The time was well past midnight. However, the sun continued to blaze blindingly in the skies. No clouds drifted over, nor any winds blew to bring it in. No bird sang either, they had long left, favoring the warmer south against this glaring white world of desolation. The world was as still as could be...

Until a figure sauntered in.

It was covered in black fur, scars littered its thick arms and broad back. It was the image of a bear. Strangely, the figure pulled a sled carrying a fur covered luggage secured tightly by a rope. This load was massive, easily twice the size of the figure pulling it. After walking in circles, it stopped before a wide trunk that rose higher than any in the forest.

The figure grunted and crouched facing the leafless tree, then , unexpectely, ran and leapt towards its branch! This branch was a good two metre higher than the figure. However, a hand hanged to it then used the created momentum to drag its body up, balancing with a one hand stand atop the ten inch thick branch before backflipping into a stand. All in a single motion.

Then, it proceeded to remove its head. No, it proceeded to remove the skin of its head. Wrong, it proceeded to remove the makeshift hood,made of a bear's skinned head, that covered the figure's real head. Lifting this confusing hood up, a pointed ear spiked with his short jet black hair. His eyes twinkled mischievously as he bowed to invicible audiences.

"Ahahah!" He laughed. His voice sweeping through this quiet world. Lack of response didn't bother him, in fact, if even a squirrel chipped in he would be too embarassed to get out of his room ever again.

He shrugged, sending his earring to bouy back and forth. It was blood red in color, effectively duplicating the shade of his irises, a gift he wore for all his life, a long while.

The image of a bear clambered up, deftly maneuvering his way through a maze of snow laided branches and outreaching twigs. Considering that his hands are gloved with paws and that he wore a bulky costume, any tree climber would appraise his climb with admiration of his skill and experience, and form a small question on the side of why he things hard to begin with.

He reached the last branch capable of supporting his weight and balanced precariously atop while surveying what comes after the Leafless Forest in his way further north.

A strong blizzard rampaged a day ago, bringing in pieces of ice crystal to scatter like twinkling stars in this white universe. It sprinkled amongst the wave of fresh snow that piled high and low, creating dunes that easily stretched twenty feet high and trenches that were deceivingly low. The truth was, everywhere were at least ten feet above solid ground, one step in this white washed world could literally drown anyone to death, with a promise of starvation if the former was incompetent.

He knew this. In fact, he had always lived knowing that. Desolate they called it, he see nothing but home. A backyard to be exact, his family and their ancestors had lived further north, claiming this vast barren region theirs.

He knew this place like that of his hand. Pointing out the rise and fall in every stretch is child's game for him, so he usually have a rough idea where to step. Usually.

"I'm screwed, aren't I?" He said with a sigh. Knowing this land like the back of his hand is one thing, but covering that hand with layer upon layer of gloves would not get him anywhere.

He wanted to scratch his head out of annoyance, but removing his bear suit will be too inconvenient so he made do by massaging his itch through his soft, baby pink paws. "Curse it!" Though, the action only irritated his itch further.

He started to punch away blameless twigs, scaterring debris of twigs and snow over his load below. Then he started throwing snowballs at random direction. When he finally realised his temper only kept him atop a tree, pointlessly kept cold and still miles away from home, he calmed down in a puff of mist before expertly hopping his way down.

He picked up a rope and dragged the sleigh attached to it. Up north, supply hated demand while demand cherished supply. This loved-hate relationship prompted the family to assign someone go south and bring the supply up, and this young man drew one of the short straws, tasked in stocking up for a family of a few hundred. Additionaly, his two partners was supposed to share his pain, but they suddenly sick called, leaving him alone to do a job meant for three.

He replowed his way through the fresh snow while cursing with every heave. The nearest town is Yulid, a quarter day away from his present location. He didn't like the place, but other cilization were at least a fortnight away, and he only needed to wait one week for the snow to solidify enough and travel on it.

"Oh my Lord . . ."

Using innate strength, indomitable will, and endless grumbling, he reduced his travelling speed by two hours. He was walking for more than half a day already with a load thrice more heavy than him, so he craved a healthy sleep in a comfortable bed. If not for his Blood's blessings, then just pulling this luggage would be an impossibility to start with.

Upon entering the wooden fences of Yulid, eyes immediately gravitated towards him. He disliked this town. Their scrutinizing eyes were the reason he gambled in just this last trek to start with. He judged the odds of finding a path after a blizzard were worth trying for, far more better than staying another hour in this boring town. He did not relish fueling their gossip. Then again, his sloth won over pride as other towns were a week away by foot. He would gladly choose sleeping peacefully than be bothered by gossips.

Rather than a town, Yulid could be more accurately reffered to as a small settlement. Made for hunting purposes, many elves gathered this far north to satisfy, what was considered, their barbaric hobby. They hunted not only for living, but also for the pure thrill of the hunt.

He like these kind of elves. His bear suit a testament to that. However, his unique bloodline kept others at bay. Anxiety and fear were triggered by the unknown that is him.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Nevertheless, he was used to it. He heaved his luggage ungracefully on the streets. The snow was shoveled nicely, so he was quite grateful. It was stacked at the side of the road, in front of the unique houses. Infrastructures here were built with a base made from blocks of ice. Wooden landings topped it so another walls of ice could be built then closing the wall to a dome. The crystal, egg-headed buildings had its own charm. It made him reconsider to dislike the city rather than hating it.

Before he could reach the inn, however, trouble found him first. A man blocked his way. His exquisitely tailored silken attire that covered a cotton-layered insulation inside stood out against the usual attire of the town, a full bear suit actually blended more. For a hunter hunts, wearing frivolous clothing would not make sense when rabbits waited to be skinned.

The stranger's fancy attire simply did not match the pragmatic town, in contrary, however, the swords at his waist and bow at the saddle of his elk did not look like a decoration, earning him nods of approaval from a gathering crowd.

Reasonably, the haggard young man pulling a sleigh before him concluded he was not from town, and most definitely don't want some quick chat. This smelled trouble, so he altered his path to make way.

"Are you the one from the House Lispien?" The man asked as he took a closer step. His attire covered everything except his eyes, like everyone else from the village. However, his grey gaze were piercing like no other.

"Name's Ivril, and I really love eating and sleeping until past noon, with sun or no sun." He replied through his bear suit shamelessly while tugging the ropes of his sleigh. He tried to emphasize that he would be very happy to rest, now if by choice, undaunted by the other's commanding stare.

The other just raised a brow, before bowing slightly as he apologized, "Then, please, follow me."

---

"A spicy grilled venison meat, corn sourp, slice of cheese, two loaves of bread, bottle of milk, and apples." Ivril ordered as the waitress dutifully wrote it all down. Nobody had ever treated him with a meal before, so he was determined to make the most of it.

The waitress looked at the other man, but just got waved away. She left, leaving the two surrounded by boisterous laughter and exclamated chattering. The two initially stood out, but the onlooking hunters soon lost interest as Ivril indifferently ignored their inquiring eyes, determined to dump cold water in their curiosity.

The man with piercing grey eyes removed his cloak, revealing pointed ears and very pale tone of blonde hair. "Pardon my late introduction. My name is Regal Kasaril-"

". . . Wow, the so called Silver Death of frontlines? Why are you here out of all people?" Ivril interupted as he nonchalantly removed his own cloak, finally remembering some manners. Eating with paws than palms was not how he was raised.

His dark night hair contrasted harmoniously to his crimson eyes. On closer look, his pointed ears are uncommon. It jagged briefly, on the edge behind the high point, making his ear look like a baby's cutting saw, made to fell grass and weeds.

Jagged ears, dark hair, ruby eyes, and a personality to match. Such descriptions are attached to all members of the House Lispien.

Regal paused. He had been informed, but seeing the information first hand is different from reading it. To simply put, this bloodline had always made others anxious, the Blood Elves. They had lived in this part of the world even before orcs first started their campaign for world domination.They were an exotic race full of secrets, detached with their own society.

However, the wind of change was blowing. A hushed rumour reached the chieftain's ears about the existence of the Albino Orc, an existence hailed to undoubtedly rule the world by its savage kins.

"That is a name I rather would not be called." Regal answered whilst hiding his wariness towards the other.

"And what does the great general, hero of the elven front, so an so, want from the humble me?" Ivril wasn't really thinking because he was hungry, so he just spout whatever comes to mind and sank back in his creaking stool.

"Your help." Regal asked blatantly.

"Ehhh? Rejected!" Is what he replied without a sliver of hesitation, but he didn't show any signs of leaving. He was waiting for his meal. However, this caused Regal to misunderstand and interpret that his purpose was being tested.

He leaned in. "The council is willing to listen to any of your demands, should you name it. The rest of the elves badly need your . . . family. We may have betrayed you once, breaking your confidence on us. We understand. Though, you were sent as a representative, the rest of the elves would undoubtedly be delighted should you help under no one's command. That would benefit us so, true, however . . ." He rambled on with with occasional hand movements. Fierce resolution in eyes was so intense it could send any on their knees in worship while nodding blindingly to anything he says.

Ivril blinked a couple times. He got lost after the 'representative' part. Before he could open his mouth to speak and intervene, an ominous roar resounded through the whole town, effectively interrupting him. The ground vibrated intensely, creating cracks on crystal walls.

"Avalanche!"

The word swiftly changed the village's demeanor. Residents here are hunters, and hunters so far north were gamblers betting the highest stake. Their lives. Danger was a weapon to sharpen the five senses. Everyone scampered to survival.

"What is going on? There are no adjacent slope around, let alone a snow to crumble down!" Regal stood up and rewore all his clothing, not bothering with fineries like tying his belt with a perfect braid.

"Uh, my fault, probably . . ." Ivril panicked as a thought crossed his mind.

'Lily isn't that hungry, right?'