Martin didn't sleep that night.
The letter lay unfolded on the table, lit by the flickering flame of a single oil lamp. Outside, the wind stirred the trees, whispering secrets only the moon understood.
His father's words haunted him.
> "I'm going to die soon."
> "I left you something at Winter Peak."
After four years of silence, after believing he was dead… the truth arrived too late.
Martin stood, staring out the window. In the distance, past the silvery woods and the hills beyond, Winter Peak pierced the clouds—a jagged monolith of stone and snow.
A cursed mountain, the elders said. Home of the Frozen Throne, a place long abandoned by gods and mortals alike.
But if his father had left something there—something important—then Martin would find it.
No matter the risk.
---
By dawn, his pack was ready: a waterskin, dried meat, spare clothes, his hunting knife, and the rapier he'd trained with since childhood.
He moved to his mother's bedside.
She lay still beneath her blanket, breath shallow, skin pale. The morning sun cast golden lines across her sleeping face.
Martin knelt beside her.
"I'll be back," he whispered, brushing her silver hair gently aside. "I promise."
He placed a small note and a bowl of warm porridge on the table.
Then quietly slipped outside.
---
He didn't get far.
Rose stood near the edge of the garden, arms crossed, brows furrowed. Her wooden sword was strapped to her back.
"You were gonna leave without saying anything?" she asked.
Martin froze. "I… didn't want to argue."
She stared at him for a long moment. "You're going to Winter Peak, aren't you?"
He nodded.
"I'm coming with you."
"No," he said quickly. "I need you to stay."
She blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
Martin stepped forward, his eyes steady.
"My mother's getting worse. She hides it, but I see it. If something happens to me, someone needs to be here for her." He hesitated. "Someone I trust."
Rose's mouth opened, then closed. "But I can fight. I want to help you."
"You are helping me," he said gently. "By making sure she's safe. That's the only way I can go without looking back."
Silence settled between them.
Then, softly, she said, "You think your father's still alive?"
Martin looked toward the mountain. "I don't know. But I have to see what he left behind. I have to know why he disappeared. Why he stayed away."
Rose bit her lip, then slowly nodded. "Okay. But you'd better come back. If you die up there, I'll find a way to bring you back and kill you myself."
Martin smiled. "Deal."
She stepped closer, pulling a small red cloth from her belt—a charm stitched with sunfire thread. "Take this. It's for luck. And warmth. Sun elf embroidery," she said, forcing a grin. "Very expensive."
Martin tied the cloth around his wrist. "I'll return it."
"You'd better."
Then, before she could change her mind, he turned and walked toward the forest, alone.
---
The woods of the Whispering Pines swallowed him in silence.
The trees were unnaturally tall, their needles coated in frost despite the summer air. Martin moved quickly, every step taking him farther from home and deeper into the unknown.
The path narrowed. The light dimmed.
And then he saw it.
A Veilbeast.
It crouched near a dead deer. Its limbs bent at odd angles, and its eyes was cold and hollow.
Martin froze.
He remembered what the elders had said: "They are nightmares made flesh—born of sorrow and death."
The beast twitched.
Then it turned.
It saw him.
And it charged.
---
Martin rolled to the side as the creature lunged, claws tearing through bark and soil where he had stood. He drew his rapier in a single motion and slashed upward, catching the beast's shoulder.
Mist hissed from the wound—but the blade didn't cut deep enough.
The Veilbeast shrieked.
Martin circled, recalling his training. Water Style: Fluid and reactive.
He waited.
Then, as it lunged again, he deflected its strike with a sidestep and stabbed low—into the shadowy mass beneath its ribs.
The creature convulsed.
Black smoke poured from its body. It let out a hollow groan… then fell, collapsing into ash and rot.
Martin staggered back, breath heavy.
One beast down. But the path ahead only grew colder.
---
By nightfall, he reached the base of Winter Peak.
The mountain loomed like a monument to death. Storm clouds circled its summit. And somewhere up there—at the top—lay whatever truth his father had left behind.
Martin tightened the sun elf charm around his wrist.
"I'm coming," he whispered.
Then he began the climb.