The snow never stopped.

A week might have passed. Or perhaps only a handful of days. Klaus had long since lost track of time after fleeing the village with Siva. He had left behind the smoldering remains of his home and the angry shouts of people. Their voices still echoed in his ears, full of fear and hatred. Monster. Cursed child. Kono spawn.

Now the only sounds that followed him were the crunch of ice under his feet, the wind screaming through the trees, and his own ragged breathing, slow and hollow from exhaustion.

He wore tattered blankets he had salvaged during the escape, but they were stiff with frost and smelled of ash. The cold didn’t kill him, at least not directly. But it still ate away at him in quieter, crueler ways. His hands had turned black near the tips. His lips cracked whenever he tried to speak. His thoughts slowed with each hour spent in the bitter wind.

And still, he moved.

Siva, silent and watchful, stayed at his side. The fox had grown thin. She refused to run ahead, refused to leave him behind even when the wind howled like wolves and the snow stung like needles. When Klaus stumbled to his knees, she pressed against him, her soft fur the only warmth he had.

Tonight, the storm was worse. A frozen gale cut across the ravine. Snowflakes fell like shards of glass. He could no longer see the stars, or the moon, or even Siva when she strayed more than a few steps away.

“I can’t,” Klaus whispered, his voice barely more than air. “I can’t do this anymore.”

His legs gave out. He collapsed face-first into the snow. It was like sinking into ice water. His breath caught, but he didn’t rise. He did not want to.

Siva pawed at him, whining, but her voice sounded far away.

His vision blurred. His body felt weightless.

And the dream came again.

He stood in an endless field of white. There was no sky, no ground, only a pale horizon that stretched forever. There was no wind, no sound, just the distant crunch of footsteps as he moved forward.

Someone waited ahead.

A man with brown hair. He looked neither old nor young. His robe looked noble but was worn and stained with old blood. His back was straight, but something about his presence made the world feel smaller. Klaus could not see his eyes. The man never faced him directly, always speaking just over his shoulder.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the man said. His voice was muffled, like it traveled through water. “Not yet.”

“Who are you?” Klaus asked. His words drifted into mist.

The man did not answer. Instead, he lifted a hand.

“You are the key.”

Klaus frowned. “The key to what?”

“To what comes next.”

The man opened his palm. Resting inside was a dim ember, flickering red and blue with a blackened core. It pulsed softly, in rhythm with Klaus’s own heartbeat.

 “You carry a power not yours. You carry a piece of me. . And the world will try to kill you for it.”

“I don’t understand,” Klaus said, his voice smaller than before.

“You will. When the ice breaks, you will find others like you. Carrying my legacy."

"You?-"

Before Klaus could finish his sentence, the man dissolved into frost. The wind came alive and swept the pieces away.

Klaus reached out, screaming, but his voice vanished into white.

And then, he awoke.

The storm still howled, but something was different.

He was not in the snow anymore. He lay on a bed of thick furs. Warmth licked at his skin from a small fire crackling beside him. It burned low and steady, giving off gentle heat that made his fingertips ache with returning sensation.

The walls around him were wooden. Old, sturdy. Antlers hung above a shuttered window. Weapons lined the wall beside a rack of boots. A sword with a glowing red rune rested above the hearth, casting faint flickers across the room.

Siva stirred nearby, half-buried under a pile of cloth. She was safe too.

Klaus blinked slowly. He was warm. He was alive.

He just didn’t know where he was.

Outside the room, someone walked. Their footsteps were heavy but calm. The door creaked open. A deep voice followed.

“Looks like the boy’s awake.”