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The bitter cold sent a deep chill through his body. No one spoke; there was nothing to be said. For three days, they had navigated the treacherous caverns within the Lumi Tundra, yet they were no closer to their goal. Rohan adjusted the shield on his arm, shifting to ease the ache in his shoulder. His boots crunched against the permafrost underfoot, and his armour clinked softly with each step. The war hammer in his right hand felt heavier the longer they marched. His muscles ached; his body weary, but he couldn't let it show. The wind howled through the cave, echoing down fissures and bouncing off the icy walls. The deeper they went, the colder the air became, a grim sign that they were heading in the right direction. Rohan glanced over his shoulder to check on Serena. She trudged along with her head down, gripping her staff tightly, whether from apprehension or anticipation, he couldn’t tell. Without her magic and healing, things might already have been worse. He turned back to focus on Ayla, who scouted ahead. Her longbow was slung over her shoulder, her footsteps silent on the frozen ground. She moved cautiously today, more so than in previous days. The guilt still gnawed at her. One of their own was already dead, lost to her brashness, her oversight. Beyond her, Rohan’s gaze caught something in the ice, a glowing rune embedded in the cavern wall. They had passed several already, but this one seemed different. Ayla noticed it too, approaching it slowly as she studied it with intrigue. Each rune was a chilling reminder: the prophecy they had grown up fearing was nearing its fulfilment.&nbsp;It was a tale every resident of Frjósa Village grew up hearing. The Endless Winter was foretold to come, though no one knew exactly when it would arrive, or where the first frost would begin. That uncertainty was the reason Frjósa was founded in the first place: a hardy settlement at the edge of the known world, where the cold was ever-present. A beacon. A bulwark. A last hearth against the storm. Knights, mages, and archers had been trained for generations in preparation for the cataclysmic age of ice said to sweep across the world. The village elders ensured the prophecy was etched into memory, known by all who called Frjósa home.&nbsp;"When the cold bites deeper than before,And the earth shakes right to its core,A beast of frost, with runes aglow,Will stir from its slumber far below.Should the creature rise once more,No sun shall climb the frozen shore.An endless winter grips the land,Time itself shall freeze and stand."&nbsp;The village clung to the northern rim of the&nbsp;Lumi Tundra, a wasteland where blizzards howled like starving wolves and sunlight was a fleeting stranger. Even in summer, the air carried teeth; ice crusted the thatched roofs, and the rivers ran sluggish with half-melted grudges. The people of Frjósa Village were shaped by that land, resilient, hardened, and unyielding. It bred warriors who dedicated their lives to preparing for the long-prophesied winter. And this winter, the cold bit deeper.&nbsp;The icy winds crept in from the tundra, whipping up blizzards that battered the village without mercy. The lake on the town’s edge froze earlier than ever before and the woods stood empty, no fox tracks stitched the snow, no rabbits huddled in the thickets. Even the stars seemed to flee, smothered beneath the storm’s pallid shroud. Many people in the village feared the worst, while others clenched their jaws and stacked firewood higher, as if denial could hold back the inevitable. But no one could ignore the tremors, shaking the foundations of the village. The earth convulsed like a dying thing; walls splintered, storehouses collapsed, and the frozen lake shattered with a sound like a thousand mirrors breaking. The arctic winds from the tundra howled stronger than ever and the village elders knew they could delay no longer. Scouts were sent into the tundra to search for the source of the unnatural storm; their furs crusted with ice within mere minutes. When one eventually returned half-frozen, their report was grim: a newly formed cavern deep in the tundra – exposed by the splitting earth – and a fierce gale that burned with cold billowing from its depths. The village elders needed no debate. Four were chosen, not for glory, but to bear the burden of stopping the prophecy from coming to pass. The expedition would begin at once, and the four chosen would venture into the unknown depths and face whatever waited in the dark.

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Endless Winter

M.Stevens

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M Stevens

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