The snow kept falling.
Not like rain. Not like a downpour. But as if the sky, in a final sigh, scattered its white ashes over a world waiting to be forgotten.
The flakes drifted, slow, suspended between time and silence. They landed on faces, slipped beneath eyelids, melted on lips. And sometimes, deeper still—on the soul.
Rays moved forward to the heavy rhythm of Rex. His horse. His dog. His anchor. His only guide through the white void.
Walking beside him was Verhem Latto. A merchant, or so he said. With a mule that had a glassy eye and a soft voice. Too soft. The kind of softness found in velvet coffins.
"When will we get there?" Rays asked.
The wind answered first, howling between the rocks.
Then the human voice came—calmer, more distant.
"Three days. Four, if the storm worsens."
Rays frowned. As if he could see the unseen ahead of him.
"I don't have enough supplies."
"We'll share," Verhem replied. "You're not alone."
"I'll repay you."
"I doubt that," he said simply.
Silence reclaimed its throne. Two figures—one blind, the other too calm—walking side by side in a sea of cold.
Verhem raised a hand.
"We'll camp here. The storm is coming."
Rays dismounted from Rex. The snow's bite on his ankles was immediate, brutal. But it was nothing compared to what came next.
—
[VOICE] Echolocation reactivated. Welcome home, to the sound-born dark. Keep going.
—
A shiver ran through him. Not from fear. From relief.
The outlines returned. The masses. The wind once more sculpted shadows in his perception. He sensed every breath against the dead trunks, every vibration across the stones. He felt Rex, faithful, solid, alert.
They found shelter beneath an overhanging rock. Verhem lit a fire. Without hesitation. His movements were precise. Too precise for a mere merchant.
Night fell. Heavy. Moonless. Merciless.
Rays sat down, Rex curled beside him, fur warm like a forgotten summer memory. They breathed together. Same rhythm. Same heartbeat.
Verhem watched the flames. Eyes in the embers. As if reading a future he didn't want to see.
"Do you dream sometimes?" Rays whispered.
The merchant slowly turned his head.
"Of what?"
"Of a place where everything stops. Where the cold becomes a legend."
Silence.
Then Verhem answered:
"I dream of a garden. Of a child laughing. Of a world where monsters only exist in books… and not in men's flesh."
Rays nodded gently.
Then, without warning:
"I'm blind."
The fire crackled.
"Since birth."
Verhem froze. Then breathed:
"That… must be hard."
But something in his tone. A false note. Too polished.
Rex sensed it. His muscles tensed. His muzzle twitched. His ears flattened.
Nothing suspicious had been said. Yet in the air… something was off.
A smile that Rays didn't see. But Rex did. And what he saw made his hackles rise.
"Get some rest," said Verhem. "The night will be long."
Rays hesitated.
Then lay down beside Rex, who wrapped around him with warmth. An unknown softness. A forgotten safety.
His eyelids fell. His breath slowed. And for the first time in weeks… he slept without nightmares.
—
[VOICE] Wake up.
—
His heart leapt.
—
[VOICE] You're under attack. Snow entities. They are not natural.
—
"What?!" he cried, already standing, legs trembling.
—
[VOICE] They're not beasts. They're curses, born from cold, from hatred… and betrayal.
—
"VERHEM!" he shouted.
No reply.
The snow, heavier than before, had swallowed all sound.
"Rex. Guide me."
The dog barked. Once. Then darted off, Rays close behind.
They rounded a mound of snow. The silence was absolute. Unnatural.
Then his fingers brushed something.
Cloth.
Skin.
Cold.
He knelt. Touched a neck—or what was left of it.
Then—
"No head…"
The viscera spread out like cursed offerings.
"No… no, no, no…"
Rex growled.
A thick stench. Metallic. Lingering.
Rays backed away.
"Run, Rex. Run! We have no choice!"
But the snow fought back. It felt alive. Every step sank like into a mouth.
Sounds. Shrill. Broken. A percussion of bone and ice.
Echolocation went haywire. Too much data. Then none.
Falling.
Getting up.
Falling again.
And in the wind…
Laughter.
A laugh with no throat. No mouth. No end.
—
[VOICE] You can't run. If you run, they'll hunt you. Until you're nothing but silence.
—
"YOU THINK WE HAVE A CHOICE?!" Rays screamed.
A pain. Sharp. Deep. Somewhere between his hip and ribs.
He collapsed.
Rex turned.
And with a roar, transformed.
A warhound.
Larger. Darker. Fur bristling, fangs dripping. His body pulsed like a war drum.
He stood between Rays and… the things.
They were coming.
Bipedal shapes. Massive. Steaming. Their bodies melted the snow. Their skin looked carved from black ice.
Claws. Glowing eyes. And in their breath, a wail of forgotten children.
—
[VOICE] These aren't creatures. They are unanswered prayers. Nightmares without endings.
—
And in the darkness…
—
[VOICE] Welcome to the sleep of snow. If you want to live… kill.