Auren climbed silently to the top of a sturdy pine tree, boots pressing lightly against the frost-covered bark. The cold wind brushed his blue hair as he reached the highest branch that could support him.
Squinting through the snowy mist, he scanned the horizon.
There—nestled between the snowy hills and distant trees—he saw faint trails of smoke curling into the sky. Warm, glowing lights shimmered below the white veil.
"Ashwyn Reach…" he whispered with a small, satisfied smile. "Looks like I'm closer than I thought."
He sat for a moment, letting the breeze graze his face.
Then, with a playful smirk, he murmured,
> "Even the cold leads somewhere—if your heart's warmer than your feet."
And with that, he began his quiet descent.
Auren stepped out of the shadowed treeline, boots crunching softly in the snow. Ashwyn Reach was no longer the peaceful town he remembered—it was chaos. Flames licked the sky, smoke curled into the air, and screams rang like a bitter melody.
His eyes narrowed.
Bandits stormed through the streets, slashing, looting, laughing.
He spotted bodies—villagers who'd never even held a sword.
An old man.
Two children.
Gone.
Auren stood still for a breath.
Then he sighed.
Flick.
The nearest raiders froze mid-step, eyes wide. Their limbs slowed unnaturally, as if caught in invisible molasses.
Flick.
Lightning arced silently from nowhere. Muscles locked. Swords dropped. Panic filled their stunned eyes.
Flick.
Fire rained—quick, precise, relentless. A blur of heat and searing light engulfed the bandits. One by one, they collapsed, smoking and twitching in the snow.
The wind howled briefly, carrying away the last of the screams.
Auren stood among the silence, his breath fogging the air. His eyes swept the ruined town once more.
Then, almost amused, he muttered softly:
> "Hunger and evil—both spread fast when left unattended."
He adjusted his cloak, stepped over the charred remains, and vanished into the alleyways before anyone could see his face.
The battle was over. Smoke drifted lazily across Ashwyn Reach. Bandits lay scorched, frozen in their final screams. Auren stood still, his eyes on the fallen villagers.
He raised one hand calmly.
"Return to breath, where warmth once lingered."
A gentle glow swept through the corpses. The villagers who had only just fallen began to twitch—then breathe. Confused, some sat up slowly, others gasped as life returned to their eyes.
The people were stunned. Tears burst forth.
A child shrieked joyfully, "Mama!"
An old man stumbled up, muttering, "I was with the stars... now I smell cabbage again."
Then Auren stepped forward, scanning the shattered homes, cracked stone, and scorched fields.
He lifted his hand again.
"Stone and timber, rise and mend. Shelter those who live again."
The ground rumbled softly. Broken walls began stitching themselves back together. Collapsed houses rebuilt with groaning wood and shifting bricks. Even the broken fountain in the square gurgled to life, spitting water with a cheerful splurt.
The townsfolk stood in awe.
Then someone started clapping.
More followed.
Cheers erupted.
"Bless that man!"
"He saved the whole town!"
"He brought Gran back from the grave and rebuilt my outhouse!"
"Is he... a wandering sage?! A hero?!"
Children ran around his feet like he was a festival float. Someone threw flower petals. A baker handed him a warm loaf with trembling hands. "Please… just take this. It's all I got."
Auren blinked at the chaos forming around him, took the loaf with a polite nod, and said with a small grin:
> "When storms pass, don't forget to dance in the puddles."
They all stared blankly.
"...What?"
"Did he just tell us to go play in mud?"
"Wise words," said a random villager solemnly. "I think."
Ashwyn Reach was finally quiet.
The fires had gone out. The people were resting. And Auren, as always, stood alone — leaning against the remains of a wooden post, cloak wrapped tight around him. His gaze wandered across the snowy ruins that now shimmered with a new sense of peace. The town had been rebuilt by his magic, but his heart remained untouched.
Then—
she appeared.
Not from the sky, not from magic. Just… walked out from behind a cracked building, holding a small lantern in her hands.
She wore a plain dress, the wool worn at the edges, with a shawl that fluttered softly in the wind. But her movements were delicate, like snowflakes falling without a sound. Her white hair framed a soft, innocent face that didn't belong in a place once stained with blood.
She stopped a short distance from him, holding the lantern up. "You're him, aren't you? The one who helped us."
Auren didn't respond right away. He looked at her, then looked away. "Depends who's asking."
"…Eirlys," she said gently. "My name's Eirlys."
He nodded once.
"You're… not what I expected," she said, trying to study his face in the low light.
"Good," he muttered.
She giggled. Not mockingly—just honestly amused. "They said you vanished after the fight. That you didn't want praise. But you stayed."
"I had nowhere to go." He paused. "And I didn't do it for praise."
"I know," she said. Then hesitated. "But… thank you."
Auren shifted, uncomfortable. "You should rest. Your town needs you more than it needs a stranger in the snow."
She tilted her head. "But sometimes, it's the stranger who changes everything."
He blinked, caught off guard.
"…Strange thing to say."
Eirlys shrugged with a soft smile. "You look like someone who says strange things too."
He exhaled slowly, turning his face away to hide the faintest hint of red brushing his cheeks. "…Must be the cold."
She took a few steps back, eyes still on him. "Well, thank you… again."
And with that, she walked off, her steps light, her presence lingering like frost on glass.
Auren stood still for a long while. Then, just as the wind picked up—
"Snowflakes fall unnoticed… but they still shape the mountain," he muttered.
"…What the hell does that mean?" he added to himself, grimacing.
Even he wasn't sure sometimes.
Auren watched Elia walk away, her form fading gently into the snow-dusted path between the rebuilt houses. Her presence lingered, like the delicate scent of winter flowers.
He stood still for a moment longer, silent.
Then he exhaled through his nose and rose to his feet, brushing the snow from his cloak.
"…Well." He stretched his shoulders, cracking his neck lightly. "Time to hunt."
No lingering stares. No dreamy thoughts. Just that familiar chill in his chest returning — purpose, not sentiment.
Because monsters didn't wait for romance. And neither did he.
Auren made his way toward the tallest tree near the town's edge. With a light step and a well-placed leap, he ascended, stopping halfway to balance himself on a thick branch. His eyes narrowed, scanning the frost-covered terrain like a hawk.
A soft breeze brushed his cloak as he spotted movement in the snow.
"Three snow wolves," he muttered. "That'll do."
He raised a hand, fingers crackling as a small flame ignited between them — then hissed with sparks as he laced it with lightning.
"Simple. Painful. A bit flashy."
He flicked it forward casually.
The firebolt sailed through the air, almost lazily — then struck.
Whumph!
The first wolf yelped as it ignited, blue-white sparks racing through its fur. It staggered, spasming as the flames danced with electricity. The others howled in alarm, backing off, confused.
Auren remained still in the tree, watching with calm disinterest as the slow burn and jolting shocks did their work.
"Efficient," he said under his breath, almost bored.
Auren's eyes sharpened.
Crack.
The snow beneath his boot crunched—and in the blink of an eye, he vanished.
Thump!
He reappeared behind the second snow wolf, boot slamming into its ribs with a clean, explosive kick that sent it tumbling through the frost.
Before the last wolf could even turn, Auren extended two fingers.
"Let's keep this clean."
He hurled a small flame forward. It zipped through the air, no bigger than a pebble of fire.
Fwip—fwip—CRACK!
The moment it struck the lead wolf's shoulder, it split—three mini pulses burst out with machine-gun rhythm.
Boom—boom—BOOM.
The first bolt seared the fur. The next two followed a heartbeat later, crashing into its side and leg with sharp thuds of fire. The wolf collapsed mid-lunge, its body steaming in the cold.
Auren exhaled calmly, the steam of his breath vanishing into the wintry air.
"Perfect for low-mana, high-speed offense," he muttered, brushing snow from his shoulder. "And it looks cool."
Auren turned to the last wolf, still struggling to get up after his swift kick. It was weak, bloodied, and trying to crawl away in the snow. Auren gave it a disinterested glance.
He raised his hand, a single flick of his fingers sending a bolt of crackling lightning flying through the air.
ZAP!
The wolf convulsed as the jolt hit, its body twitching in an uncontrollable spasm before collapsing completely, smoke rising from its fur in the cold air.
Auren watched the now-silent creature, the faint crackle of residual energy lingering in the air. Then, with a small grin, he chuckled to himself.
"Sometimes... the best way to kill a problem... is with a little zap of reality."
He shrugged and turned to gather his bounty.