(Taerynn’s point of view)

The king of Myrkrheim didn’t have as much endurance as he used to. And that was because of his cursed soul core. 

Cursed. Just like everything else in this forsaken hell that everyone had forgotten about—the surrounding hell areas for other species, the higher realms where everyone went their merry way, and even himself sometimes from how desolate it had become.

But no matter how shit his territory was, hellhounds shouldn’t have been able to cross over. His curse prevented casually entering and leaving whenever anyone pleased. When creatures’ souls not belonging to Myrkrheim touched the black hedge wall, they dissipated into smoke. 

POOF. Gone. Gone forever.

Yet…

Taerynn, bloodied and somewhat tired after fighting and hunting thirty hellhounds for days, inspected the darkened wall of burnt forage that circled Myrkrheim, not daring to touch it himself. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

How in the world did this hellhound pack enter without disappeari—

Then he saw it and pulled on Helhest’s reins. She snorted in annoyance and stomped on the ground. The blue flames from her three hooves blazed every time she stepped. 

There was a hole just big enough for those monstrous mutts and other similar-sized demonic animal souls to crawl through. Given the paw prints, there were way more than thirty. Taerynn couldn’t leave them wandering around, either. They were like pesky mosquitoes that needed to be squished and gone.

Damn. I’ve already been gone too long. Those servants must be trying to leave through the lake’s reflection again. Fools.

He rolled his eyes at what he had to do. The elf slipped off Helhest and glared at her while making eye contact. He had to be assertive as the master, despite not being her true owner. But while the horse was here and trapped with him, Taerynn was the one in charge.

Plus, he… sort of stole the sickly white horse anyway, due to a past feud before the curse took effect. A tiny act of petty revenge, if you will. Queen Hel of Helheim, the afterlife for sinful human souls, must still be fuming not to have her infamous steed.

“Stay,” he ordered. 

Taerynn stood in front of the hole. Already, he was feeling his body stiffen up from what was to come. He held his hand out toward it. Summoning as much strength as he could, he made a command.

“Close.”

Energy oozed like an infection from his soul. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. But it did. His hand glowed with Gray mana. The black plants matched in color and slowly grew back. CRACK, CRACK. The branches and twigs weaved back together into a tight knot. 

When it was almost closed, Taerynn coughed violently. 

COUGH, COUGH, COUGH.

He wanted to kneel over and vomit the blood out. Instead, he remained strong because he had to be and stayed standing. Blood trickled from his mouth. The red drops landed in the newly collected snow after being briefly hot. When he wasn’t residing in the castle, the weather tended to become… a little more unhinged than usual and did its own thing.

Almost there.

His hand began to tremble. He was almost spent because of the Gray mana he had used heavily in the past few days. Ever so damned slowly, the hole finally sealed. Taerynn sighed and wiped the blood off his chin, inspecting the crimson color.

This didn’t make sense—the hole. It had never occurred before, not within the decades Taerynn had been forced to be king. 

With Snow White at Myrkr Castle and sensing the Queen in the dungeon… it can’t be a coincidence.

Helhest suddenly started getting anxious and neighed. Her eyes went wild. Though he didn’t hear the howls of impending death since his time to die wasn’t today, he knew. The chilly wind carried their rotten dog smell.

They’re close by!

Taerynn mounted the horse and ushered her toward the stench. 

***

“Ahh!” he roared and slashed the last few hellhounds with his sword, Veran. 

His theory was correct. More of them had crossed into Myrkrheim—forty more, to be exact. This time, they were all together in a single pack rather than making several as before, so it was easier to get rid of them. Each time Veran sliced into their chests to pierce their hearts, they vanished into black smoke. 

But not before leaving a fucking bloody mess all over the place when he eliminated them. The way they kept attacking when he missed their beating organ despite missing limbs and even heads was a sight to see. They were like headless chickens running around. But if he didn’t get the pin-sized spot behind the heart, these demons didn’t die for good.

Hellhounds were notorious for being challenging to kill—especially those sentenced to Master Fenrir’s area next door, Festrheim, right on the other side of this tall hedge. The beasts from that Norse wolf god’s equally cursed land were as cruel and vicious as the fae souls stuck in Myrkrheim. Humans had no chance against them, not even one.

Taerynn lifted Veran and whipped around in a speedy circle. The movement cut a hound’s skull head clean through. It rolled across the reddened ground before evaporating. Snarling with effort, the elf rammed the long blade into its heart. The body joined its head into nothingness.

He mentally counted—38. 

But the others. Where are the last two? 

Taerynn looked side to side, squinting in the distance. Even Helhest was calmer now, meaning there were no others nearby. Hellhounds would go where life was. They’d go after their next target, their feast of living flesh.

And besides himself, only one other thing in Myrkrheim was alive and well. He cursed, dug out the pocket watch, and tossed it far. The device shone as bright as the sun and shifted into a much wider shape. 

He was too impatient and asked as it grew, “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who in my domain is in the most danger of all?”

The image shimmered. Snow White appeared. He… wasn’t at the castle, but rather at a run-down tavern. Surrounded by fae who wanted a taste of him—body and soul. As Taerynn hopped on Helhest and guided her nearer to the Magic Mirror, two ghoulish hounds blasted through the wall, leaving the entire scene in dust and chaos. 

Much to his aggravation, the mirror struggled and flickered. The growth had paused. It was still too small to enter. This had been a constant problem ever since the takeover attempt, which damaged it!

“Come on!” he yelled at the broken contraption, the cause of his torment. 

What was more brutal, though, was the Gray mana glowing in the foggy picture! That was his mana! Taerynn barred his teeth angrily when imagining the deadly image of his human being ripped apart before he could get the shard!

And when his cracked mirror was finally large enough, the two immediately pounced into the portal. The golden frame faded into smoke.

***

(Winter’s point of view)

Winter was stuck under the rubble of heavy wood and brick. Even though he wanted to cry from being pinned by the heavy beam across his torso, he couldn’t let out a sound. All he could do was watch helplessly as the hellhounds tore apart the fae in the tavern. Their screams deafened him. 

They could’ve likely done something to distract the monsters if they were more prepared for an ambush—glamour, their weapons, or whatever magical abilities faefolk could do to defend themselves. But this attack was abrupt and no time to even think. Hellhounds were fast.

And they said ‘human’! They’re after me!

“Where is it?” one growled.

The other replied, “The human.”

“Where?”

“I smell it.”

“The Queen wants its heart.”

That got Winter’s full attention. He forgot to breathe. Not like he could properly anyway, with the heavy wood on his lungs. 

“Yes, we made a deal.”

“A deal, yes.”

“Leave Festrheim.”

“Go to Midgard. Eat humans.”

There was a silent pause. The fae were strewn in twitching body parts. All still squirmed and moved, much to Winter’s horror. Were they still… alive?! What was with the smoke wisps from the blood, too?!

“But.”

“I want this human.”

“Me too.”

“Powerful.”

“Very.”

“Eat.”

“Soul.”

“Eat.”

It was quiet again. The fog lifted. That was the only thing obscuring where he was located. The hellhounds sniffed and turned, staring at him with their luminescent tears and saliva dripping from their skulls. 

“There,” they said.

The demons lurked and approached him. As they moved closer over fallen support beams and bodies, the warped clock fell off the wall. Its hands shook and busted, landing on a random time from becoming loose.

Those random numbers were 4:44. 

Angel numbers—444—meant protection, that there was a guide protecting him, and that he should pay attention to his surroundings. 

“Eat.”

“Eat!”

Winter attempted to scramble away from the rushing hellhounds, but he managed to hurt himself more instead! He reached out to cover his face when one lunged at him.

“Stop!”

It was that commanding voice again. Coming from… Winter? But the tone wasn’t the only weird phenomenon. There was a grayish light shining from his hands.

So was the massive sharp pain flaring from his chest. 

“Argh!” he cried out. Amid his agony breaking him open from the seams, Winter barely registered that a hellhound had frozen mid-leap. Its pack mate was baffled.

SLICE. STAB.

Winter weakly looked up and watched a familiar elf thrust his sword hard into their hearts—that sword. 

His expression was dark, yellow eyes gleaming. The second hellhound was easy since it was stuck mid-air from… from… The prince collapsed, feeling somehow drained. The light dimmed and swirled into his palms.

Since when could I do this? Seriously.

The weight lifted from his middle. Yet, he couldn’t breathe. The wheezing from his lungs was loud. Winter felt himself being lifted and covered partly with a black feathered coat. His instincts were telling him not to pass out. Do not pass out. Who knew what would happen to him or where he’d end up when he was unconscious?

“Don’t… don’t wanna sleep,” Winter whispered while being carried into the icy tundra outside.

“Foolish thing,” the scolding person told him. “You’re on death’s door. Your body is crushed. Do you know what I must do to fix you? Sleep. It’ll be nothing less than a torturous process.”

“N-no. No more sleep. Please.” Winter didn’t want to. He had slept far too long already. Decades. He wanted to feel, even if it was the frostbite nipping his nose from the below-freezing temperature or whatever this ‘fixing’ entailed. 

“I cannot promise you will live. The damage to your lungs is…” 

Winter gave a small smile, loopy from being dizzy. “I won’t die.” They got on a horse and rode fast. Every jolt sent a bolt of pain up his entirety. 

“You shouldn’t assume.”

“But… I know you won’t let me. Because… I know your name.”

Don’t you want to know how I realized it? What I know? Aren’t fae curious beings?

The dark elf was quiet, perhaps waiting to ask about Winter’s conclusion later. Now was not the time.

His sword. I remember it in a book of legendary weapons. Veran the Peace Maker. Its owner… Taerynn Luxidor. The forgotten elf king.