The storm had passed.
But the silence it left behind felt worse.
Snow covered Grey Hollow in a thick, frozen blanket, swallowing the narrow streets and muting every sound. Frost clung to the windows of wooden houses, and smoke drifted lazily into the pale morning sky.
The village looked peaceful.
Still.
Safe.
It was none of those things.
Inside the healer's house, warmth clung to the air.
A fire burned low in the hearth, its glow flickering across rough wooden walls. The smell of crushed herbs and boiling roots filled the room, sharp and bitter.
On the wooden table near the fire—
Arin lay wrapped in blankets.
His small body trembled.
His breathing came fast.
Uneven.
Too shallow.
The fever still raged.
The knight stood beside him.
Silent.
Motionless.
Watching.
Every breath the child took felt like a fragile promise that might break at any moment.
"Is he improving?" the knight asked.
His voice was steady.
But the tension in his shoulders betrayed the truth.
The healer did not answer immediately.
Instead, he pressed two fingers gently against the child's neck.
Feeling.
Counting.
Hoping.
At last, he exhaled.
"The fever has not broken," he said quietly.
The words fell into the room like stones.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
The knight's jaw tightened.
He had faced armies.
Monsters.
War.
But this—
This helpless waiting—
Was worse than any battlefield.
He looked down at the child.
So small.
So fragile.
So important.
"You must survive," he whispered.
Outside—
Snow crunched beneath heavy boots.
Slow.
Measured.
Approaching.
The healer froze.
"Did you hear that?" he asked.
The knight was already moving.
His hand closed around the hilt of his sword.
Listening.
Counting.
The sound came again.
Bootsteps.
Many of them.
Organized.
Disciplined.
Hunters.
The knight stepped toward the window and pushed aside the frost-covered curtain.
Cold air slipped into the room.
Outside—
Dark figures moved through the snow.
Cloaked.
Armed.
Searching.
More than a dozen.
Their movements were precise.
Silent.
Relentless.
The knight felt his pulse slow.
Danger had arrived.
He turned back to the healer.
"They found us," he said.
No panic.
No hesitation.
Only certainty.
The healer's face drained of color.
"What do we do?"
The knight's eyes moved toward the back of the house.
"There is a cellar," he said.
The healer nodded slowly.
Yes.
There was.
Suddenly—
BANG.
A heavy knock struck the door.
The sound echoed through the small house like thunder.
Arin stirred weakly.
A faint breath escaped his lips.
The knight stepped forward.
Silent.
Ready.
Another knock followed.
Harder.
More demanding.
BANG.
A voice called from outside.
Cold.
Authority sharpened into steel.
"Open the door."
Silence filled the room.
Thick.
Unavoidable.
The knight drew his sword.
Steel slid free with a sharp metallic whisper.
The healer lifted the child carefully and wrapped him tighter in blankets.
His hands trembled.
But he did not hesitate.
He moved quickly toward the hidden cellar door behind the shelves.
Outside—
The voice spoke again.
More dangerous now.
"We know someone is inside."
The door rattled violently.
Wood groaned under the pressure.
Snow fell from the roof outside.
The knight stepped forward.
Positioning himself between the door—
And the child.
His breathing slowed.
His fear faded.
Only resolve remained.
He had sworn an oath.
To protect the boy.
No matter the cost.
The healer opened the cellar hatch.
Darkness waited below.
He climbed down carefully, clutching the child to his chest.
Safe.
Hidden.
Alive.
The hatch closed.
The knight stood alone.
Sword in hand.
Facing the door.
Outside—
The hunters prepared to break in.
Inside—
The fire crackled softly.
Snow tapped against the windows.
Time slowed.
Then—
CRACK.
The door split.
Wood shattered.
Light burst into the room.
And the hunt entered Grey Hollow.