Chapter 27: The Dream

  The entire skirmish had lasted only a few breaths, but the noise was enough to rouse the others.

  Wolf had been awake the moment the creature breached the perimeter—years of living on a knife’s edge meant he never truly let his guard down, even in sleep. He hadn't rushed out immediately; instead, he lay in the dark, listening. Ronen’s breathing was steady, the sound of his blade clean and decisive. Knowing the boy had the upper hand, Wolf had stayed back to monitor the rest of the house.

  As the monster fell, a door on the far side of the hall creaked open. Vivian stepped out, a lantern in her hand, its glow casting her slender shadow long across the snow. She didn't scream or panic. She took one look at Ronen and the dark heap on the ground, then walked straight to the stable to calm the barking hounds.

  "Quiet," she whispered, her palm stroking the forehead of the lead snow-hound. The pack gradually settled, though their ears remained pricked, their eyes locked on the darkness beyond the walls.

  Only then did she turn to Ronen, raising her lantern. The yellow light acted like a soft brush, slowly painting the details of the fallen form.

  Wolf joined them now, his boots crunching softly on the thin layer of snow. He crouched down, his shadow falling over the creature’s gaunt face.

  It had indeed been human once. The limbs, the torso, even the way the tattered burlap tunic was stitched—all were marks of civilization. But now, it was a husk, skin stretched tight over bone, covered in the scars of the wilderness. Its nails were long, curved, and blackened; its teeth were bared in a permanent snarl.

  But it was the eyes that were the most disturbing. They were unnaturally swollen, bloodshot, and the pupils had shrunk to needle-points in the lantern light—exactly like the eyes of the ice bears they had encountered on the tundra.

  "This looks like..." Ronen’s voice was dry. He struggled for the right words. "Like a man who lost his mind and lived like a beast in the woods for a long time."

  "It was a man," Vivian said, her voice low. She crouched opposite Wolf, her gaze moving from the creature’s twisted fingers to its desiccated torso. "At least, it still bears the traits of one."

  Ronen stared at the bulging eyes. "Why would someone turn into this?"

  "I don't know." Vivian stood up, the lantern swaying and casting dancing shadows across their faces. "But this isn't natural. You met the village head tonight—did he mention anything about this?"

  Wolf remained crouched, using his scabbard to pull back a piece of the creature’s tunic, revealing a jagged, long-healed scar on its shoulder. He was silent for a long moment before speaking.

  "The village head is a man in his forties, his hair already half-white. When he first opened the door, he looked like he’d seen a ghost. He clearly didn't expect visitors this late in the season—he probably took us for bandits. It was only when I mentioned we were here to investigate the 'Eye of the Blizzard' that he seemed to breathe again."

  Wolf paused, recalling the details. "But he immediately tried to drive us away. He was frantic. I told him that leaving in a snowstorm was suicide. He hesitated for a long time before finally letting us stay in these ruins, but he warned us—repeatedly—not to stay outside after dark."

  "Don't stay outside?" Vivian caught the weight of the warning. "Did you ask why?"

  "It sounded like a standard northern caution at the time, so I didn't push," Wolf shook his head, his expression darkening. "But we tried a few other houses. The reaction was the same. Terrified eyes peering through door cracks, followed by a desperate urge to get rid of us. Not a single soul would offer us a bed."

  Vivian looked back at the non-human corpse. "It wasn't a caution. It was a warning. This creature is wearing clothes, and there isn't another settlement for miles. I think... it might have been one of them. A villager."

  "Clothes?" Ronen remembered something. He reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a stained scrap of grey cloth. He crouched down and held it against the tattered remains on the monster’s shoulder. In the lantern light, the weave, the wear, and even the fading of the dye were a perfect match.

  "Where did you get that?" Vivian asked.

  "From the dead man in the bear’s den," Ronen said softly. "I tore a piece off, thinking it might help identify him."

  The three of them shared a look. The wind whistled through the dead branches of the Frostwood, sounding like a low, mournful wail.

  "So," Wolf said, standing up slowly. "The man in the cave and this monster... they were both from Dragonwood Village."

  Ronen looked toward the silent silhouettes of the village cabins. "When the sun comes up, we need to ask if anyone is missing."

  Wolf nodded, glancing at the sky. "Go back to sleep. I’ll take the rest of the watch." He looked at the corpse, his brow furrowed. "Leave this here for now. Tomorrow, everyone needs to see it. We need to stay sharp." His voice dropped even lower. "I have a feeling... there’s more than one of these things out there."

  A hazy mist, like a veil of fine silk, shrouded the world, leaving only blurred outlines and shifting shadows. When Ronen came to his senses, he found himself standing atop a field of ruins.

  Among the shattered walls, the echoes of former glory remained—the broken pillars of a great clock tower stood like the severed limbs of giants, and fragments of a commemorative monument lay scattered like fallen stars. The air was thick with a heavy sorrow, as if the city itself were weeping. Countless civilians fled through the wreckage, their figures like leaves scattered by a gale, their screams and cries weaving into a dirge for the end of the world.

  Suddenly, a deafening roar tore through the sky, as if time itself had frozen. Ronen looked up and saw a colossal entity emerging from the mist. Its body was as vast as a mountain, blotting out the sun. Its form was beyond words—twisted limbs like rotting trees, tentacles writhing like serpents, a nightmare crawled from the abyss. Its very existence was a profanity against order, a mockery of the light. Every inch of its skin radiated a suffocating evil that made the air tremble.

  Ronen could feel the monster’s gaze piercing his soul, cold and ravenous. And in that moment, like a whisper of fate, a sword glowing with a holy light appeared before him, thrust into the ground. The blade was as pure as the dawn, its radiance flowing with an endless promise of hope and salvation. It stood there silently, waiting for the one destined to draw it.

  "Go, and become a hero..." A girl’s voice whispered in his ear, soft as a breeze yet striking deep into his heart. It sounded as if it came from the distant stars, yet also from the deepest part of his own soul. It carried an irresistible magic, guiding him toward the shores of destiny.

  Ronen did not hesitate. His hand gripped the hilt, the touch cold yet surging with power. As the blade slid from the earth, a brilliant light poured out like a river of stars, illuminating the darkness. He raised the holy sword, pointing it straight at the heart of the great evil, a courage and determination he had never known welling up within him.

  But just as the blade was about to strike, the monster let out a world-shaking roar. The sound was like the wail of ten thousand souls, filled with infinite pain and rage. A terrifying force surged forward like a tide, instantly swallowing the sword’s radiance. Ronen felt his strength shatter, his soul torn asunder. His legs gave way, and he fell to his knees as the world plunged into darkness, leaving only despair as his companion.

  "You need power..." The girl’s voice spoke again, clearer this time, a whisper right against his ear. It carried a temptation he couldn't resist, like the brightest star in the night sky, guiding him toward an unknown abyss.

  "I need power..." Ronen murmured in response. The voice felt like his own, yet also like it came from somewhere far away. Was it his thought, or an external will? He couldn't tell; he only felt the voice like a warm current, slowly seeping into his soul.

  "Come, follow me..." the girl’s voice said, like a spell, carrying a near-divine allure. "I will bring you power—the power to become a legend. You will transcend mortality and become eternal..."

  The next moment, Ronen’s eyes snapped open.

  There was no city, no ruins. He was still lying in the rotting house, surrounded by the familiar walls and the steady breathing of his companions. It had only been a dream.

  He let out a long breath, but a lingering unease remained in his chest. The dream had felt too real, like a premonition of something yet to come.