Two days passed. Time in the wagon dragged on, measured only by the steady creak of the wheels and the occasional snort of the horses. The landscape beyond the boards changed slowly, but relentlessly: the lush green of the south paled, glazed over with frost, until it vanished completely beneath a dense white shroud.

  The mercenaries sat quieter than water, lower than grass. The brute who’d “seen his death” now tried not to even breathe in my direction, wedged into the farthest corner.

  Finally, the wagon stopped.

  “We’re here,” the driver said shortly.

  We climbed down. The snow under our boots answered with a sharp, dry crunch. Riza immediately began to shiver, hunching her shoulders. For someone born in hot lands, this cold was almost physical pain. Lucida and Elvindor, on the other hand, stepped onto the snow as if we were still strolling through a spring garden—no trembling, no fog of breath.

  True grandeur didn’t care about temperature.

  Once we’d moved away from the road and the curious eyes of the adventurers, Riza finally allowed herself to relax. Rust-colored tongues of flame danced around her palms—she raised a magical barrier just to warm up a little.

  “So where now, old man?” I asked Elvindor, squinting against the blinding white fields.

  “Over there.” He pointed his staff at a majestic peak stabbing into the clouds far to the north. “Mount North. We’ll have to climb to its summit if we want to find my friend. But it’ll take time.”

  I stared at the snowdrift by my feet. Something childish—long forgotten—stirred inside me. I scooped up a handful of snow, packed it tight, and without warning threw it straight into Riza’s face.

  “Hey!” she yelped, spitting out snowy powder—then immediately burst into laughter.

  A heartbeat later, a snowball hit me in return. Then we dragged Lucida and Elvindor into it too. The fallen archangel dodged snowballs with a warrior’s grace, and the elf only grumbled when snow slipped down his collar—but little sparks of amusement glowed in his eyes.

  We played for a full hour. We ran, fell into drifts, and shouted like ordinary kids. Riza was radiant, her cheeks red from frost and laughter.

  At last we caught our breath and moved on. We trudged over the crunching snow, and the world around us felt clean and simple.

  But the farther we went, the heavier my chest became.

  The laughter faded. The game was over. I walked and realized I still wasn’t warmer. Not from fire magic. Not from fun. Deep inside—somewhere at the very bottom of my soul—I felt a strange, cold emptiness. Like there was a huge hole that couldn’t be filled with snow, or flame, or even friendship.

  It wasn’t sadness.

  It was the absence of something essential—a vacuum that slowly began to swallow the sparks of my joy.

  The city greeted us harshly. The people matched the climate: few words, windburned faces, heavy eyes. Life in the North didn’t tolerate softness, and you could feel it in every gesture of random passersby.

  First stop was the market. After southern silks, the heavy furs and fur-lined cloaks felt unbearable—until the first icy gust slapped my face and I understood: best purchase of the whole journey.

  We chose the nearest inn to warm up. Inside it smelled of hops, roasted meat, and peat smoke. We sat at a heavy oak table, and soon plates of thick stew steamed in front of us.

  I finished first. The emptiness hadn’t gone anywhere, but hot food at least calmed the physical shivering.

  That was when a man in worn armor pushed up to our table.

  “Greetings. I’m the leader of the ‘Eternal Arrow’ group,” he began, clearly trying to give his voice weight.

  “Yeah. Original,” I muttered without looking up.

  “We’re critically short on a mage for one job,” he continued, ignoring my sarcasm. “People in town whispered this kid of yours handles power pretty well. Don’t worry about pay, Arbiter—or whatever your name is—we’ll split everything evenly.”

  “I don’t have time,” I cut him off.

  Elvindor, thoughtfully stirring his stew, asked, “And how long will your raid take?”

  “One day, at most. We need to clear the area of ten northern bears—they’ve gotten bold.”

  Lucida studied the mercenary with quiet irony in her knowing eyes. “I get the feeling if our boy doesn’t agree, you’ll go anyway. Or you’ll find someone even worse.”

  The leader nodded, darkening.

  “You know, Zenhald, I don’t mind staying in the city for a day,” Lucida leaned back. “This body wants rest after that wagon.”

  Elvindor gave an agreeing grunt. Riza looked at me with faint тревога.

  “Zen… just come back soon, alright?”

  I smiled at her—warm, real—and lightly scratched her hair. “I’ll be back soon.”

  I stood and followed the mercenary to their table in the far corner of the hall.

  “So what’s your name, then?” he asked as we walked.

  “Arkgrim,” the first thing that came to mind. Northern enough not to raise questions.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Good, Arkgrim. And I’m blah-blah-blah…” I stopped listening the second he said it. To me, he was a temporary tool.

  We reached the group: three men and a woman, all scarred, all in dented armor.

  “Good news!” the leader announced. “Found us a mage for the bear run.”

  One of them—a big guy with greasy hair—spat on the floor in contempt.

  “Leader, who the hell did you bring? He reeks of weakness from a mile away. He’s too small for this. A bear will swallow him for dessert.”

  I stopped and looked him straight in the eyes. My stare—heavy and cold—made him choke on the rest of his words.

  “You’re, what, thirty-five?” my voice was even, nearly emotionless. “Got a wife at home? Kids?”

  He blinked at the nerve, but nodded.

  “And you live like an adventurer. Risk your head every day. For what? A few extra coins for booze? Or some cheap thrill in a fight?” I tilted my head slightly. “One day you’ll die in filthy snow, and your kids will be left without a father.”

  The mercenary flushed, his hand twitching toward his sword—then the anger in his eyes collapsed into a dull, hopeless sadness. He stared at his half-empty mug and drained it in one gulp.

  “Fine… sit down, kid,” he grunted, turning away. “Philosopher, damn you…”

  I sat.

  Inside me, the emptiness stirred—approvingly.

  The leader sat opposite and started eagerly introducing them: “This is our main swordsman, his name is—” “And this is our tracker—”

  I listened, but their names slid past my ears, turning into meaningless noise. I didn’t care. To me, they weren’t living people with destinies—just scenery in a snowy city.

  “So… I take it you want to head out right now, Arkgrim?” the leader noticed my absent gaze.

  “Let’s get this over with,” I answered lazily, standing.

  “Yes, of course! Gear up!”

  I waited near the inn’s entrance. The wind bit my face, but I barely felt the cold. Half an hour later they spilled onto the porch, steel clinking, straps being tightened.

  “Arkgrim, uh… where’s your gear?” the leader eyed my empty belt and hands. “Staff? Spellbook? Whatever mages usually carry?”

  “I don’t need any of that,” I said without turning. “Move.”

  We headed for the city gates. Snow squeaked underfoot. The adventurers muttered among themselves, but I walked apart. Ten minutes in, the leader caught up to me.

  “Listen, Arkgrim… sorry, we heard you’re strong, but… could you show it? So the guys feel calm, you know? We’re going after northern bears—one mistake is death.”

  I stopped. The wind seemed to quiet for a moment. I turned to them slowly, and on my face bloomed that same predatory smile.

  “See my power? Fine… watch.”

  In the next heartbeat, the world around me began to change. I didn’t speak. I didn’t gesture. But the mana around us thickened, becoming heavy—black as pitch—an aura that made the air sing with tension. In their faces I saw what I wanted: primal, paralyzing fear.

  And then something strange happened.

  That icy emptiness inside me—that hole that had tormented me after the snowball game—started to vanish. It filled up. Every moment of their fear was like a drink of living water to my soul. I wanted to see that fear. I wanted them to tremble.

  The thirty-five-year-old mercenary dropped to his knees, covering his head with his hands.

  “No! NO! TAKE IT AWAY!” he screamed, curling into himself.

  “ARKGRIM, STOP!” the leader’s shout hit my ears like thunder.

  I jolted—as if waking from deep sleep. The aura snapped back in instantly. The sky was just gray sky again, the snow just snow.

  “Oops… sorry,” I mumbled, putting the mask of an ordinary child back on my face.

  The man on his knees was panting, staring at me in raw terror. The leader rushed to him.

  “You alright? What did you see?!”

  The mercenary stammered, lips blue. “I saw… I saw the sky burning black… I saw…”

  I stepped closer and touched his shoulder, letting a soothing stream of mana wash over him, smoothing the sharp edges of his nightmare.

  “It’s fine. Just a mirage. A waking nightmare,” I said quietly.

  He looked at me with suspicion and buried fear, but he stood, brushing snow off his knees. We moved on into the forest.

  Inside me, peace settled.

  The emptiness was gone.

  And the worst part was—I liked it.

  We went deeper into the woods. My body ached from the cold, every breath cutting my lungs, but the pain was the only thing that felt truly alive. The icy wind in my face seemed to whisper forgotten words in a language I almost no longer remembered.

  I stared up at the gray sky, trying not to listen to the adventurers whispering behind me. I knew they were afraid. I knew they were talking about the “monster” hiding behind a child’s face. I didn’t care.

  Heavy, sticky thoughts swarmed my head. What was the point? Why this march, this struggle, if the end was only emptiness? Sometimes it felt like the most logical choice was to fall into the snow and never get up again.

  “There!” the leader shouted, pointing at deep scratches on the trunk of an ancient oak. “Northern bears. They’re close.”

  We moved under the vault of the dark forest. The hole in my chest began to grow again, sucking everything dry and leaving only cold hunger.

  After three hours of wandering through drifts, the leader called a rest.

  I didn’t sit. I stared into the distant white veil—toward where, beyond the trees, a storm was starting.

  “They’re running toward us,” I said quietly.

  “Where? I don’t see anything!” the leader raised his crossbow.

  “There. At least twenty.” I pointed at the rising whirl of snow.

  Something clicked inside me. The adventurers’ fear, the scent of approaching flesh, the cold—everything fused into one mad cocktail. I smiled.

  “They’re coming…” I repeated, and my voice sounded like ice breaking.

  “Formation!” the leader roared. “Positions! Arkgrim, back! Support us, slow them down!”

  I started laughing. First softly, then aloud, ragged and hoarse.

  “HA-HA-HA-HA!”

  “Arkgrim, what’s wrong with you?! Back!” The leader reached for my shoulder, but I simply walked past him—straight toward the forest where huge white shapes were already bursting out.

  I felt it: those beasts—those animals—could fill the hole in my chest. With their rage. Their pain. Their blood.

  The first bear—half a ton of muscle—leapt from the brush. It swung a clawed paw, but I didn’t even slow down. One short motion—and its paw flew aside, cut off by an invisible blade of mana. The beast collapsed, filling the forest with a shriek of pain that sounded almost human.

  “HA-HA!” I drank that sound in.

  My aura burst outward, staining the snow a dirty gray. The other bears froze, forming a tight ring around me. They weren’t hunters anymore.

  They were prey that had suddenly realized it.

  “Come on!” I spread my arms. “It’s boring if nobody attacks! Who’s next?!”

  I raised a hand, and a bolt of black lightning ripped through the air, knocking two bears down. They didn’t die—they convulsed, whining in terror. Another beast, maddened, lunged at me from behind. I simply turned and looked it in the eyes, pouring into that stare all the death I’d seen across thousands of years.

  The bear froze.

  Its heart stopped.

  It dropped dead at my feet.

  “HA-HA-HA! What? Scared to death? Is that all you’ve got?!” My laughter echoed through the trees, drowning out the wind.

  And then… the world flipped.

  I blinked. The aura vanished. The laughter caught in my throat, replaced by nausea. I looked at my hands—small, child’s palms, trembling with strain. Around me, bears were coming to their senses, starting to growl again.

  What am I doing? What the hell am I doing?!

  The ring tightened. No time to think. I slammed both palms into the ground.

  “Stone spears!”

  With a roar, sharp granite spikes erupted from beneath the snow, impaling the nearest bears. The rest—howling—scattered and vanished into the blizzard.

  I collapsed onto a log, clutching my head. Fingers dug into my hair, teeth chattering.

  “Stop… enough… shut up…” I whispered to myself, trying to drown out the echo of that mad laughter still ringing in my ears.

  I was Zenhald.

  Or was I the monster who had just enjoyed the screams of a wounded beast?

  Careful footsteps crunched behind me. The adventurers weren’t rushing closer. They stared at me like I was more dangerous than every northern bear combined.

  And honestly?

  They were right.