Garan crouched behind a boulder, scowling at the dozen or so Nightmares that roamed the mountainside. Any of those monstrosities could reap his life in a heartbeat, but more than that, he found the familiarity of the situation a bit jarring. The situation of that cursed day.

It had been a clear morning that day when he had hidden behind the boulders to scan a herd of water buffaloes grazing on the sparse vegetation on the hilltops. Finding a suitable beast for the feast the following day had not been an easy task, and without the help of his huntsmate, Erin, he would have failed the task.

The hunt had gone better than both of them had hoped for, giving rise to hope in their young hearts. The hope of winning against all the other young hunter couplings out there. A matter of great honour and prestige. Imagining the admiration in the eyes of the tribesmen when they rode through the tribe had thrilled them. But their glee had not lasted long.

The long trail of smoke rising on the horizon had been alarming. It had risen to the skies, twisting and turning as if alive. It had lingered there, hovering in the skies above their tribe’s tents like a colossal worm, a pitch-black centipede shaped with smoke.

And Garan had sensed an evil will fermenting insatiable greed to consume all.

“Garan!” Harker’s voice woke him up with a start. “Arda has completed scouting the way,” the big man said. “Let’s leave.”

“Are you certain it’s truly safe?” Garan asked as he sneaked up to them.

Arda’s answering smile sent chills up his spine. “Are you doubting my skills as a scout?” she asked.

“I would doubt you too after you led us to that Nightmare nest last time,” Harker scoffed at her before turning to address Erhan. “What is your suggestion, druid?”

Erhan observed the tall peak on the horizon. The tallest peak, right in the centre of the Dreaming mountains, its dark exterior that seemed to devour the surrounding daylight, stood in sharp contrast with the rest of its snow-capped peers.

The Mountain of Hunger. Their destination.

It was still far, likely months away through this labyrinthine path. But they were still close enough for it to start affecting him. Primarily, his sense of premonition had dulled significantly. So the time had arrived for Arda to put what she had called her excellent scouting abilities into good use.

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Erhan sighed and turned towards Harker. “Trust her judgement,” he said as he stepped towards the scouted path, but before he could take more than ten steps, he suddenly came to a halt.

“What—” Harker stopped, his eyes widening. And Not only him. Dread gripped the heart of the other two like a vice.

A thin trail of dark mist shimmered in the air ahead of them like a line of ink slowly dispersing in water. A Nightmare! It should have passed through the place just a moment ago.

Harker’s sword came out, and so did Garan’s bow and Arda’s knife. None of them dared to take another step, scanning the surrounding as they got ready for battle, but the Nightmare showed no sign of coming out.

Sighing, Erhan pointed his staff in a direction and started muttering a mantra. He barely noticed the pull at his blood, unusual, considering the art he was casting. But not surprising.

The holy land of druids. The interior of the Dreaming mountains received that name for a reason.

A dark silhouette jumped out of the thin air behind them, its fishlike body cutting through the air as swiftly as a falcon as it aimed for Garan’s back. But its choice of target turned out to be poor. The archer’s instincts were sharp as a well-honed blade. He turned, drawing on his bowstring in one smooth motion before he let loose. As sudden as a bolt of lightning, the arrow lodged into the skull of the Nightmare, halting its advance.

The fish bodied monstrosity flailed its head, shaking off the shaft in one violent motion before it turned its cruel, blue-green eyes once more towards Garan and bared its fangs.

“Avoid!” Erhan’s growl shook the heart of the three. They sprang away instinctually before looking over.

The druid stood in front of the Nightmare, clenching his teeth, breathing harder and harder as he tried to steady his quivering staff. The twisted branch of thunderstruck wood shone an intense white the colour of fresh snow.

The Nightmare sensed an immense threat from within. Its eyes lit up in alarm as It tried to turn around and run, but the last word of the Mantra had already left Erhan’s mouth. An all-encompassing cold pervaded the air, penetrating all and crystalizing the powdery snow from inside.

The Nightmare flapped its body, giving its all to advance, even if only a handspan further. Its strength was immense, but it still couldn’t ward off the inner freeze. Bit by bit, its form turned sluggish. Its scales crackled like brittle glass with every movement until it stopped. Its body dropped from the air, shattering into a million pieces on the snow that had already transformed into a layer of crystal clear Ice.

Erhan lowered his staff, his eyes gliding over the surroundings. The effect was… extensive. Ideally, only the Nightmare should have perished from the Call of Tundra, which only affects what it saaimed at. But now...

His sense of premonition may have dulled, but his druidic arts had strengthened to the point of being almost uncontrollable.

The only favourable outcome of these circumstances was the lessening of the price he had to pay. Even Call of Tundra only left him breathless at best. And with the strength he had now…

He could finally put up a fight against the Nightmares.