Fate was a cruel mistress if it meant Eirik had to take a beating like that. The blow landed so fast, so hard, that he felt it all the way down to his bones. Afterward, his cheek throbbed more than the burn his fingers had received from the campfire.
They had strayed far off the path. A snowstorm had caught them off guard. The cold had burrowed beneath his coat, the frost biting into whatever exposed skin it could find. When he kept his eyes open, all he could see was the swirling snow, not even the men who were near.
But when he closed his eyes, he imagined his warm home, his mother’s round face, Saarni’s broad grin, Pitu’s smug smile, and his father’s stoic expression. In those fleeting moments, he felt at peace—he felt like he was home.
“Idiot! Fool!” Ulrik shook him violently. “Don’t fall asleep now! It’s too cold!”
Eirik grimaced. “Your breath smells disgusting.”
“And I’ll keep blowing it in your face until you stop dozing off.”
“I’m not dozing off. I’m just resting my eyes.”
“Should I hit you again?”
“No, thanks.”
Eirik sighed. The snowstorm had been raging for hours. Ulrik had wanted to keep going, but they were beginning to crash into trees, and the wind was so fierce that they could no longer hear each other’s voices over its roar. So, they’d tried to find shelter, but to no avail. They’d made it to the mountain's foothills, but they dared not venture deeper into its passageways and caves. Who knew what might be hiding in there?
So, they had settled for a small indent in the terrain, which offered little protection from the relentless lash of the storm. However, the most important thing was that their horses remained in decent condition, along with their food and supplies.
Sindre had said that the storm shouldn’t last much longer. They were not yet in Everfrost, but they were rapidly approaching the mountains that separated the region. That was why the weather had turned worse, and the nights were growing longer. While others celebrated spring and summer, Everfrost was buried in an eternal night— a season where the sun would not rise for a long time. A time when the Sunbringer would completely abandon them.
Although Sindre’s words had sounded like a desperate attempt to hold onto hope, Eirik decided to trust him. But his wounds ached; it felt as though his ribs had been torn open again. At times, he could still feel the wolf’s teeth buried deep in his shoulder, and the pain shot through his entire body. The cold did them no favors, nor did it help his morale.
They had tried to keep an eye on certain landmarks, but if you asked him, it was just forest, forest, and more forest as far as he could see. Sindre was the better navigator; he’d paid attention to rocks, the angle of branches, and a small, peculiar pond supposedly blessed by Moonbringer—it never froze. Unfrozen puddles didn’t interest Eirik, though. They had seen far more wondrous things on their journey. And, in the end, it hadn’t been any help. Now they had lost sight of the mountain they had been following along its side. Perhaps it was still out there somewhere, giving them direction—if they made it through this storm alive.
Ulrik shoved him again. Eirik growled, “I’m not sleeping!”
“Shut up,” the man hissed, “Look.”
He pointed straight ahead. Eirik followed his gaze but saw nothing. The wind only whipped the landscape before them, trying to pull them along, lashing snow and ice down upon them as it pleased.
“What am I supposed to be looking at?” he muttered sleepily. His entire body was shivering uncontrollably, and he was leaning against Ulrik. Not because of the strength of their bond, but because of the cruel cold. Ulrik was in the same state as him, so perhaps that was the only reason he hadn't yet killed him for getting too close.
Eirik squinted his eyes, starting to make out what Ulrik had meant. Behind the snowstorm, just about ten meters away, there was a dark silhouette. And it was slowly but surely moving toward them. The closer it came, the clearer it became. When it growled for the first time, both Ulrik and Eirik snapped into action.
“Sindre!” Ulrik shook his brother. “Wolves! They’re here!”
“What?” the man mumbled, clearly weak and half-asleep. “How is that possible?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t we stop and ask?” Eirik mumbled.
Ulrik glared at him, but didn’t have time to respond before the creature lunged toward them.
Although the giant wolf was capable of moving, seeing, and smelling in such a storm, even it wasn’t perfect. The men had no trouble dodging its movements. The horses neighed restlessly, trying to break free from the ropes that were tied to boulders.
The wolf began to howl. It was a long, blood-curdling wail that seemed to reach the ends of the earth. When it fell silent, it didn’t attempt to attack again. Eirik and Ulrik stumbled toward their weapons as Sindre rushed to free the horses. They had to flee—immediately.
The howl came again, but from farther away this time. Then, it came from another direction, and soon from a third. The air was filled with the deadly melody. The trio cursed in unison, fear creeping up their spines. They were trapped.
“Sindre!” Ulrik called out again. “What does it look like?”
“I got the horses ready, they—” He didn’t have time to finish his sentence before the horses tore free from his grip. They fled, leaving the men to fend for themselves.
“Damn you, Captain Clop,” Eirik groaned. “Should’ve eaten that apple instead of giving it to you.”
Unfortunately, humor didn’t help in this situation. The wolf slowly approached, its dark, hollow eyes fixed on them. Sindre stumbled toward them, his arm injured from the horses’ struggle.
They stood close, backs pressed against each other. Their line of sight to the wolf was broken, even though it was so near. They could no longer hear the howls of the others, but they knew they didn’t have much time left.
“Any good ideas?” Eirik asked, hopeful.
“Yeah,” Sindre said, “Run!”
And so they did. They left behind their supplies and extra weapons, sprinting past the wolf and deeper into the forest. Somehow, the wolves had found them. Somehow, they were able to function in this storm. Whether it was their natural ability or something else entirely, Eirik didn’t want to stick around to find out.
He’d always been fast on his feet. Faster than his sister. And even though every part of his body ached and his energy seemed to drain away like flowing water, he managed to avoid the wolf’s next attack and vanish into the woods.
Ulrik and Sindre kept close behind him.
“Is it following us!?” Eirik shouted.
“Well, what do you think?” Ulrik growled. A stupid question with an obvious answer. Eirik bit his lip, trying not to cry out in pain. His old wounds flared up now, as if reminding him of how those vicious creatures’ teeth and claws had felt in his flesh.
He couldn’t see where he was heading. He stumbled over roots, hit his face against branches, but he didn’t give up. He ran and ran, hearing the wolves howling again. They were hunting them.
“Up the mountain!” Sindre’s voice seemed to come from too far away, too out of reach. For a moment, Eirik dared to stop.
“Up the mountain!” the man repeated, then growled in response to the wolf’s furious snarl. “To the caves! Let’s lose them!”
Eirik froze. He wanted to help Sindre, but he didn’t even know where he was. He was too scared to make his own decision, so he followed the command. He started running again, trying to figure out where the mountain was. He couldn’t fully turn back, but he could circle around and find the caves, or at least some kind of shelter.
He heard footsteps behind him, but they weren’t animalistic. Ulrik was on his heels, not quite as fast as he was. Sindre was nowhere to be seen. But he was a stubborn man, and he had a little sister who needed him, and a brother who would be absolutely unbearable without him. Sindre would manage.
Soon, a towering cliff face came into view. “Look!” Eirik shouted, but got only a grunt in reply. Then he heard the slice of a sword hitting flesh, followed by a pained howl.
Eirik turned. It wasn’t just one wolf; five of them had closed in. Through the driving snow, he could see them better now, emerging from behind the trees, jaws bared and sharp teeth flashing. The injured wolf Ulrik had struck was limping back into formation with the rest. Ulrik backed up to join Eirik’s side.
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“It can’t be the same pack from the village,” Eirik muttered.
“No,” Ulrik agreed grimly.
“The whole forest is crawling with god-cursed monsters.”
They backed up until Eirik felt the unforgiving stone wall against his back. They were trapped, and there wasn’t a cave opening in sight.
“We need to climb,” Eirik said. “We can’t fight them.”
“Any more obvious observations?” Ulrik retorted.
Eirik didn’t bother responding. Instead, he sheathed his sword at his side, turning just as the wolves snarled and launched toward them. He yanked off his gloves, leaping upward and trusting lady luck to carry him through. His fingers found a narrow ledge, and he hauled himself up, catching a glimpse of Ulrik doing the same. They scrambled up the cliff face, knowing full well their strength wouldn’t hold out for long.
“To the left—there’s a big ledge further up,” Ulrik called, making his way toward it. Wolves leaped, snapping at their ankles, and one nearly latched onto Eirik’s leg. He pulled himself up just in time, his hands shaking. His muscles begged him to give up, to surrender to his fate.
Unfortunately, the wolves were cleverer than they were. Just a little further along the mountain slope, there was a gentler incline that could be traversed by foot. In their panic, Eirik and Ulrik hadn’t noticed it, having been cornered against the steeper cliff face instead. Now the wolves, sensing their advantage, raced toward that path, determined to make a meal out of the two worn-out men. Worse yet, that very path was what they needed to reach the ledge.
They had no choice but to try charging through.
In silent agreement, they climbed toward what seemed like certain death. The wolves were already waiting, hungry and grinning as if mocking them. Once close enough, Ulrik drew his machete, letting out a fierce yell, and fearlessly leaped into the midst of the wolves, swinging with such force that Eirik could almost feel the impact himself. He didn’t hesitate either—well, not for more than a second—before he followed, jumping beside his companion, and together they dashed toward the ledge.
They didn’t get far.
A shocking pain sliced through Eirik’s leg, and he crashed to the ground with a cry.
“Eirik!” Ulrik yelped, lunging at the wolf that had bitten him, but four others had already joined the fray. No matter how aggressive or skilled a fighter he was, exhausted and on the edge of hyperventilation, there was no way he could take on so many beasts alone.
With a whine, Eirik pulled himself to his feet. Tears of pain streaked down his pale cheeks, but he held on. He plunged his sword into the head of the wolf that had been mauling Ulrik, and its body went limp. It all happened too quickly. He could feel the creature’s life slip away at the impact, and those few seconds felt like an eternity. Eirik stared at the darkened eyes of the fallen wolf, almost nauseated.
Ulrik shoved the carcass off himself, immediately striking at the next wolf.
“Don’t just stand there!” he yelled at Eirik, snapping him back into motion.
He pulled his sword free. The blood smeared across its blade looked grotesque against the snow. For a brief moment, as Eirik stared at the weapon, he noticed something in its reflection. With the snowfall no longer as heavy, the vision was more clear—and something was moving above them.
The ground beneath them trembled. Even the wolves halted their attack, uncertain of what was happening.
Eirik looked at Ulrik, mouthing, ‘What?’ but no sound escaped as a massive boulder crashed down right beside them, less than a meter away. The wolves yelped, fleeing instantly.
The pair turned their gaze back up toward the peak. The avalanche surged toward them, a white river swallowing everything in its path—stones, trees, trails. The air filled with razor-sharp ice crystals that clung to Eirik like needles, tearing at his skin.
He couldn't move. His body refused to obey, his thoughts frozen along with him. Ulrik shouted at him from somewhere close by, but that was nothing new; he was always yelling about something. This time, though, it didn't push him into action. Eirik just stared, wide-eyed, as the avalanche thundered down, ready to claim them as its own.
He snapped out of it only when Ulrik tackled him. Together, they began rolling down the slope, giving themselves a small chance to survive. But then they crashed into a massive boulder in their path, which split them apart, throwing them to opposite sides of the ledge.
By the time Eirik understood what was happening, it was already too late. They were buried in snow, the force tossing them farther and farther from each other. Ulrik kept trying to shout after him, but Eirik never replied. Darkness overtook his vision, swallowing the world around him.
When he finally woke up, he was alone. For a moment, he wondered if he was even still alive.
Cursing, he struggled to his feet. His fingers were ominously darkened, and he couldn’t move them. His hat was gone, and his hair was smeared with blood. Eirik swallowed hard, quickly assessing the situation. A wolf had bitten through his leather clothing, sinking its teeth deep into his leg. Walking was slow and agonizing. The wounds on his side and shoulder had torn open again, and he was fairly certain he’d hit his head too.
"Ulrik?" His voice trembled, barely audible even to himself. Eirik gasped, his legs giving out beneath him. "Sindre?"
No one answered.
Damn it.
He tried to get up, tried to keep going. But he wasn't strong enough. Eirik slumped back into the snow, feeling his body’s failure as a dull ache in every limb. He lay there, unsure what to do, shivering as his breath came in shallow bursts. The mountainside before him was a sheer wall of snow and ice; there was no chance he could climb it, not with his legs sinking deeper into the snow with every faltering step. He had no choice but to stay hidden in the forest and pray that the avalanche had scared away the creatures still lurking in the shadows.
But prayer was all he had. He knew he wouldn't survive this—not on his own. His will might have been strong, but the brutal reality of the wild was stronger. He would die here. In his final moments, he clung to one fragile hope: that Sindre and Ulrik had made it out alive. The thought gave him warmth, though it lasted only an instant.
A faint crack echoed through the forest. Eirik lifted his head slowly, barely managing to keep it upright. Through the trees, a silver-furred coyote emerged, its eyes reflecting the light like two distant stars.
A strangled gasp escaped his lips, caught between awe and pain. The coyote held his gaze for a long moment, its eyes filled with something he couldn’t name, before it turned to leave.
"Wait… please… come back," he called, stumbling to his feet. He followed it, staggering in the snow. "I need to… I need to know…"
He couldn’t finish his sentence. Bit by bit, his body began to fail him, each muscle yielding to exhaustion. Still, he stumbled forward, drawn to the coyote, compelled to follow it deeper into the forest, with no sense of where he was or why he felt he had to.
Now and then, the creature paused, looking back to be sure he was still following, as if wanting him to press on, urging him to keep going. Eirik didn’t know how far he had dragged himself—if it had been hours or only minutes. At last, they came to a small pond. By all logic, it should have been sealed in ice. But it wasn’t, and there at the shore, the coyote waited.
Eirik’s legs buckled; he couldn't take another step. He collapsed into the snow, his blood mingling with the ground. Maybe this way, he thought dimly, he’d become part of the forest.
Through the haze, he heard a soft, gurgling growl, then felt a gentle tug on his sleeve. The animal, small and gaunt, shouldn’t have had that kind of strength, yet somehow it pulled him closer, inch by inch, toward the water. With one final strain, the coyote dragged him to the pond's edge. Half-asleep, or maybe half-dead, he felt the creature nudge him forward until he slipped into the water.
Warmth flooded his limbs.
Was he already gone?
No, he wasn’t. First, he felt sensation return to his fingers. Frostbite didn’t want to let him go, but it washed away into the pond’s ripples, along with his other ailments. Then he could breathe properly again, and the throbbing in his head stopped.
Eirik had heard of blessings from the gods. Rarely, they might bestow good fortune (which apparently didn’t happen to their little group) or nudge small advantages onto travelers’ paths. It was another loophole—they didn’t directly give anything physical, just mystical wishes or resources that people would find for themselves: food, oases, the right people. But usually, these were for great heroes, their rulers’ favorites. Not for frauds like him. And Eirik had never heard of a healing spring.
He rose to his knees, the pond’s water barely reaching his waist. His thick clothes were soaking wet, weighing him down like lead. A deep fatigue threatened to force his eyes shut. He felt so warm, as if he were home again. Eirik didn’t want to leave the water, to go back to the harsh, deadly wilderness. Here in the pond, nothing could hurt him.
The coyote growled again, watching him intently, as if it could read his thoughts.
Eirik swallowed. He wished the animal would give him answers. That it would tell him why nightmares were slowly seeping into people’s minds, and why it was happening near the Norden Viper. But now, as he looked into its eyes, he knew there would be no answers. Not yet.
“Where are Ulrik and Sindre?” he asked instead. “Can’t you save them, too?”
The coyote didn’t respond. It didn’t even move, sitting as still as a statue.
His voice wavered. “Is there even anything left to save?”
No reaction. Eirik sighed deeply, slowly rising out of the pond. His problems weren’t going to solve themselves. He had to keep moving.
“Well, thanks for your help,” he muttered. He felt foolish—talking to an animal! Yet something about it felt different. The coyote seemed to understand, to observe. Perhaps it was another monster sent by the gods.
He wasn’t sure what to say. The coyote looked as if it wanted him to keep talking, to say something sensible. So he tried, “Uh… hopefully, we’ll meet again, preferably when I’m in mortal danger. I’ll make sure there’s some magical water nearby.”
Then he left. If the pond was here, he shouldn’t be far from the area they’d stumbled into during the snowstorm. The weather was milder now, and since night hadn’t fallen yet, he could see ahead. How long had he been unconscious? Surely not more than a couple of hours—maybe not even ten minutes. Otherwise, he’d already be dead.
At the same time, Eirik searched for his companions. He’d lost his sword, but he still called out, unconcerned about any danger that might hear him. He wanted to find Ulrik and Sindre, to be certain they were alive, even if it brought him trouble. In this state, he could climb trees or scale the mountain again. He felt more alert than ever. If that shadow-eyed wolf came to mess with him, he was sure he could give it a good beating.
But he saw no trace of them. The forest was eerie, unnaturally quiet. Still, Eirik refused to give up, refused to surrender. They couldn’t be dead—they were stronger than him, much wiser.
After a long search, Eirik came upon an area marked by signs of a struggle. Footprints—human and wolf—along with blood on the snow. Most of it had vanished beneath a fresh layer of snow, but he noticed something: a blood-stained bandage, the one that had been wrapped over Sindre’s face. He had fought here, back when they had separated.
The man’s footprints continued away from the area, so he had survived. But when Eirik tried to follow them, he was disappointed to find that they disappeared quickly. The snow had erased them.
Eventually, he came upon their abandoned supplies. He wasn’t ready to leave, and he didn’t even know where he would go. So, he clumsily pitched a tent, ate a meager meal, and settled in to wait. He waited and waited, hoping for some kind of sign, but none ever came. Late into the evening, he set out searching again, combing every nearby area, even digging through avalanche piles, until he was exhausted and drained. The cold burned through his energy so much faster.
He returned to his tent and made his decision. If Ulrik and Sindre didn’t return by tomorrow afternoon, he would continue the journey alone.