What… is that?

In the distance below was a town surrounding the… the… 

Surrounding the what?

Winter grabbed the door handles and pulled. They wouldn’t budge. He gritted his teeth and yanked as hard as he could. 

“Come on,” he groaned, feet digging into the ground.

CRAACKK.

There was a crackling sound, similar to glass breaking. The center of the two doors slowly moved. And finally, Winter dislodged them. He eyed the sharp crystals that had been sticking the doors together.

Ice?

A chilly gust of wind blew into the room, giving him goosebumps and an immediate chill. He took a quick step onto the half-circle balcony made of stone. Looking left and right, and then up, Winter gasped.

Though he assumed he had to be in a castle of some sort because of the dungeons, he wasn’t expecting it to be that big. It was likely triple the size of Nordenstein Castle. The family who ruled would be a powerhouse back home. Being fae, he wondered how powerful the king was here to have such a massive place.

Well, that elf did say Myrkrheim, though I can’t remember where I know it.

Already, Winter was shivering, a sharp wind blowing straight through the thin material of his pajamas. 

He took another good look at the view. Past wildfires burned half of the grand mountains. Husks of dead trees dotted the landscape. Snow covered mostly everything, assuming it was because of the snowstorm. There were some rivers and a lone road weaving between a valley. One of those rivers ran through the town he saw earlier… which was pretty much in shambles. Determining the damage's extent was difficult, but it didn’t look good. 

Smoke swirled from several chimneys. He could barely make out the ant-size people going about their day. 

The inside of his chest tingled. It was that feeling again.

Is that where my heart is telling me to go? Maybe I can ask for help bu—

Another gust almost knocked him over. A drizzle of snow began to breeze in the clear air, but not thick enough to stick to the ground and accumulate. Unable to feel his limbs anymore, he went inside. 

Winter stared at his fingertips, which were already turning pale. It was freezing outside. There was no way he could survive even five minutes in what he was wearing.

“Hmm? Is that my…?”

Not only were his shoes now next to the bed but the clothes he woke up in from his long slumber—waist-high black pants and a loose white shirt with a red jewel on the front ruffle—were folded messily on the bed. He picked them up, seeing the blood he had vomited in the dungeon was gone. 

This uniform was fit for a prince. It was the nicest set he owned, which originally belonged to his father. He wore it a handful of times around his sad little room, finally feeling like a man since he had to wear dresses and wigs when leaving the tower. Besides these, he was never provided nicer clothes, mainly potato sacks that could pass off as apparel.

Winter wore it when he was given official permission by the Queen—permission to venture outside the castle grounds by himself for the first time in his life.

But ended up meeting that huntsman later on.

And since he hadn’t worn it after the dwarves allowed him to move in, where he kept safe under his bed in a box, they must have “buried” him in the dressy outfit. Winter was glad because of sentimental history, but…

These were not there before he went outside, magically appearing. He gingerly set the pants down and peered around the quiet room, turning slowly to study everything. Nothing seemed out of place.

Did that servant come and I didn’t hear? No, the empty tray is still on the table. He would’ve taken that. 

Feeling uneasy, Winter removed the pajamas. Before slipping on the shirt, he poked his ribs. As he laced up the side ties of the trousers, the waistband was looser. He definitely became skinnier. 

I really need to eat if I wanna find out how to get back to…

Nordenstein Castle was out of the question.

It would be his death sentence. The huntsman would be sent after him to finish the job. He would never forget when a dagger was aimed at his chest:

“Ah!” Winter yelled in fright, taking a large step back from a dagger hurling at him. There was no one around to help in the thick forest! They were totally alone!

“Don’t! I want to live! Please!”

It missed by a hairline. If he hadn’t moved in time, the weapon would’ve struck him! 

But the large man was faster, much faster, raising his hand high to kill, to murder Winter von Castell, the hidden prince of Ascelin. The tip of that deadly knife glistened.

Winter was paralyzed with fear and squeezed his eyes shut.

But it never landed. He didn’t feel the torture from his skin getting sliced open. Slowly, Winter peeked at the burly guy on the verge of tears and with a guilty expression.

“Run,” he said as if he were in pain himself. “Run from the Queen. Protect your heart. Don’t look back. Run! Run!”

Winter didn’t need to be told twice. He ran, twigs and thorns snagging at his ankles, deeper into the Forbidden Forest. 

And he swore he heard the huntsman mutter, “You’ll be devoured by the animals, anyway.”

But I wasn’t eaten by animals since they’re my friends, Winter thought, the horrible memory now over. I guess I can leave Ascelin altogether. Go beyond the borders where my stepmother won’t find me. I saw land maps in the books. There’s a thing called the ocean out there. 

But to do that, he had to find a way out of this faefolk place—Myrkrheim.

Before making the rash decision to escape through the balcony, Winter tried the obvious way. He went to the door leading out of the bedroom, feeling silly because there was no way they would leave it unloc—

CLICK.

“O-oh.” 

The door wasn’t locked. Thinking about it, the dungeon cell door wasn’t either. 

Who lets their prisoners roam the halls whenever they please? 

Winter paused mid-step, remembering the bone-chilling weather. His fingers were still cold from earlier. Without protection, his hands would certainly fall off. 

Thanks to his boredom over the past few days to forget the ravenous hunger, he found clothes in an old trunk. He lifted the creaky lid of the wooden storage container, greeted by musty smells and a moth. Rummaging through, he pulled out a white coat with a plumage of satiny feathers around the collar and shoulders. The style reminded him of the elf’s black jacket. 

And it was huge, reaching to his ankles. It may have belonged to an elf, too. Still, too big was better than too small, right? Immediately after putting it on, he started sweating. The mass of feathers swallowed his neck and the bottom of his face, tickling his nose.

“ACHOO!” Winter rubbed his irritated nose, asking himself if he was allergic to whatever the creature the feathers came from.

Will my shoes be okay, though? 

There were no boots in the trunk, or anywhere in the room. 

It might be fine if the road is clear. Might.

At that, Winter left the safety of the bedroom, not knowing what he would face.

He failed to notice the twitching figure crawl out from under the bed as he closed the door, making clicking sounds with its tongue. 

Waiting.

***

There was something wrong.

Very, very wrong.

It was too easy.

Winter got lost several times in the castle. Even with the light streaming through the windows, the hallways were dreary and the atmosphere was heavy. Spiderwebs strewn the corners. Dust floated in the air. The flowers in the vases were dead, wilted long ago. It seemed no one had cleaned in years.

But that wasn’t what he was alarmed about.

It was the fact that there was… no one, not a single soul or any indication anyone lived here for years.

I don’t understand. My room is… fine?

Winter crept through the labyrinth of hallways, weaving down corridors more depressing than the last. Each stairway crumbled under his weight, forcing him to press his backside to the wall for fear that it would collapse. 

He went down another hallwa—

“Oh!” he gasped, jumping several feet to the side. The person suddenly appeared, startling him half to death!

Finally, Winter had encountered someon—thing?

He ogled at the hunched-over elderly man holding a bucket of steaming water. His grey-white hair was fluffy like a lion’s mane, length touching the ground. Because this part of the castle did not have many windows, his eyes gleamed yellow, resembling a cat hiding in the dark.

I d-don’t believe it is human. Wha—

Winter’s focus shifted somewhere else when realizing it was naked, with only that bucket to cover itself. Oh, heavens...

He slowly went around it without any sudden movement, very aware that the creature was staring holes into him. When it growled, he speed-walked out of there, only looking behind once to ensure it wasn’t following. 

It didn’t, thankfully.

There were no other living things he came across, not knowing whether that was good or bad.

How the hell do I get out of here?!

He heard an unsettling howl coming from outside, thinking it was a mere wolf from the surrounding forests. The sound came from the right. Winter rushed in that direction, hoping the way out was there.

***

Running down the mountain was a hellhound. A second was right behind, staying close to its flank. 

They were giant beasts that resembled dogs but nothing like man’s best friend—furless, sickly dark gray skin and glowing eyes that cried luminescent tears from their skull head. 

Their pack was just slaughtered by a dark elf, who kept chasing them from afar. Hunting. Determined to wipe them out since they were trespassing from Festrheim—the area for wicked animal souls.

But they would not get caught. 

The hellhounds were starving. They craved blood and flesh, but delicious mortals were impossible to find here. The fae would have to do, despite not tasting good.

When the pair reached the top of the mountain, they studied the broken town below.

And howled together, releasing an eerie sound that could only be heard by the individuals who would die soon.

By them.