Do you know what it means to be cold? Truly cold?

The kind of cold that no coat, no extra blanket, or no fire can do away with?

The kind of cold that seeps into your bones, into your very soul, eating away at your strength and your will to go on?

The kind of cold that can drive a man mad in a land where going mad was a death sentence? 

The kind of cold that tries to lull you into the false respite masked as an eternal blissful sleep?

The kind of cold that made the men who tried to escape it desperate. That turned them into single minded beasts whose raison d'etre became to free themselves from its icy grip, no matter at what cost.

The kind of cold that could convince a man to head into certain death, all for the faint hope of being able to liberate himself from it.

Such was the fate of a man known as Franc. Who in his desperation to finally find solace from the ubiquitous cold, had ended up accepting what was sure to be a one way trip to his and his twin brother's graves.

“You see anything!” Franc screamed at the well-covered man in front of the two brothers, desperate for any news that might shine some hope on their hopeless situation.

The man, lovingly called ‘Patch’, stopped his march and turned around, and sent a glare at Fran with his one good eye; the other covered by an eye patch that was, if he was to take a gander at it, most likely the origin of his name. 

“Keep quiet or we’ll end up dead.” Patch spat out. Returning to his job of being miserable and guiding them to their deaths.

But as much as Franc wished he could tell the old vulture a few of the thoughts on his mind right now, he swallowed them. Patch was the man who was heading this mission, the only one among the three who knew where the six missing vultures could possibly be. The man who held their fates in his hands.

So with no one else to complain to, he turned to his twin brother, Mikael. A man whose once beautiful face was now marred by his sunken eyes, chapped and broken lips, pale skin, and the far too clear outline of his facial bones.

“First thing I’ve said to him in what…three hours? And the motherfucker is already pissed at me.” Franc whispered to his brother.

His brother returned a smile, but had an understanding expression on his face as he said, “He’s had to live like this for…what did Dom say…basically a decade? I imagine it’s had quite an effect on his temper. You and I will probably end up just like that a decade from now.”

“I’m sure even after a decade in hell you’d still be the same soft-hearted idiot you’ve always been.” He told his brother, a smile on his face.

“The only idiot here is you.” His brother playfully bickered back.

“Hey.” He glared at his brother in a threatening way. One that both of them knew was in jest. “Talk to me nice, alri—“

“Shut up!”

The coarse voice of the experienced vulture quieted the two brothers, who turned to look at him, one with a sheepish gaze and the other a defiant one. As for the old vulture himself, he glared at the two of them with a gaze that was almost as icy as temperature itself.

The two got the message and kept quiet, with not even Franc bothering to provide any sort of rebuttal. That seemed enough for the veteran vulture, who turned around and kept moving.

“I’m gonna end up an ice statue following this idiot.” Fran whispered in as low a tone as he could to his brother. ”And he wants us to die a silent miserable death.”

And how he wished he was exaggerating at the moment. He knew upon exiting camp that he was leaving his and his brother’s life to fate. That the cold that had been slowly but certainly claiming their lives, would only be more vicious in its attempt to claim theirs now that they had dared to enter its domain.

But even he hadn’t anticipated how quickly they would be succumbing to the cold. How little the extra clothes they had been lent for the mission would aid them. That despite having two pairs of gloves and two pairs of socks on, his fingers and toes would feel as unresponsive as they now did.. And that his body, wrapped around in layers of clothing that clearly were not meant for this weather, would feel as lethargic as it did.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

It did make him feel grateful, although he would never admit it to the sleazy bastard that was Dom, for the extra fur and wrapping he had handed both him and his brother. Materials which had allowed them to properly cover their heads and keep their ears from being as painfully cold as his cheeks currently were.

“I’m sure it’ll be worth it in the end.” His brothers; always the optimist, whispered to him.

“Only if Lady and his gang are dead and we can take their shit for ourselves.” He replied. 

It was the chance to keep half of what the group of six veteran vultures carried that had led him to agree to venture out into the deathly cold. An opportunity too alluring for someone who had been watching not just himself, but his own brother, wasting away as the cold encompassed all.

“Come on, Franc.” His brother chastised him in a whispered tone. “You shouldn’t wish for someone’s death, it’s bad luck.”

“You know, I’ve never seen a single one of those rat bastards who’ve told us to our faces that they wanted us dead, have anything bad happened to them.” He refuted his brother.

His brother stayed quiet for a moment, then whispered soft, but strangely solemn tone, “They’ll get what they’re due in their own time. You should worry about yourself, Franc.”

He let the conversation die then and there, not interested in arguing with his brother about something he really didn’t care about. And especially, not wanting to deal with an angry Patch in case he overheard them again.

For no matter how much he disliked the old vulture, they were entirely reliant upon him not just for the success of this job, but for their very lives. And when the more time they spent out in the cold meant that they were a minute closer to their own deaths, then he couldn’t afford to give the miserable bastard a reason to stop moving.

Yes, this was how stupid and ridiculous this gamble of his had been. One which was almost sure to guarantee their deaths. But what else could he do? The concept of charity, of helping one another, did not exist in this accursed part of the world. And sadly, he and his brother had made the grave mistake of finding themselves in need in these unforgiving lands. Therefore, their only hope of making it through the winter, of not dying in their sleep while the other heartless vultures watched them, ready to scavenge them for what little they had, was for they themselves to scavenge what they needed from another. Whether it was their clothes, or their riches, whatever they found from the group of six vultures was sure to give the two of them what they needed to make it through another year.

So he knew how dangerous this was, he just didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to think about how the most probable outcome was that they never would come across the six vultures. Didn’t want to think about how much time they had left before they froze out here in this barren wasteland. Didn’t want to think about how the most likely reason they had been allowed to go on this in the first place, was so that the camp would be able to rid itself of some deadweight before winter truly arrived. That the job Dom had probably given Patch was to scavenge their dead bodies once they kicked the bucket. 

But even so, he preferred all of it to just passively awaiting their death. Preferred to give themselves a chance at life and a future no matter how unlikely the odds might have been.

And yet, despite knowing all of this, despite having prepared himself for his death. It didn't change the fact that he was scared.

Scared to die. Scared to watch his brother die. Scared that their end would come at the hand of the very same cold that had tormented for weeks, that had refused to grant them even a single moment of respite.

And it was this mounting fear that was making him restless, impatient. Beginning to put thoughts in his head that he was better off not having.  

Patch stopped. For a moment, Franc wondered if the bastard had suddenly turned mind reader as well. But the cautions, attentive expression on his face, and the pre-established signal he sent their way, told him what was going on.

A monster. One of the nightmarish beasts that prowled these deadlands. And it was nearby.

Franc and his brother slowly made their way towards Patch, each keeping their eyes glued to the barren rows of trees around them as they pulled out their spears.

The warmth he suddenly felt coursing through his body as his heart rate increased was definitely welcomed, as well as the distraction momentary distraction it brought. Although it did nothing to strengthen his weak grip as he tried to hold on to his spear with as much strength as his slow and unresponsive fingers could muster.

They stayed in this tense state for perhaps a minute, the three forming a triangle after having closed the distance with patch. But as time continued to pass and no sign of the monster appeared, the fear and excitement that had overtaken them, Franc and his brother began to lower their guards.

“Stay vigilant.” Patch told them, still perusing their surroundings for signs of the phantom monster.

Not wanting to start an argument or waste any more time, Franc went along with the old vulture’s words, and his brother quickly followed his example.

But despite the renewed vigilance, no signs that there was any monster around them appeared. Still, he continued to look around carefully, until—

Until a giant hairless buck that had no reason to have gone unnoticed until now appeared from behind the trees. And Franc now found himself only a few meters away from it as Its blood red eyes, large pointy antlers, and drooling mouth with teeth sharper than they had any right to be, faced his direction.

The monster let out a cry. Franc lifted his spear, fear and adrenaline coursing through him. And then the beast charged.