Eva slept poorly that night. Her muscles ached, and every shift on the scratchy straw bedding only brought her into a more uncomfortable position. But she had a bed and a roof over her head and for that, she was endlessly grateful. Still, she could imagine more pleasant sleeping conditions, especially since Lennar filled the barn where they had been allowed to camp with snores that sounded as if his lungs were a pair of tattered old bellows. The rhythm of a familiar breath, normally soothing, turned into something eerie in the dark of the barn — a sound that seeped into her dreams. And there, it took shape.
At first, there was only wind. A soft whisper slipping through the barn’s cracks. Then a sudden gust that slowly pushed open the door. The wood creaked, and cold air poured in. And with the wind came something large. Eva recognized the creature in an instant: it was a wolf. It filled the doorway like a living shadow, black and massive, its shoulders as high as a horse’s back. Its coat hung in rough strands, its long muzzle sniffing forward. Two yellow eyes fixed on her. Eva wanted to scream, but no sound passed her lips. She reached for Lennar, grabbed his arm, shook him. “Wake up! Lennar, please! There’s a wolf!”
But he didn’t stir. His snoring went on, dull and steady, while the beast drew closer, its paws making barely a sound on the barn’s floor. The shadows advanced with it, flowing around its body like black water. The wolf lowered its head. A deep growl rose from its throat, vibrating through the beams, coiling around her heart like a stranger’s hand.
Eva jolted upright.
She was breathing hard, beads of cold sweat on her forehead. The wolf was gone. The barn lay still again, silent and empty. Lennar beside her was curled up in the straw, his snoring now almost comically harmless. Without thinking, she jumped up and ran outside, throwing the door open as if to make sure the monster no longer stood there. The crisp night air hit her face. Then she saw them: white flakes – first a few, then dozens – dancing down from the sky. Never before had snow come so early to Hochsaat.
By morning, everyone was talking about the onset of winter. The village was in uproar – their harvest already badly diminished by the pirates, and now the frost had come. If more cold days followed, even what remained from the flames would be lost. Plans were made to gather in whatever crops, fruit, and grapes could still be saved; some frantic farmers were already heading into the fields. Eva and Lennar didn’t want to overstay their welcome. They were lent two horses for their ride back to Dreybergen.
The cold morning air smelled of frost. Eva turned up her coat’s collar as the fox she rode carried her swiftly down the road. The night’s hoarfrost lay over the world like a thin veil – over the grass along the roadside, over charred haystacks and abandoned carts lining the way. Every leaf, every blade of grass bore a delicate edge of ice that shimmered in the first light of day. Winter had laid its fingers upon Hochsaat — not yet with full strength, but unmistakably so. Lennar rode silently beside her; the only sound was the soft snort of his horse, sending tiny white clouds into the air. The sky was so clear that the distant hills of Dreybergen cut sharply against the horizon. Before them lay the dark woods, and before long, they entered the shelter of the trees.
“There’s Odring up ahead,” Lennar finally said. Eva saw the outline of the village where most of the defenders had entrenched themselves, serving as refuge for the farmers and their remaining livestock.
At the village’s edge, they met Sixten Runvar. His red beard stood out vividly against the dark-grey uniform. Slung across his back was a mighty Ventus staff, and at his belt hung the Windsplitter – a weapon reserved only for the most skilled defenders of the Order. With barely concealed envy, Lennar eyed the axe hanging casually at the master’s side as though it were nothing more than a simple hammer. But everyone in the Order knew: that weapon was not given lightly. The double blade curved like the wings of a bird of prey, and a metallic string ran between the edges. When Sixten moved even slightly, the wind caught between the blades, producing a trembling hum that spoke of the weapon’s true power.
Lennar remembered well the day he was told on the Storm Isles why the Windsplitter was called Gjennomvind in his homeland’s dialect. “Because it is not it that goes through the wind,” the weapon master had said, “but you, with it, go through the wind.” A properly executed motion could unleash a pressure wave that threw opponents off balance, broke enemy lines, or deflected a charging foe at the last second. Not a forceful blast like that of the Ventus staff, but a precise redirection – one that decided battles before they even began. Lennar knew all this. He imagined what it would be like to hold such a weapon in his hands, to summon that first swirl of air that sent an enemy stumbling. How powerful he would look. But he wasn’t ready yet. One day, he thought. He turned his gaze away from the weapon – and himself away from the thought.
The horses snorted nervously as they approached. Sixten raised a hand in greeting.
“Grand Master,” he said curtly. “Sjöberg.” The icy look in his eyes, as always, gave nothing away, but Eva noticed his expression brighten for the briefest heartbeat as he took them in.
“Good to see you alive,” he said.
“So do we,” Lennar replied.
Sixten’s hard face broke into a thousand laughing lines. “Cheeky as ever, Sjöberg. You’ve come at the right time.” He nodded northward. “We’ve found something. Something that didn’t burn.”