“Yvette.”

His eyes lingered on me, considering. 

“Yvette…”

 he repeated, almost thoughtfully. 

“Interesting name. You know, Yvette’s an evergreen tree. Stands for strength and endurance.”

I felt my pulse quicken, not from the storm or the fight, but from the way his words pierced through the cold air.

“Kind of ironic, don’t you think?”

 he added, his voice still calm. 

“Someone named after a symbol of strength… almost getting themselves killed.”

[This asshole!]

My jaw clenched.

 “Asshole,” 

I muttered. 

“You think you’re clever?”

He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. 

“Just pointing it out.”

Without another word, he bent down, grabbing the Velkhorn from the ground—its antlers still covered in snow and blood—and slung it over his shoulder with practiced ease.

He began to walk away, his boots crunching in the snow. For a moment, the wind was the only sound between us.

He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “If you want, you’re welcome to accompany me to Valenor. That’s where I’m headed.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I live here. On the outskirts.”

He turned fully, clearly surprised, though his face remained impassive. “Here?”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice steady. “This is my home.”

He studied me for a moment longer, as if trying to decide whether to question that, but he didn’t. Instead, he shifted the weight of the Velkhorn and nodded toward the distant snow-covered hills. 

“Well, you can come with me, just as a precaution. So you don’t end up getting yourself killed. Or… you can keep going on your own.” 

“Your call.”

I crossed my arms, the cold seeping into my bones but my resolve firm. 

“And if I don’t?”

He shrugged again. 

“Then good luck not dying out here.”

Without another word, he bent down, grabbing the Velkhorn from the ground—its antlers still covered in snow and blood—and slung it over his shoulder with practiced ease. 

He moved with a calm efficiency, tucking his sickle into a holder by his belt, the wooden handle fitting snugly into place as if it had been designed to rest there.

Without another word, he turned back toward the open plain and started walking again, his figure soon disappearing into the haze of snow.

I stood there for a moment, staring after him, fury bubbling in my chest. 

The last thing I wanted was to go to Valenor.

That city was the last place someone like me would ever be welcome. 

But I needed Emberstone—and it was the only place I could find it.

 Without it, I wouldn’t last the coming weeks, and neither would the people I cared about.

“Fuck it!”

I adjusted the strap of my rifle, forcing my legs to move through the biting wind.

“Wait!”

 I called out, catching up to him.

 His pace slowed slightly, enough for me to fall in step beside him. 

I glared at the back of his head, still bitter about the whole situation. 

“If I die on the way, I'm haunting your ass for all eternity.”

He glanced at me briefly.

“Fair enough,”

Hours had passed, and the cold had sunk deep into my bones. 

Each step felt heavier than the last, my legs aching as I pushed through the relentless storm. The silence between us was as thick as the snow that blanketed the ground.

I bit down on my lip, trying to ignore the gnawing hunger clawing at my stomach. I hadn’t eaten since… hell, Yesterday?

I wonder if I could eat the damn Velkhorn. Raw, maybe? No, that’s stupid. Should’ve packed something before heading out… but of course, I didn’t.

My stomach growled loudly, and I winced, pulling my coat tighter around me as if it could somehow muffle the sound. 

The man walking ahead seemed unaffected by the cold or the weight of the Velkhorn he still carried like it was nothing.

 How long was he planning to keep walking? Because at this rate, I was going to pass out from hunger before the cold got me.

Just as I was beginning to lose hope of stopping anytime soon, he broke the silence.

 “There.” 

He lifted his arm and pointed ahead, through the flurries of snow.

 “Huntsman Syndicate camp. We’ll stop there for the night.”

I blinked, squinting through the snowstorm. In the distance, faint flickers of light from campfires came into view, the low outlines of tents barely visible through the storm. Relief washed over me.

“Thank the gods…”

I muttered under my breath, my body practically moving on autopilot as I followed the man toward the camp.

As we approached the fire, the crackling of the Emberstone caught my eye. 

Its warmth was intoxicating, almost pulling me in. But in the corner of my vision, I spotted a sudden blur of movement—a figure lunging from the shadows, spear in hand.

Before my mind could even fully process the threat, my instincts kicked in. 

I condensed a shard of raw arcane energy into my  

hand, its icy glow forming in a flash. Without missing a beat, I stuffed the shard into the chamber of my rifle and cocked it back with a smooth, practiced motion. 

The cold metal clicked, and in less than a second, the barrel was aimed at the man’s head.

He froze, the tip of his spear mere inches from my companion’s gut. 

The man beside me, completely unfazed, didn’t even blink. 

Meanwhile, my pulse thundered in my ears, my finger hovering on the trigger.

“Put it down,”

 I snapped, my voice as cold as the wind cutting through the storm. 

“Or I’ll blow a hole through your face.”

The huntsman’s eyes widened as he glanced between me and the rifle, realizing how close he’d come to getting his skull blown apart. 

“Who the hell are you?” 

His voice had a rough edge, but there was an unmistakable trace of suspicion.

“Travelers,”

 I said through gritted teeth, not lowering my aim. 

“We’re just passing through.”

His spear slowly dipped as he took a step back, his eyes still locked on me. 

“Fast for a mage,”

 he muttered, almost to himself, clearly surprised by how quickly I’d reacted.

 “Damn fast.”

I didn’t respond, still watching him warily, the rifle steady in my hands.

 My companion, of course, hadn’t even moved, as though the threat hadn’t been real to him at all. 

His blank expression didn’t shift, even as the huntsman finally let out a sigh and fully lowered his weapon.

“Not bandits, at least,”

 the man grumbled, his grip loosening on the spear. 

He gave me one last scrutinizing look, then nodded toward the massive tent behind him. 

“Come on, get inside. It’s too damn cold out here, and you’re not going to last in this storm.”

I hesitated, eyes flicking between him and my companion, before slowly lowering my rifle. 

With a sharp motion, I slung it back over my shoulder, my pulse still racing from the adrenaline. 

The huntsman grunted in approval before turning toward the tent, leaving the tension hanging in the air.

As we neared the entrance, I couldn’t help but glare at the back of his head, my frustration boiling over. 

"What the hell was that about?" I asked, my voice laced with annoyance.

The huntsman glanced over his shoulder at me, his expression hard but not hostile. 

"Bandits,"

 he said simply, as though it explained everything. 

"Syndicate camps like this get raided from time to time. Makes us jumpy. You came out of nowhere, so yeah, we’re on guard."

I frowned, the explanation making sense but not calming my irritation. 

"You almost killed him," 

I muttered, jerking my head toward my companion, who remained disturbingly calm through all of this.

The huntsman shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal. 

"If he was a bandit, he’d be dead. He didn’t flinch, so I figured it out quick enough." 

He gave me a sidelong look as he pushed open the tent flap. 

"But you? You were ready to shoot a hole in my face. Quick reflexes for a mage, I’ll give you that."

I followed him inside, the warmth of the tent hitting me like a wave after the icy storm outside. 

A large fire in the center crackled, casting flickering shadows across the canvas walls. 

The scent of charred wood and Emberstone filled the air, a mix of warmth and energy. 

Several other figures, clad in heavy gear, glanced up from their spots around the fire, but none seemed surprised by our arrival.

The huntsman set his spear down near the entrance, leaning it against the tent wall before turning back to face us. 

"This is my camp,"

 he said, his voice steady but carrying authority. 

"I'm Nicholas... the leader of this Huntsman Syndicate investigation party."