The mountain path blurred under Jake's boots as he trudged through the snow. Every step was a war. His breath came ragged, the cold slicing through him like thin knives. The piece of Frostmaw pelt, slung over one shoulder, dragged heavily behind him, the blood now frozen into the coarse white fur.
He could see the village.
Just past the last rise, the wooden palisades loomed like a sanctuary from the storm. The warm flicker of torchlight along the wall swam in and out of focus. His legs wobbled. His body screamed for rest.
He didn't make it to the gate.
Jake's knees buckled as he reached the frozen path just before the village threshold. He dropped to one knee, then collapsed into the snow. The chill seeped into his bones. The world tilted.
Boots crunched through snow. Voices followed.
"Is that… is that Jake?"
"Gods, he's bleeding—look at the pelt!"
"Another Frostmaw?"
Through half-lidded eyes, Jake saw a blur of people gathering—faces he couldn't quite focus on. Someone touched his shoulder gently.
"He's freezing. Get him inside, now!"
Before darkness took him, Jake heard one more voice, urgent, lower than the others.
"They shouldn't be this far south… Frostmaws stay in the high passes. Something's wrong."
He woke to warmth, a crackling fire, and the soft glow of lamplight. The pain came next—sharp and deep in his ribs, dull and pulsing across his side. A heavy fur blanket covered him, and a warm cloth had been laid across his forehead.
He shifted, wincing, and let out a breath.
Emma sat nearby, her back turned slightly as she dipped cloth into a bowl of water.
"You're awake," she said softly, glancing over. Her eyes were red-rimmed but dry. "You scared everyone."
Jake tried to speak, but it came out a rasp.
Emma stood, brought the bowl to his side, and helped him drink slowly.
"Thank you," he managed, his voice rough.
"You're lucky to be alive." Her gaze flicked down to the bandages wrapped around his middle. "James said the gash across your ribs missed your lung by an inch."
Jake blinked slowly. "Frostmaw…"
"We saw the pelt. The blood." She gave a slight shake of her head. "You really fought another one?"
He nodded.
Her voice dropped. "Why are they coming down from the peaks? No one's seen a Frostmaw this far south in a generation. Now two?"
Jake looked at the ceiling beams. "Something's wrong with the world."
Emma was quiet for a moment, then nodded. "That's what they're saying."
By evening, James returned to the house. The forge had been left cold for the day. Others from the hunting party had taken the Frostmaw hide and carcass for inspection. The village was already abuzz with rumors.
James sat at Jake's bedside, frowning.
"You pushed too hard," he said, though not unkindly. "But you showed strength. And more than that… courage."
Jake offered a faint smile. "Didn't really have a choice."
"There's always a choice," James said. Then his eyes narrowed. "You said the first Frostmaw you encountered was in the northern forest, right? That was already unusual. But now a second, and this far south…? Something's stirring them. Driving them."
Jake sat up slowly, wincing. "Do you think it's the same reason people are whispering about the 'change'?"
James didn't answer at first. Instead, he leaned back and crossed his arms. "There've always been legends. Seasons shifting out of rhythm. Magic behaving oddly. Creatures waking where they shouldn't."
Emma returned with a fresh cup of tea and knelt beside Jake. "Some say it's the Veil. That when it weakens, things begin to slip through. Time. Beasts. Maybe even people."
Jake's heart skipped. The Veil… That was what Eric had hinted at, what the journal had mentioned. The separation between this world and his own.
Emma glanced at him, as if reading his thoughts. "It's just a story, of course."
"Yeah," Jake muttered. "Just a story."
But stories had a way of becoming real.
Later that night, Jake sat alone by the fire, the house quiet except for the occasional groan of timber against the mountain wind. He clutched the edge of the Frostmaw pelt draped over a nearby chair, running his fingers across the dried blood.
He remembered how it felt, tapping into that rhythm in the woods. The stillness before the storm. The sensation of knowing when the creature would strike.
Eric had said nature always speaks. Jake was starting to think it had started screaming.
He reached beneath his shirt and touched the bracelet. Warm, steady.
Beyond the windows, the snow fell heavier now, obscuring the world outside in white.
But even through the storm, Jake could feel it. The mountain wasn't quiet anymore.
Something was coming.