Chương 327: Chapter 326 - An attack in the Winter

The winters ran long in Ironheart. Snow piled against the stone walls of the small settlement, burying fences and creeping up the sides of homes until only the chimneys remained visible above the drifts. The cold was a constant presence, a living thing that seeped through cracks and found its way into bones. It was the kind of cold that made you forget what warmth felt like, that made you question whether summer had ever existed at all. Reynold woke before the sun. He always did.

The habit had been drilled into him by his father, who had been drilled into him by his father before that. Generations of men waking before dawn to face the cold. The bed was warm, lined with furs that smelled of smoke and dried herbs, but the moment his feet touched the floor, the cold bit into his soles like teeth. He dressed quickly, pulling on thick wool trousers and a heavy coat that had been patched so many times it barely resembled its original form.

He laced his boots and reached for the hunting knife on the nightstand. The blade was old, passed down through the family, its edge worn from countless seasons of use. His father was already in the main room. He stood by the hearth, his back to the fire, his broad frame casting a long shadow across the floor. He wore the same coat he had worn for as long as Reynold could remember, the same weathered hat, the same heavy gloves that had lost their grip years ago but refused to be replaced.

"Up early," his father said. It was not a question.

"You told me to be ready before dawn."

"I did." The old man nodded, a hint of approval in his eyes.

"The deer will be moving today. The cold drives them down from the high slopes. We need to be in position before the sun rises." Reynold nodded and reached for his bow. It was not a weapon of war, not like the ones the soldiers carried. It was a tool of survival, crafted from wood and sinew, its string replaced so many times he had lost count. He slung it across his shoulder and followed his father out into the snow. The world outside was white and silent.

The snow muffled every sound, swallowing footsteps and distant calls until only the wind remained, a low moan that seemed to come from everywhere at once. The sky was grey, heavy with clouds that promised more snow. The sun, if it rose at all, would be a pale ghost of itself, barely visible through the overcast. They walked in silence, their boots leaving deep impressions in the fresh powder. The snow was thick, deeper than it had been in years.

Reynold remembered his father saying that the snow used to be thinner, that the winters had been milder when he was a boy. But that was before the blood moon had passed, before the red snow had dwindled and the cold had settled in like a permanent guest. They reached the hunting grounds just as the first light began to break over the distant peaks. The deer were there, a small herd huddled together for warmth, their breath misting in the cold air.

They were cautious, their heads raised, their ears twitching at every sound. Reynold's father knelt in the snow and gestured for him to do the same. They moved slowly, deliberately, each step placed with care to avoid crunching the snow beneath their boots. The wind was at their backs, carrying their scent away from the herd. Reynold notched an arrow and drew back the string. His fingers were numb with cold, but he forced them to hold steady. He had done this before.

He had done it every year since he was old enough to hold a bow. The tradition was older than he was, older than his father, older than Ironheart itself. Every Saint Lucid's Pilgrimage month, the families of the settlement would hunt deer to honor the saint's memory. It was a ritual that connected them to the past, to the generations who had come before and the generations who would follow. Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. He loosed the arrow.

It flew true, striking the largest buck in the chest. The animal stumbled, then fell, its legs kicking once before going still. His father clapped him on the shoulder, a rare smile breaking through his weathered features.

"Good shot. The saint himself would be proud." Reynold felt a surge of warmth that had nothing to do with the cold. He walked toward the fallen deer, his boots crunching in the snow, and knelt beside it. The blood was bright against the white, a stark contrast that seemed almost violent in its intensity. He said a quiet prayer to Mother Alisia, asking her to accept the offering and bless their family for another year. The journey home was slow, the deer's weight dragging through the snow.

Reynold's father carried it on his shoulders, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but he refused to let Reynold take it.

"You made the kill," he said.

"You carry the weight of it." Reynold knew better than to argue. He walked beside his father, watching the snow pile up around them, and thought about the tradition. Saint Lucid's Pilgrimage month was a time of remembrance, a time to honor the saint who had freed them from the Era of First Radiance. Every family in Ironheart participated, though the details varied from home to home. Some cooked feasts. Some held ceremonies. Some simply prayed. But the hunt was the constant, the thread that bound them all together.

They arrived home to find his mother and sister busy preparing the evening meal. The fire in the hearth was roaring, and the smell of stew filled the small house. His father set the deer down and began the work of butchering, his knife moving with practiced precision. Reynold watched for a moment, then turned to the hearth. He stood before the flames, his hands extended, feeling the warmth seep back into his fingers.

The door to the shed was slightly ajar, and he noticed the family's dog, a scruffy creature with a single horn protruding from its forehead, was whimpering at the entrance. The horn had been there since birth, a mark of the dog's unusual lineage. Reynold had named it Kai, after a saint he had heard about in stories. He went to the dog and knelt beside it.

"What is it, boy?" The dog whined and pressed its nose against the door. Reynold opened it, and the dog darted outside. He followed, stepping into the snow and calling after it.

"Kai! Come back!" The dog disappeared into the trees. Reynold hesitated for only a moment before running after it, his boots sinking into the snow. The cold bit at his cheeks, but he did not slow. The dog was standing beneath a tree, its fur bristling, its eyes fixed on something in the distance. Reynold called out to it again, but the dog would not move. He followed its gaze, and his heart stopped. Beyond the tree, the sky had split open.

A massive ball of orange fire was descending, its surface rippling with molten fury. It was not the sun. It was something else, something terrible. The fireball grew larger as it fell, its heat reaching him even from this distance. Reynold stumbled backward, his breath caught in his throat. He had never seen anything like it. His mind raced, trying to make sense of what he was witnessing.

The fireball was followed by others, a rain of molten destruction that streaked across the sky like falling stars turned malevolent. The ground shook, and the trees trembled. The dog whimpered and pressed closer to him. Reynold held onto it, his hands shaking, as the fire rained down around them. The world was ending. That was the only thought that filled his mind. The dog whined and pressed its nose against the door. Reynold opened it, and the dog darted outside.

He followed, stepping into the snow and calling after it.

"Kai! Come back!" The dog disappeared into the trees. Reynold hesitated for only a moment before running after it, his boots sinking into the snow. The cold bit at his cheeks, but he did not slow. The dog was standing beneath a tree, its fur bristling, its eyes fixed on something in the distance. Reynold called out to it again, but the dog would not move. He followed its gaze, and his heart stopped. Beyond the tree, the sky had split open.

A massive ball of orange fire was descending, its surface rippling with molten fury. It was not the sun. It was something else, something terrible. The fireball grew larger as it fell, its heat reaching him even from this distance. Reynold stumbled backward, his breath caught in his throat. He had never seen anything like it. His mind raced, trying to make sense of what he was witnessing.

The fireball was followed by others, a rain of molten destruction that streaked across the sky like falling stars turned malevolent. The ground shook, and the trees trembled. The dog whimpered and pressed closer to him. Reynold held onto it, his hands shaking, as the fire rained down around them. The world was ending. That was the only thought that filled his mind.