The wind was rising as they stepped into the hunting lodge, the wooden door shutting behind them.
He felt it the moment the doors closed. The room was warm.
The cold air was gone. The smell of snow and frost vanished, yet there were no fires, no torches or antlers.
In fact there were no lights at all. The walls were lined with weapons, armour, trinkets, and clothing. Each piece emitted a mystical glow, illuminating the room.
Jorn barely gave them time to take it all in, he was walking to one end of the lodge, where hunting gear was hung up.
He inspected a short sword. "You two have no idea what you're doing… Listen well."
His tone dropped. "Or you will end up in a Frostwolf den. Dead."
Thalos already knew, and he was prepared to die. And still hearing the words said out loud sent a shiver through his body.
He still couldn't believe that he was about to go on a hunt. Jorn told them all the details, some parts Thalos knew, and others were completely unknown to him.
Everything in Beloria carried magic, from the largest beast to the smallest insect, and when they died, the magic did not.
Everything inside the lodge came from something that was once alive, and the magic was still present in them.
Jorn walked around the lodge, showing them different objects and explaining what they do.
"Frostwolf fur" He grabbed a fur cloak and tossed it to Thalos.
"This will save you from the cold." Thalos ran his fingers through the cloak. It felt warm.
"Frostwolves use magic to stay warm." A smile appeared. "Now, so will you."
Jorn turned, moving toward a table where a bundle of arrows could be seen. The shafts were thin, the feathers a sharp amber colour.
Elara's eyes immediately locked onto them.
"Harrowhawk feathers." He spun the arrow around in his hand.
"These never miss their mark, wind, snow, and even rain won't make them stray. Past hunters figured that out generations ago."
He picked up another arrow, showing them the tip. This one had a purplish tint.
"Some are dipped in Frostwidow venom, stuffs so strong it will paralyze even a Frostbear… If it survives."
Elara lifted a bow from the wall, drew it back, and released an invisible arrow. She had the largest smile Thalos had ever seen.
Jorn smiled back. "It suits you well."
He took down a pair of boots, white as snow.
"Frostfox boots. These are fun ones, you move faster, and if you move well enough, they don't even leave tracks in the snow."
Thalos felt a pull to the boots, he walked up to them and slowly took them from Jorn's hands. "But how?"
"Frosthare bone dust," he explained.
"They are ground up and mixed in with the Frostfox fur before they are tanned. No one knows how it works, but it does." Jorn shrugged with his palms facing upward.
Elara wasn't paying attention to the others, She saw a pair of gloves. They looked thin.
Jorn nodded, watching her put on the gloves.
"Good choice, I use those," holding up his hands to show her his gloves.
"Frosthare gloves. Archers usually wear those, they are light and warm, and some hunters even say their hands move faster when they wear them. I am not sure if that is true though." He chuckled softly.
Jorn started mumbling to himself, looking for something, until his eyes landed on a small dagger. He took it down and pulled it from its sheath. The blade was curved slightly, and it was pure black.
"This," Jorn said, tossing it toward Thalos.
"It is made from the claws of an Icefang Direhound."
Thalos barely caught the dagger, stumbling to hold it. He shot Jorn a look, as if trying to say,
"What the hell are you doing?"
Jorn laughed a little and put his hands up. "Sorry, little oak, I forgot you are both still new."
Thalos sighed, looking at the blade. He was confused looking at it, it was sharp and had a handle. It looked like a claw.
Jorn continued. "The bone is hollowed out, and molten iron is poured into it. It's so strong that we have to use the tooth of a tundra hound to carve it out. All of our tools are useless."
Thalos looked at the hilt. He could see the iron rod run into the claw.
"Then, using the same fang, we sharpen it. A cut from this blade turns flesh to ice."
Thalos held the blade in his hand, it felt right to him. The lodge and the hunters felt mystical. He always thought the Great Hall was the center of the village, but now he knew this was the heart of Frosthelm.
Thalos tightened the straps of his Frostfox boots. They felt strange. It almost felt like he was wearing nothing at all.
He swung the Frostwolf pelt over his shoulders and fastened the straps. It was lighter than what he was expecting.
Beside him, Elara was testing the pull of her bowstring. A quiver rested on her back, full of Harrow hawk feathers. She flexed her fingers as she pulled tight her Frosthare gloves. As soon as they secured their gear.
Jorn opened the doors to the lodge. "Alright, it's time to go."
Thalos braced himself once again for the relentless winds, the stinging cold. But it never came. The wind was still there, but he couldn't feel it against his skin.
He could still feel that it was cold, but it wasn't the same as earlier. It felt restricted, It was a weird feeling. He felt like he SHOULD be cold. But he wasn't.
He noticed, he wasn't sinking into the snow. He felt fast. It felt like he was standing on solid ice rather than soft snow.
"I don't feel the cold!" Elara blurted out beside him.
Jorn, who was walking just ahead of them, looked back with a large smile, humming softly.
Thalos could tell he was pretty proud of himself right now.
His eyes turned toward Thalos, the humming stopped, and his smile vanished. Thalos noticed the change immediately.
"What's wrong?" He said quickly, looking over his boots, cloak, and dagger.
Jorn squinted his eyes, answering slowly. "I haven't seen that in a very long time."
"Seen what?" Elara said, looking at Thalos with a worried expression.
Jorn gave a chuckle. "Amusing. You OakHarts are always so amusing. Your gear is glowing more than it should be."
Thalos couldn't really tell. He wasn't quite sure what "more" should be. "Is it dangerous?"
"No… Just rare." He gestured towards Thalos's cloak. "Only your father's gear glows like that."
"What does it mean?" Elara was obviously curious.
Jorn shook his head. "No one really knows. We just assume more magic can be used, but with Eryndor, we can't tell.
There was a short silence before Elara spoke up.
"Wait, this can save people. Why doesn't everyone use these!"
"Because the magic eventually fades," Jorn replied without looking back.
Taking out his sword and lifting it into the air, "The more you use them, the weaker they become, until."
He dropped his arm, bringing his sword down, touching the snow.
"It becomes nothing more than fur and steel."
"How did we learn all this?" Elara was completely enveloped in this new world.
Jorn once again shook his head. "I don't know, I guess from being stubborn? Not wanting to die? It's a way for us to become stronger. So we must."
As Thalos approached the Eastern hill, he could see the party assembled at the base.
Looking down, he saw Snowstriders being led to the front and Frostfoxes sticking close to the hunters. And then he saw his father.
And for the first time, he saw Eryndor the hunter.
His large Frostwolf cloak shimmered under the moonlight. The fur was woven with crushed Snowstrider antlers, giving it an unnatural glow.
It was as though he wore a cloak of starlight. His boots and gloves pulsed with streaks of light.
A small pendant hung around his father's neck, its glow was weak and fading.
Thalos had seen the pendant before, but now, looking at it, he felt a strange pull and a strange certainty.
Whatever it was, it was older than Frosthelm itself.
The animals circled around Eryndor, taking steps back or darting away if he got too close.
Then. There was the sword.
The Vyrestone sword that hung at his hip, its blade still sheathed. But even through the leather, it pulsed.
Thalos could almost see the energy along its blade, and he thought, If lightning could engulf a sword, this is what it would look like.
He had always known his father was strong.
But now walking down the hill, seeing the hunters, the animals, and the forest beyond.
For the first time he finally understood how little he knew.