Along the winding trail of the grassy pins, a caravan of ten wagons creaked forward, drawn by a variety of sturdy cattle. Men, women, and children walked alongside, their faces weary but determined as they pressed toward the distant, snow-covered mountains looming on the horizon.

  "Elder, how much further do we have to go?" a man asked, his voice low and tense. He walked beside the front wagon, where an old man sat, his face lined with age and worry.

  "As far as we can," the elder replied, his tone heavy. "At the very least, we must reach the snow pins before they reach us."

  The man hesitated before speaking again, his grip tightening around the shaft of his makeshift spear. "But… can we really trust it? I don’t doubt that the entity saved you and the others before, but—trusting the word of a boy still wet behind the ears?" His skepticism was clear, even as his voice dropped to a whisper.

  A faint, bitter smile crossed the elder's face. "I understand your doubts. But do we have any other choice?" He gestured vaguely to the nd behind them. "We can’t go south—the beasts would tear us apart. West and east are no better, with svers and raiders circling like vultures. North is the only path left to us."

  The man exhaled sharply but said nothing more. His knuckles whitened as he clutched his spear tighter, frustration and fear warring in his mind. Still, his steps fell in line with the caravan, unwilling to abandon those he had sworn to protect.

  The elder’s gaze drifted toward the mountains, but his thoughts turned inward—back to the dream that had changed everything.

  The dream came to all who had once been saved by Khonsu, the Dark One. A vision of fire, creeping from every direction but the north. At first, many dismissed it as nothing more than a bad omen. But then came the signs—scouts returning with troubling reports of raider movements, too close for comfort. Fear spread through the vilge like a pgue. With little to their names, most chose to pack what they could and leave. A few remained behind, clinging stubbornly to the homes they had worked so hard to build.

  It was a mistake.

  Less than a day into their journey, a rider on a foaming horse brought the news: their old vilge had been burned to the ground by men in metal armor, marching beneath the banner of a nearby self-procimed kingdom. Those left behind were either sin or captured. After that, the caravan moved faster—fear snapping at their heels.

  But even as they fled, uncertainty shadowed every step. North was vast, wild, and unforgiving. Where could they possibly go?

  It was Duran—the boy—who pointed the way.

  At first, many scoffed at the idea of following a child’s word. But when Duran revealed the bck dagger—a weapon that looked more like an oversized feather, dark as night—their doubts weakened. Those who had seen the power of Khonsu firsthand knew better than to ignore such a sign.

  More than that, Duran had proven invaluable on the road. Somehow, the boy could sense danger before it struck. Time and again, he led them around wandering beasts and hidden threats, keeping the caravan safe. Though some still questioned the wisdom of trusting a child, none could deny the results.

  Now, with the snow-capped mountains finally in sight, the elder let out a long, weary sigh. His hands trembled slightly as they rested on his knees.

  "Let this pce bring us peace… or at least a refuge from the fire," he thought.

  Whatever awaited them in the frozen north—whether it was safety, death, or something else entirely—they had already passed the point of no return.

  As the day stretched on, the weary caravan slowed to a crawl. The air grew colder with every step, biting at exposed skin as they pressed closer to the shadow of the snow-covered mountains. Exhaustion clung to the travelers—every footfall heavier than the st. Just as the elder was about to call for a rest, a low, thunderous horn cut through the icy wind.

  The sound froze blood in their veins.

  A few turned to look back—and their faces drained of color. Dark shapes, glinting with steel, emerged from the pins. Riders. Dozens of them.

  The elder’s heart pounded in his chest as dread cwed at his throat. The worst had come.

  “Put the women and children on the wagons and run!” he barked, his voice sharp despite the tremor in it. “Anyone who can fight—get ready!”

  The air filled with frantic movement. Mothers clutched their children tightly, hauling them onto the wagons. Men grabbed whatever weapons they had—rusted bdes, sharpened sticks, and farming tools. It wasn’t much—but it was all they had.

  The caravan lurched forward, the cattle straining against their harnesses as the drivers whipped them to move faster.

  -^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^

  A short distance behind, a man in dark armor sat astride a powerful bck warhorse. His face twisted in a scowl as he watched the fleeing caravan, eyes cold and unforgiving.

  “A pack of rats…” he muttered, his voice thick with contempt. “They’ve wasted my time long enough.”

  The rhythmic clinking of armor drew his attention. Another rider approached—his breastpte spttered with dried blood.

  “Chief," the man said, inclining his head. "The cavalry is in position. We can strike at your command.”

  The armored leader—Chief Raegor—nodded, his gauntlet tightening around the reins. These pathetic vilgers had made him leave his slower foot soldiers behind. Fifty horsemen—all hardened killers—had followed him to chase them down. The prey had fled north, but for what? There was nothing but frost and death waiting for them in the mountains. It didn’t matter.

  “What fools,” Raegor sneered to himself.

  He raised his hand and spoke coldly. “Charge them. Kill any man who holds even a stick. Take the women and children alive—I have no need for extra burdens.”

  Without hesitation, the rider turned and signaled the others. Fifty horsemen began to advance—slow at first, then faster—hooves pounding against the frozen earth. The ground trembled beneath them as they surged forward, their ragged banners whipping in the wind.

  The horns bred again—this time louder, fiercer. And with them came the bloodthirsty cries of the cavalry, eager for the sughter to come.

  -^-^-^-^-^-^-^-

  The elder gnced back and felt his stomach twist in fear. The horsemen were closing in—too fast. They wouldn’t outrun them.

  "Khonsu," he whispered under his breath, voice raw with desperation. "If you're out there… if you still watch over us—we need you now."

  Ahead, Duran stood atop one of the lead wagons. His small frame trembled in the cold, but his grip on the bck feathered dagger was steady.

  His eyes—distant and unfocused—stared toward the mountains, as if he could see something no one else could.

  And then, without warning, the dagger began to hum.

  The horsemen charged relentlessly toward the fleeing caravan, the thunder of hooves echoing across the pins. The elder’s heart sank as he watched the riders draw closer—dozens of armored men, armed to the teeth. A handful of desperate farmers clutching rusted swords and sharpened sticks wouldn’t st a second.

  The cavalry roared with anticipation, weapons raised high. Hungry grins stretched across their faces, eager for blood and spoils. The distance between hunter and prey shrank rapidly.

  At the rear of the caravan, Duran sat on the st wagon, clutching the bck feathered dagger tightly. He could feel the faint, pulsing warmth radiating from it—a familiar, reassuring sensation. He braced himself for the worst, knuckles white around the hilt.

  Then, he noticed a shadow cutting across the sky—an owl, its feathers as bck as the night. It soared above the caravan, eyes gleaming with an unnatural intelligence. A wide grin spread across Duran’s face. He recognized the sign—the feeling. But the other vilgers were oblivious to its meaning, too consumed by fear.

  Fifty meters. The horsemen were nearly upon them, hooves thundering louder than a drumbeat. The vilgers could see the hatred etched into the riders’ faces, the glint of sharpened steel. Panic cwed at them—some even began to pray.

  Then, without warning, a deafening boom shattered the air. A plume of snow erupted from the ground before the caravan, kicking up a blinding cloud of white. Horses reared and whinnied in arm as the riders yanked on their reins, momentum forcing them to stumble forward. The charge faltered—but didn’t stop.

  The leader of the horsemen snarled, cursing as he struggled to regain control. What was that? He barely had time to process before a massive shadow burst forth from the swirling snow.

  A troll. Towering, hulking, and covered in thick, frost-bitten hide. In its gnarled hands was a massive sword—chipped and jagged, yet glimmering with a cold sheen.

  “W-what!?” one of the riders gasped. The question was silenced as the troll swung its bde in a wide arc—the blow cleaving through both rider and horse in a single brutal strike. Blood sprayed across the snow as screams of shock and terror erupted from the horsemen.

  The troll snarled—a guttural, booming sound that carried across the field. More shadows emerged from the snow—hulking figures, eyes glowing with cold, predatory hunger.

  "Group up! It's only one tr—" a horseman shouted, but his words were abruptly silenced as the troll’s massive bde swept through him, reducing him to a crimson smear on the snow.

  By the time the fourth man met the same gruesome fate, the horsemen snapped out of their shock. Panic fshed in their eyes as they realized their fatal mistake—cavalry was deadly in a charge, but once caught in close quarters, their size and mounts became a liability. Without momentum, they were dead men on horseback.

  The troll exploited this weakness ruthlessly. He wove through the mounted soldiers, his bde cleaving through flesh and armor alike. Each swing cimed another life—one per stroke. Limbs and bodies crumpled in his wake as blood stained the snow.

  "Dis-Disperse!" one of the horsemen shouted desperately. The surviving riders quickly broke formation, scattering to create distance from the lone, towering menace.

  One of the horsemen raised his sword and charged again, hoping to take the troll by surprise. A sharp, thunderous bang echoed across the field— his head exploded in a spray of bone and gore before his body tumbled from the saddle.

  The troll paid no mind, focusing on the nearest rider. He lunged forward, massive strides closing the gap faster than the rider could react. Every time a horseman tried to circle around for a backstab, another deafening bang rang out—their heads reduced to bloody mist before they could strike.

  The few remaining horsemen realized in horror that it wasn’t just a lone troll—there were unseen allies hidden in the snow, picking them off one by one.

  Panic took root as the realization dawned: they had walked straight into a trap.

  In a matter of seconds, a third of the horsemen y dead— victims of either the troll’s sweeping bde or the mysterious bsts that blew their heads apart.

  One of the few remaining men with a sense of authority shouted, “Retreat!” Panic spread through the ranks as the horsemen wheeled their mounts around and fled, hooves pounding against the snow. The troll halted his assault, but the thunderous bangs continued, ciming one rider after another until only a handful escaped over the distant snow-covered hill, leaving behind a trail of eight lifeless bodies.

  Gunt pnted his massive sword into the ground, letting out a heavy breath. His gaze lingered on the distant horizon until the fleeing horsemen vanished from sight. Only then did he turn toward the caravan.

  The frightened vilgers had huddled together, women and elderly shielded by the few able-bodied men clutching rusted swords and crude spears. Their wide eyes stared at Gunt, fear etched deep into their faces.

  "Can’t bme them," Gunt thought grimly. Humans were always terrified of trolls, and one who wielded a bde with such brutal efficiency was even worse.

  He stood silently about twenty meters away, watching the nervous group. His imposing presence loomed, yet he did not advance, almost as if he was waiting.

  The crunch of snow under heavy footsteps drew the vilgers’ attention away. Two more trolls approached. One was lightly armored in leather, with two long tubes slung across his back, while the other was draped in a long cloak adorned with bck feathers and a bird skull resting on his shoulder.

  "Took you long enough," Gunt called out in their guttural tongue. "And you boasted you’d take out more than me."

  The leather-armored troll scoffed. "Hmph, if Grumba here could load my gun faster, those humans wouldn’t have left this valley alive." The tube-bearing troll grunted in annoyance but said nothing, the faint smell of gunpowder clinging to him.

  As the pair bantered, the cloaked troll stepped forward, his eyes sweeping over the caravan before he spoke in a harsh, broken version of the common tongue.

  "Put down your weapons. You are safe in this nd where Khonsu watches over."

  The vilgers gaped, astonished. A troll speaking their nguage?

  "K-Khonsu?" the elder stammered, recalling the name he had heard only once before.

  "Yes," the cloaked troll confirmed. "Our Guardian, Khonsu. You are safe here, especially with an Enlightened One among you."

  The elder frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

  The troll pointed a cwed finger toward the group. Eyes turned to Duran, who clutched the dark feathered dagger in his hand. He hesitated before stepping forward.

  "Enlightened—one who has received Khonsu’s grace. The only reason you are still alive after stepping onto this nd.”

  -^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-

  About a day ter, at the temporary camp of the Yevorn Kingdom’s hunting party—

  In a rge tent lit by flickering nterns, a group of men sat feasting, the scent of roasted meat and spiced wine filling the air. Laughter and crude jokes were exchanged freely as Kiv, a seasoned officer, tore into a piece of chicken. The kingdom was expanding rapidly, and the demand for bor was insatiable. Raiding parties were sent out repeatedly, capturing sves to fuel the kingdom’s growing ambitions.

  Women were taken to breed more sves, while able-bodied men and children were put to work. The old, sick, or anyone deemed unfit? They were sughtered without hesitation.

  Kiv chewed zily, half-listening to the banter around him. The test raid had been a resounding success—over four hundred new sves in just a week. All had gone smoothly, save for the recent blunder when a small group of runaways managed to slip away. But Kiv wasn’t concerned.

  “No matter,” he thought dismissively, tearing off another bite of chicken. One of the captains had drawn the short straw and was sent to chase down the fleeing rats with fifty cavalrymen. It was only a matter of time before they were dragged back in chains.

  The officers’ revelry was interrupted by the distant sound of shouting from the camp’s entrance. The men gnced at each other, their amusement fading.

  “What’s going on?” one of them asked.

  “It seems the hunting party has returned,” Kiv remarked, standing up and brushing crumbs from his hands. He strode confidently toward the camp’s entrance, expecting to see the cavalry leading a line of captured sves.

  But confusion washed over his face when he saw only a handful of men on exhausted horses. Their armor was dented, and dried blood stained their uniforms. Fear flickered in their eyes as they slumped in their saddles.

  “What’s going on?” Kiv demanded, suspicion creeping into his voice.

  One of the guards watching the camp replied with a grim expression, “Something happened, sir.”

  Kiv’s eyes narrowed as he focused on the returning horsemen, noting the absence of both the captain and most of his cavalry. The ughter and feasting inside the tent fell silent as the officers leaned closer, listening.

  Kiv’s gaze hardened as he pointed a finger at one of the exhausted horsemen.

  “You there! Tell me what happened. Where is the rest of your group?”

  The man’s eyes were wide and bloodshot, his face pale as if he’d stared death in the eyes. “T-Troll...”

  Kiv’s brow furrowed. “What?”

  “A troll, sir! We were chasing the runaways when it appeared out of nowhere! Then... then thunderous sounds started killing us one by one, and the troll—it wielded a sword and cut us down!”

  Kiv blinked, disbelief etched into his expression. “Are you out of your mind? A troll using a sword? And sorcery too?”

  “But it’s true!” the rider insisted, panic bleeding into his voice. “It killed the captain first, then tore through the rest of us like we were nothing!”

  “And the runaways?” Kiv pressed.

  “The troll ignored them completely and came straight for us!”

  Kiv pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long, weary sigh. The tale sounded like the drunken ravings of a madman. He fixed the rider with a cold gre.

  “Enough. Go clean yourself up, then report back to the main tent. I expect a proper report from you and the others—one that doesn’t sound like a half-witted drunkard’s nightmare. Understood?”

  The rider swallowed hard and nodded shakily before stumbling away. Kiv watched him go, irritation simmering beneath his stern expression. Trolls were savage, mindless brutes—nothing more than beasts. The idea of one wielding a sword and striking down trained cavalry was absurd.

  But the terror in the man’s eyes told a different story.

  Despite dismissing the man’s words, Kiv couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling gnawing at him. His eyes drifted over the survivors’ armor—bloodied but mostly unscathed, with few dents or scratches. Whatever had killed the others did so swiftly and efficiently.

  With a grimace, he left his unfinished meal and strode toward the main tent. Moments ter, the surviving horsemen gathered before him. The first man he’d questioned began recounting his tale, and, to Kiv’s growing frustration, the others echoed the same story—a troll wielding a sword like a trained warrior and strange thunderous bsts that blew men’s heads apart.

  “A troll fighting like a man?” Kiv mused as he listened, brow furrowed. The more he heard, the harder it became to dismiss the account. Perhaps it could be attributed to the wild beasts of this frozen wastend; some creatures out here were monstrous enough to wipe out entire camps with ease. Yet, the story didn’t sit right.

  But there was little Kiv could do now. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, and the darkness of the tundra was no pce to send men—even the boldest hunter would be courting death. With most of their able horses already dispatched, a night expedition would be pure suicide.

  Kiv sighed heavily and ordered the men to clean themselves up and tend to their wounds. He then instructed a search party to be prepared to leave at first light.

  Stepping out of the tent, Kiv cast a weary gnce across the shadowed camp. Strange things were happening in this nd, and whatever lurked out there, they weren’t prepared to face it—not yet.

  As he looked up, his eyes caught a flicker of movement—a bck-feathered owl perched atop the camp’s fgpole, watching him with unblinking blue eyes. Kiv scoffed, dismissing the bird as an omen of bad luck. Shaking off the chill creeping up his spine, he turned and made his way back to his tent, determined to rest before the trials of the coming day.

  -^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-

  Night had fallen, and the biting cold wind swept through the camp. In the makeshift sve pen—a rge, crude tent pieced together from salvaged rags and animal hides—dozens of shivering captives huddled together. The guards had tossed in a few ragged bnkets, but the feeble warmth did little to ward off the chill. They were sves—tools to be used—nothing more.

  The camp itself was surrounded by a rough wall of stacked logs, hastily built from the ruins of raided vilges. It was a pitiful defense against true threats, but it provided a sembnce of security for the hunters and, more importantly, a barrier to prevent escape.

  Beside a crackling fire, two guards stood watch over the sve tent, pulling their cloaks tight around themselves. The fmes flickered and danced, casting long, wavering shadows. One of them broke the silence.

  "So, what do you make of what happened to the hunting team?" he asked, rubbing his hands together over the fire.

  "Beasts, most likely. They ran like cowards when the captain fell."

  "You sound certain."

  "I heard the stable hands talking," the other guard replied with a shrug. "Said the survivors’ armor was bloodied, but barely scratched. No real signs of a fight. Could’ve been panic, for all we know."

  The first guard frowned. "But I heard something about a sword-wielding troll."

  The other scoffed. "Utter nonsense. Trolls are nothing more than lumbering beasts—barely able to tell a corpse from a pile of wood if you smear it with enough blood. Last time we hunted one, four men brought it down easy. Using a sword? Might as well say it danced a jig."

  The first guard shivered, whether from the cold or the unsettling talk, he couldn’t say. "Still, it’s strange..."

  "Bah, forget it. I just want them to hurry up, figure out what happened, and get us out of this frozen hellhole. I’m sick of standing around while those idiots drag their feet."

  As the two guards muttered, a shadow crept silently behind them.

  "You hear something?" the first guard asked, gncing nervously toward the sve tent.

  "Probably some wretched sve trying to get closer to the fire agai—"

  His words were cut off as a massive hand cmped over his face, muffling his scream. A brutal twist of the wrist silenced him forever.

  The second guard gasped, stumbling back, but a shadowy figure lunged from behind. A hand seized his face, stifling his shout before a sharp snap echoed in the cold air. His lifeless body slumped to the ground.

  The attackers stacked the bodies in a shadowed corner, hidden from view. The fire’s light flickered, then sputtered out as the intruders smothered it. Darkness recimed the camp.

  Two shadows melted back into the night, gliding toward their next target with predatory silence.

  The camp was engulfed in a creeping darkness as one by one, the fires were snuffed out. With each extinguished fme, the guards fell silently, their lives snuffed out as easily as the light. The slow, methodical advance of death was like a shadow creeping over the camp, blotting out the warmth and security the fire once promised.

  Inside his tent, Kiv stirred awake as a sudden chill brushed against his face. The fp of his tent fluttered from the cold wind. Frowning, he rose, draping a thick cloak over himself before stepping outside. The night was unnaturally quiet—too quiet.

  He strained his ears but heard nothing. No patrols crunching through the snow, no idle banter from guards, not even the soft murmur of the wind. But what unsettled him most was the darkness. Most of the fires were gone, leaving only faint, dying embers.

  Arm bells rang in his mind. He rushed back into his tent, grabbing his sword and a ntern. The flickering light revealed his own breath misting in the cold air. He emerged once more, holding the ntern high as he called out:

  "Guard!"

  Silence.

  Kiv's grip tightened on his sword as he strode toward the nearest tent, shouting again. "Guard! Report in!"

  Still no response. He pushed the tent fp aside, only for the ntern’s glow to reveal a chilling sight—two officers, dead in their bedrolls. Their necks were twisted at grotesque angles, eyes wide open in shock.

  A curse slipped from Kiv’s lips as he staggered back, then steeled himself. He checked the next tent, then another, and another. The same gruesome scene repeated: dead bodies sprawled out, guards and officers alike. Their faces were frozen in confusion or fear, yet not a single sign of struggle. The bodies were cold. Some were stacked neatly in corners, hidden out of sight.

  Kiv’s mind raced. The killers had moved with silent efficiency—killing before any could cry out. Even the guards on patrol were taken out. Panic cwed at his chest, but he forced it down.

  "They didn’t even know they were killed..." he muttered, horrified.

  Desperation drove him toward the stables. Horses could mean escape, and if any men were left alive, rallying them was his only chance. He ran, ntern bobbing wildly as he pushed through the snow. But just as he neared the stable’s entrance, something heavy and swift swung out of the shadows.

  Kiv barely registered the movement before a blunt force struck his chest. The impact hurled him backward, his sword slipping from his grasp as he crashed to the ground. The ntern smashed beside him, spilling a flickering pool of firelight across the snow.

  Gasping, Kiv gritted his teeth against the pain, clutching his chest. His vision swam, and he could feel the sharp throb of bruised ribs. He looked up, eyes wide with fear, trying to see what had struck him. The shadows around him shifted, and a massive figure loomed over him.

  Kiv groaned as he struggled to sit up, clutching his ribs. The st flicker of firelight from the broken ntern had died, leaving only the faint, cold glow of the moon—but even that did little to pierce the thick shadows that clung to the figures now standing around him.

  They shimmered—tall, distorted, cloaked in some kind of shifting aura. Kiv blinked, but even with all his effort, he couldn’t make out their features. What he could see, however, were their weapons. Wet with blood. Gleaming in the moonlight. Silent. Unmoving. Like judges ready to pass sentence.

  Then, one of them stepped forward. His voice was calm, deep, and ced with something Kiv couldn’t quite define—power, certainty, perhaps even scorn.

  “Go back to your king,” the figure said. “This is the nd of Trolls, under the watch of our god, Khonsu. Your aggression—your ensvement of the living in these nds—is not welcome.”

  Kiv tried to rise, to speak, to curse—but the pain was too great. The figure crouched down, reaching toward him.

  “Let this be the mark,” the figure whispered.

  Kiv’s scream tore through the silent night as searing pain bloomed across his face. The figure’s palm, glowing faintly, branded a dark sigil into Kiv’s skin. The burning scent of flesh filled the air, and the curse mark began to pulse with eerie blue light.

  “A mark... and a warning,” the voice continued, “that any who follow in your footsteps will be met with equal violence.”

  With that, the figures stepped back. The shadows seemed to swallow them whole. The st thing Kiv saw before losing consciousness was the gleam of their eyes—inhuman, cold.