Once the scraps of flesh and blood were licked off the deer's bones, they were scattered amidst the crimson-streaked snow. The air was thick, holding the scent of iron, mixing with the crisp scent of the pine and the faint whisper of the wind through the trees. Satisfied with their feast, Zerin and his companion continued forth, and with content settled in their bellies, they dove headfirst into the forest with the goal of escaping its confines.

Zerin cast a glance over his shoulder at the Veinborne, its sleek, powerful form moving effortlessly through the snow, under the shadows of the towering trees.

"Just tree after tree..." Zerin said, with a hint of exhaustion.

The Howler, with its sharp, inquisitive gaze, tilted its head. Its pointy ears always remained alert, defying gravity as if they were antennas deeply tuned to whatever it heard. It was strange to Zerin how he could have one-sided conversations with this creature and actually be heard; he found himself opening up rather quickly and extensively as they ventured. The Veinborne, true to its nature, marched behind him. This continued for about an hour or two of their journey, during which nothing new crossed their paths.

Nothing new until something stood out from the pines. A tree unlike the others held residence, its branches broad and stretching outward like welcoming arms, not graced with pine needles but with minty white leaves, their capillaries streaked with a cool blue.

This tree stirred memories within him, reminiscent of the towering tree from his First Nightmare—the tree that bore those bloodfruits. Yet, this tree was smaller, substantially so, but it was far more graceful, hidden in the embrace of the surrounding pines yet still segregated, as if it held secrets unlike the trees around it. It seemed that this tree had been intentionally placed or perhaps rejected by its surroundings. Drawn inexplicably to its peculiar charm, it captivated his attention, beckoning him closer.

As he crossed an unknown invisible threshold, a wave of calm washed over him. It was a profound peace.

Perhaps it was the pale bark of the tree or the way the wintry leaves rustled. Or maybe it was simply the hearty meal he had consumed earlier. But he desperately desired to rest under its beautiful leaves or to even nestle atop its thick branches. After all, a well-fed body deserves a long rest, right?

He yawned widely. Instinctively, without much thought, he drew the Veinborne back into the dark recesses of his soul sea, assuming it would find comfort underneath the crimson moon within. The Howler erupted into a cascade of red runes, their meanings shifting beyond his perception as they danced and faded into the air.

Turning his gaze back to the magnificent tree, he felt connected to it as he approached. Scaling its sturdy trunk, Zerin's hands grasped the gnarled bark. He climbed higher, seeking one of the upper branches covered by the canopy. Laying on his back against the bark, he felt as if he were molding into the white wood. He took a moment for a half-hearted scan around the peaceful vicinity for danger—a lazy assessment.

Content that the coast was clear, he rested his hand upon the hilt of his darkened sword. With a deep exhale, he finally closed his eyes.

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Beneath his eyelids was a perfect sleep. Yet, the howling wind came. Startled, Zerin's eyes flew open, and he was disoriented by the world around him.

He was enveloped in a thick blanket of white fog; the icy breath of this blizzard and its winds had to be fatal, but surprisingly, he couldn't feel any of it at all. All of his senses were hampered, but he spotted a silhouette looming ahead. Its head was disproportionately large, tapering into a crooked point at the top, while the rest of its figure was slimmer in contrast.

Despite this, that same overwhelming peace began to wash over him. An experience like this was something he had never known, but what he would liken it to be the embrace of a mother, one he had missed for countless years without contact. It was so potent it banished any flicker of fear.

He took a step closer; the crunch of snow beneath his feet was heard, albeit muffled due to his dull senses. As he moved forward, the fog thinned, and the answers he had long sought began to be revealed.

Before him stood a woman, her essence unmistakable even from this distance. She faced away, as though hesitating to reveal herself to him. Placed atop her head was an exaggerated hat reminiscent of those worn by witches from olden tales; its wide brim only made her appear more delicate.

Her garments appeared as if they were forged from winter itself—a cascade of icy white, the fabric shimmering with faint sparkles of blue, reflecting the sparse light that managed to penetrate the swirling fog around her.

She was the mother of winter; that much he knew well. This feeling came to him instinctively, without question; he could identify her as such.

Zerin's gaze shifted to her hands, which hung at her sides. Her fingers were delicately slender, as if untouched by conflict or the harshness of this realm. Her skin tone was a washed-out blue that complemented the environment around her, but thoughts in his head made him think it was the other way around—the world molded around her.

A vile hand grasped her delicate hand; the crimson of its flesh was striking in this muted scene. The hand was marred, as if it had suffered a great battle or clawed its way out of the pits of hell, and its nails were like that of men, but obscenely sharp like obsidian shards.

Zerin was slowly robbed of that feeling of peace as his gaze trailed upward, but the fog concealed the monster's features. Yet, he knew instinctively it was malevolent. The twisted horns emerged from the haze, curving like sinister crescents against the pale fog.

What truly pierced through him—the thing that shattered the peace he had desired—were the monster's eyes—fierce and unyielding, like burning coals compacted into scorching red hues. Those eyes bored into him with an intensity that seemed to want to kill. His pulse quickened, and his breath came in rapid bursts as the world around him warped and spun.

But even in this spinning whirlwind, the beast stepped forward; he saw its crescent horns pierce the spiral, shattering it. Its face was revealed as it snatched his collar and pulled him closer, peering into its eyes. His fear peaked, and the hellspawn enjoyed it for a moment before it spoke, as if drinking in his terror.

"Heart..." Its mouth moved dramatically, as if forcing the words out rather than simply speaking. "Trusted once, broken now..." Zerin's eyes widened further as he could almost read what it was going to say next. "Your end is here."

Zerin reached for his sword, immediately twirling the blade with a flourish and severing the hand. His chest felt heavy with deep breaths as he readied himself to fight his demons. He could have sworn his first nightmare was over, but that was the furthest from the truth.

"Liar! Thief! Traitor!" the god accused, its severed hand connecting back with its body through its own blood being drawn to it.

Zerin gripped his sword tighter as he tried to stay calm. His fear lay deep within his chest, but it kept him intensely focused.

"That foolish girl!" the fallen god spat, its words attempting to scorn and inflict harm. "To place her faith in you, only for you to plunge a knife in her side! And surrender our power to a mongrel like you?" The creature's voice seethed, every syllable lashing forth. "You—a defilement! An insult to our power. An abomination!"

This being in front of him had to be that entity—the former lord of blood, the Beast god, a portion of its dominion robbed from it.

Zerin felt his composure slip. "It wasn't my fault," he said, grasping his sword tighter as he accused, "It was yours! Some gods you are!"

Its fury intensified. But just as it was about to strike him, a sigil blossomed into existence, exploding before them in a blinding flash. Zerin opened his eyes to find the Mother of Winter standing between them, her hand raised, defying the will of the Beast god. A massive sigil sprawled from her fingertips, forging an arcane wall of azure flowers to hold the god back.

"You've rested well. Time to wake up, Zerin…" The woman turned her head slightly, casting him a sharp glance. "And you, awaken as well…"

Immediately, Zerin sank into the snow, and he awoke.