were smiling, reveling in the idea of tearing him to shreds.

In the blink of an eye, it was bounding towards him. The distance was closed in no shorter of a time, and with a quick strike, its claws sunk into his chest, pulling apart fabric and skin as Ander fell back, trying to escape it. He collapsed into the snow at his side, the bear charging past him having landed a clean hit, but yet to be fully satisfied. It seems hibernation left it with a great bloodlust, a depravity it wished to enact on the frail child.

Ander let out a great cry, something between a yell of agony and exertion. Blood was quick to soak up into his brown coat, bleeding out into the snow as he tried desperately to apply pressure. Wounds to the body, or anywhere except the extremities, couldn’t be slowed down by pressure, this he knew. It was just a flesh wound, but he was bound to sustain far greater injuries if he decided to stay in the snow. And so with a great effort, he hobbled back to his feet, turning to face the bear. It had rebounded from its first charge, pleased with the fresh blood painted across its claws. It let out a huff, signaling another charge was yet to come, this one it would be sure to make fatal.

“Caw!”

There came an oddity for the boy as time seemed to pause around him, the faint sounds of the forests and the heat of the hunt escaping the air. He felt still, with the pain of his wounds and the general sickness of his hungry form being of no burden to him. There was nothing but snow, boundless snow all about him, painting the earth and falling from the clouds above. Snow. Just snow.

There materialized the feeling of a hand on his shoulder, and the brush of a finger against his palm. The sensation was instantly recognized by the boy. Nina was with him at that moment, standing beside him from the world beyond his own, just as she always was. The heat of her spirit unthawed his icy soul, and from the depths of his mind, there came a faint voice, echoing endlessly.

Keep your promise. You must live. For us.

When time began to move, and the bear began to gather itself for another attack, a new awareness swelled within the boy. This was no hunt, this was no march to death. This was a fight, one he would wage with all his soul. He had one mission, one directive, one reason to keep going. He had to live, he couldn’t succumb to the death creeping before him. Teeth grit, chest heaving and mind focused to a tee, he reached around his back and unsheathed his knife, clasping it in his shaky hand.

The bear bellowed out another roar and began speeding towards him, its mouth open, ready to rip him apart with its razor-like teeth. He shook with fear but refused to yield, rushing towards the bear much the same. He noticed a rock at his side and dipped down to pick it up. With not a fraction of a second to spare, he hammered the rock into the side of the bear's head, making it stagger in its charge. The boy managed to escape it, but within the bear, there stirred an unyielding rage, brought on by the fight it found itself in. It was swift to turn and came upon him in an instant.

Its jaw hung open, and was immediately upon his shoulder, digging its teeth into his flesh, tearing apart bone and sinew as it went. There came a cry from Ander, but not one of pain. It was a pretext for his counterattack, where he buried Nina’s knife into the rough pelt of the bear, stabbing it where he assumed its neck was. It just barely pierced the surface, and as it bottomed out, he rolled back and stabbed again, sending crimson flying through the air. The bear snarled in pain, but refused to let go, gripping down harder as it began to shake him.

I WILL LIVE.

The words echoed endlessly in Ander’s mind, filled with a rabid rage, egged on by his great pain. He continued stabbing, so much so that eventually the bear let go of his shoulder, with the intent to flee the boy’s blade. It galloped back, blood dripping from its neck wound. Every strike was powered by intense emotion, all of his torment receiving form in his rusty blade. It was clear what he struck with. It was his refusal to die, his refusal to leave this world, his refusal to break his promise.

The bear, now unstable upon its own feet, was torn between charging the boy and fleeing into the night. It would never make that choice, as a second later, Ander was upon the beast, stabbing ferociously into its pelt. It let out a groan, trying to flee, but ultimately succumbed to falling into the snow. Despite having given up, the boy continued his assault, crying bellowing from his lungs as he raised and lowered his arms in a flash.

I.

WILL.

LIVE!

“Caw!”

“I.”

“WILL”

“LIVE!”

The life was long gone from the bear now, yet Ander continued stabbing. Seconds passed, and when the head of the beast was held to the body with nothing more than a strand of fur, his attacks slowed. With a final swing, he cut the head clean off before collapsing into the bloody pelt, tears pouring down his red-soaked face. Everything had come undone, and the fire to survive burned hot within him. Sobs took hold of him for a moment, but when he composed himself, he reeled back on his knees, and let loose a visceral roar, clearing the murder of crows from the trees above as they took to the air. The threat had been eliminated, and the rabid beast within Ander had won.

Blood-soaked and strewn with injuries, he rose to his feet, gasping for breath in his victory over the bear. He had lived. His word had been kept. After losing so much, for so long, he had finally achieved victory over something. Death had been bested that day, and when he composed himself, he took one of the bloodied paws of the bear and strung it up over his right shoulder. The snow was slick, and his traction was poor, but little by little, he began to drag the bear, picking up the discarded map in the process. The carcass was heavy, far too heavy for any reasonable person to try to drag. Yet he did so anyway.

The bear was his kill. It was his, and no one else's. He was the one who survived, he was the one who overcame death.

The march resumed, and the only sensation Ander felt was that of the primal fire raging within him. He burned hot in the snow, with the blood of his wounds and the hunger of his chest vanishing into the frigid air. The stars, hung high in the sky, told the boy it was around midnight, and so quickened his journey towards the hideout, but not without company. As time went on, a pack of wolves was quick to take interest in his kill, following him from within the den of wood, eager to snatch the meat. Often, they would journey onto the path, but Ander was quick to dissuade them from their endeavors.

“BACK, BACK!” He called, waving his knife, eyes bloodshot and filled with fire. “MY KILL!”

“IT’S MINE!”

“MY! KILL!”

And so the night went on, boundless and bare. The night that, after months of loss and pain, Ander found himself a victor at last.