The Frostbark forest closed in around them like an old tomb—too quiet, too still. Snow fell steadily, muffling every sound, wrapping the world in white. Bren led the way now, moving slowly between thick trunks, his boots crunching softly over frozen roots. Kale followed close behind, flame held low in one hand, spear tight in the other.
They didn't speak.
They didn't need to.
The feeling of being watched hadn't gone away—it had grown. Whatever was out there wasn't just trailing them anymore. It was keeping pace. Watching. Waiting. And it knew they felt it too.
Bren glanced back once, voice barely above a whisper. "Don't look behind you."
Kale swallowed hard but nodded. "You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"
"Probably worse," Bren muttered, scanning the trees ahead.
They kept moving.
Then Kale stopped.
He raised a hand, signaling silently for Bren to halt. His breath caught as he crouched lower, eyes locked onto something at their feet.
Tracks.
Familiar ones.
Boar prints—massive, deep, and fresh. But these weren't alone.
Beside them were marks that made his stomach twist. Deep gouges in the snow, like claws had dragged across the ground. Blood stained the white earth in short streaks, not scattered, but placed, like a trail someone—or something—had left behind.
Bren dropped beside him, studying the signs with a grim expression. He ran a gloved hand through the melted snow where the blood had pooled. Then he saw it too.
Burn marks.
Scorch lines in the earth beneath the snow.
Old fire, pressed into the soil like a brand.
Kale whispered, "A seeker…"
Bren nodded slowly, jaw clenched. "Yeah. Someone who could control flame." He pointed toward the scorched path. "And they were here. Recently."
Kale stared at the marks, unease crawling up his spine. Flame magic. Here. In this forest. That meant another Seeker was nearby—or had been.
But if they were so powerful… why leave behind this?
They followed the trail cautiously, stepping lightly through the snowfall. The Frostbark forest stretched endlessly before them, until finally, the trees thinned—and the clearing opened wide.
It was vast. Barren. Heavy with death.
Kale felt it before he saw it—his body tensed, his breath stilled. Something was in the center of the field. A silhouette, half-hidden by falling snow. Tall. Unnatural.
He turned off the flame in his palm without thinking. Just instinct. Just survival.
Bren noticed. Nodded. Extinguished his own torch moments later.
They crouched low behind a fallen log, peering into the clearing. Even through the snowfall, the figure became clearer.
It stood taller than a man, its posture hunched like a predator ready to pounce. Its head was unmistakably goat-like—twisted horns curling back from a skull covered in coarse, matted fur. Below, its limbs shifted unnaturally—long, wolf-like legs ending in black, clawed feet that dug into the frozen earth. Its arms were human in shape, but grotesquely long, hanging almost to its knees. Claws extended from each finger, sharp and red with something wet.
Kale's stomach turned.
At first, he thought the beast was feeding on some animal carcass. But then he saw it clearly.
A dismembered arm.
Torn from the shoulder.
Still steaming in the cold.
Beyond the monster, half-buried in snow, lay a body. Face upturned. Frozen. Lifeless. No older than thirty. Eyes open. Blank. Pale flesh dusted with frost.
Kale felt bile rise in his throat. He swallowed it down.
Bren whispered, barely audible, "That's not a boar."
No. This was something else entirely.
Something worse.
The creature let out a low, guttural growl—like air escaping broken lungs. It sniffed the air, long and slow. Then, disturbingly, it tilted its head upward, staring straight into the sky. Not looking at anything. Not reacting to them.
But it knew they were there.
Kale forced himself to breathe quietly. To move only when necessary. Every part of him screamed danger. This thing wasn't just hunting prey.
It was hunting people.
Bren's voice came again, even quieter. "Gorthalyn."
Kale blinked. "What?"
"They call it the Gorthalyn," Bren said, voice tight with dread. "Half-beast. Half-mad. They say it stalks hunters. Picks 'em off one by one. Some even claim it feeds on fear."
Kale's fingers tightened around his spear. "So what the hell do we do?"
Bren studied the clearing, calculating. "We don't move unless we have to. We don't draw attention. We watch. Learn."
They stayed low, watching the Gorthalyn.
It moved suddenly.
Its head snapped toward the dead man, then sniffed the air again. With slow, deliberate steps, it approached the corpse, dragging its claws through the snow like it was testing the ground. It bent slightly, inspecting the man. Then, with a sickening grunt, it tore free a chunk of flesh from the body and ate it.
Kale looked away. His stomach churned.
Bren didn't. His eyes narrowed, tracing the creature's movements like he was reading them. Memorizing.
Then the Gorthalyn paused.
Its glowing yellow eyes scanned the edge of the clearing.
Right toward them.
Kale held his breath.
Bren didn't move.
The monster sniffed once. Twice.
Then it turned its head back to the corpse, seemingly satisfied.
Kale exhaled slowly, heart pounding.
Bren whispered, barely moving his lips. "We're not alone. And we sure as hell aren't safe."
Kale nodded, gripping his spear tighter.
They had come for a boar.
Instead, they found a killer.