The storm came faster than it should have.
One moment, the forest was quiet beneath a dull gray sky. The next, the wind howled through the trees like something alive, tearing snow from the branches and hurling it sideways. Visibility dropped to a few steps ahead, the world turning white and loud all at once.
They didn't argue.
Klen had already stopped, his hand raised, coat snapping violently behind him. "Stop," he said. "We should stop here. The weather is not looking good."
Marna nodded and was already unstrapping the tent. Lyra stood where she was, shoulders drawn in, breath coming out thin and white.
They worked quickly. Too quickly. Snow soaked through gloves, crept into boots, stung their faces. By the time the tent was up, it felt less like shelter and more like resistance—something fragile pushing back against a storm that didn't care.
Inside, the space was cramped. Barely enough room for three packs and three bodies. The wind battered the canvas without pause, the sound dull and relentless, like waves against a ship that couldn't sink.
They sat close, backs against the tent wall.
"This is bad timing," Marna muttered, rubbing her hands together. She tried to smile, but it didn't stick.
"We've handled worse," Lyra said. Her voice was steady. Too steady.
Klen said nothing. He adjusted the tent pegs again, checking the tension, then sat back down. His eyes stayed open long after the others began to settle.
The storm worsened as night deepened.
Snow piled against the sides of the tent, pressing inward. The temperature dropped sharply, the kind of cold that seeped through layers and into bone. Marna eventually curled up, exhaustion pulling her under despite the noise. Lyra followed not long after, breathing shallow but even.
Klen didn't sleep.
He rested, at best—eyes half-lidded, mind sharp, listening to every shift of wind, every creak of fabric. Time stretched thin. When the storm finally began to fade, it did so quietly, as if slipping away when it grew bored.
Morning came pale and muted.
Light filtered through the tent walls, soft and colorless. The wind was gone. The world outside was still.
Klen was the first to move. He unzipped the tent carefully and stepped out.
Snow lay thick across the forest floor, smooth and untouched. Branches drooped under the weight, some bent nearly to the ground. The sky remained overcast, but calm.
Marna stretched as she crawled out, blinking. "Storm's done?"
"Yes," Klen said.
Lyra followed more slowly. She paused once she was standing, hand braced briefly against a tree before she straightened again. Klen noticed.
"You alright?" Marna asked.
"I'm fine," Lyra replied immediately. "Just cold."
Klen didn't argue. He simply watched as they packed up. Lyra moved carefully, a little too carefully, her breaths measured. When she thought no one was looking, she pressed a gloved hand to her mouth and turned away.
They set off again once everything was secured.
The snow made travel slow. Each step sank deep, dragging at their legs. Marna complained lightly, joking about frozen toes and regretting every life choice that led her here. Lyra laughed at the right moments, but her steps lagged.
After an hour, Klen moved closer to her side.
"You're slowing," he said quietly.
"I know," she replied. "I'll adjust."
She didn't.
Her breathing grew rougher, faint tremors running through her frame whenever she stopped. Once, she stumbled outright, catching herself before she fell. Klen was there instantly, steadying her.
"Lyra."
She shook her head. "Don't."
He didn't press, but he shifted her pack without comment, redistributing the weight. She didn't protest this time.
They continued.
Another hour passed. Maybe two. Time blurred under the gray sky.
Lyra's face had gone pale, lips tinged faintly blue. Sweat dampened her hairline despite the cold. When she finally stopped, it wasn't dramatic. She simply couldn't take another step.
"I need… a moment," she said.
Marna frowned, concern finally cutting through her usual brightness. "Hey. That's not 'fine.'"
They halted near a cluster of trees where the wind had carved a shallow hollow in the snow. Klen crouched in front of Lyra, studying her closely.
"You're sick," he said.
Lyra looked away. "I didn't want to slow us down."
"You already are," he replied evenly. "Ignoring it will make it worse."
She didn't argue after that.
They debated quietly—rest longer, press on, or turn back toward the city they'd left. The idea of shelter and warmth was tempting.
Klen turned, scanning the forest behind them.
Something felt wrong.
"We should retrace," he said. "At least a short distance."
Marna pulled out the map as they turned. "Yeah, we can—"
She stopped.
"This isn't right," she said slowly.
Klen stepped beside her. The path they'd taken—clear enough despite the snow—was gone. Not covered. Not obscured.
Gone.
Trees stood where open space should have been. Snow lay smooth and unbroken.
Lyra's breath hitched. "That's not possible."
They moved, checking another direction. Then another.
The forest shifted around them, subtly but unmistakably. Landmarks refused to repeat themselves. Paths curved back in on themselves. Every attempt to move in a straight line ended where they'd started, though none of them could say how.
"This isn't weather," Marna said under her breath.
Klen's hand rested on his sword hilt. His jaw tightened.
They walked. For a long time.
Lyra leaned heavily on Klen now, her steps dragging. The snow felt deeper. The air colder. Fatigue gnawed at all of them, sharp and insistent.
And then—
"There," Marna said.
Ahead, between the trees, stood a hut.
Small. Old. Its roof sagged under snow, wooden walls dark with age. It looked… ordinary. Almost forgotten.
No smoke. No sound.
They stared at it in silence.
Klen didn't move. Something in his chest twisted, a quiet, unreasoned warning.
"We shouldn't," Lyra whispered.
Another gust of wind cut through the trees, carrying ice with it. Lyra swayed.
Marna swallowed. "We don't have a lot of choices."
The hut didn't move. Didn't beckon. It simply existed.
After a long moment, Klen nodded. "We rest. Only until she stabilizes."
They approached together. The door creaked as Klen pushed it open. Cold air rushed out to meet them.
They stepped inside and the door closed behind them.