The village of Iltown sat on the quiet border between two kingdoms: Vaelthorne, known for its scholars and fire mages, and Edrith, a land ruled by cold steel and even colder hearts. Once, this land had been torn apart by war, its soil soaked in the blood of countless soldiers. But those days had long passed. Now, Iltown was nothing more than a peaceful, unremarkable place—just another village where weary travelers stopped before continuing their journeys elsewhere.

  Winter had settled heavily over the village, burying rooftops and pathways beneath thick blankets of snow. The river, once a lifeline for merchants crossing between kingdoms, now lay frozen, its surface smooth and untouched. Smoke curled from chimneys, the scent of burning wood mixing with the crisp bite of cold air. The streets were quiet, the people hidden indoors, escaping the frost.

  Too quiet.

  But Al didn’t notice.

  At the farthest edge of the village, beyond the main square and the abandoned watchtower, stood a lonely little house. Its roof sagged under the weight of snow, its windows frosted over—but the land around it remained untouched by winter's grasp.

  It was here that Al lived.

  He looked young—his face unlined, his features sharp in a way that might be called handsome if not for the constant scowl. But his eyes, a deep and knowing gold, held an age that did not match his appearance. He had lived far longer than he looked, and he had seen far too much.

  But here, in his quiet solitude, none of that mattered.

  The greenhouse behind his home, a tangled fortress of vines and rare plants, thrived even in the dead of winter. Inside, the air was warm and alive, a stark contrast to the frozen world outside. It was his pride, his work, his one remaining purpose.

  Al hummed softly as he worked, his hands deep in the soil. The tune was old—older than the war, older than the village, perhaps. A song of the sea, meant to be sung in laughter and drunken joy, but here, in Al’s voice, it was slow and wistful.

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  "Yo-ho-ho-ho… yo-ho-ho-ho…"

  The bird on his shoulder, Yvon, tilted its head at him.

  "Your turn," Al said.

  Ybon, a Skychime, was supposed to be a perfect mimic. It had memorized the mayor’s grumbling, the butcher’s sneezes, and even the sound of a chair scraping against the tavern floor. Yet, when it came to this song, it refused to learn.

  Ybon fluffed its feathers, then whistled—horribly off-key.

  Al scowled. "That wasn’t even close."

  Ybon clicked its beak and turned its head away, pretending not to hear.

  "You little bastard," Al muttered. "You’ll sing Theo’s whining but not this? I should’ve eaten you when I had the chance."

  Ybon let out a sharp squawk, clearly offended.

  Al sighed, shaking his head as he returned to his work. Life was peaceful. Life was simple.

  And life was about to be ruined.

  The prickle at the back of his neck came first—a shift in the air, something just off. Then he heard it: the crunch of snow beneath hurried, unsteady steps. The snap of a brittle branch. And the quiet, desperate panting of someone hiding nearby.

  He turned.

  A boy stood at the edge of his greenhouse—small, filthy, and trembling. His clothes were in tatters, his bare feet red and raw from the cold. Snow clung to his hair and lashes, and steam curled from his breath in uneven gasps. But it wasn’t his pitiful state that made Al pause.

  It was the way the boy flickered.

  For a second, he was there. Solid. Real.

  Then, in the blink of an eye—he vanished.

  Al’s eyes narrowed.

  And when the boy reappeared, crouching over his precious potatoes, clutching one as if it were a lifeline—

  Al had seen enough.

  "Hey!" His voice was sharp. "Put that down."

  The boy flinched, his wide golden eyes locking onto Al’s. There was no defiance in them—only fear. But he didn’t move, didn’t run. Instead, his body flickered again, like a flame about to go out.

  A cursed child.

  Al’s gut told him to turn away, to pretend he hadn’t seen. Curses were never simple, never safe.

  He was about to shoo away the cursed kid when a movement in the shadows beneath the trees caught his attention.

  The moment the kid heard it, he bolted toward him, he flickered anxiously and fear stark in his eyes as he glanced frantically at the shifting darkness.

  Then—

  A guttural growl.

  The shadows stirred, twisting unnaturally as something dragged itself into the dim light. Jagged limbs. Hollow, glowing eyes. The monster gaunt frame shuddered before snapping upright, its mouth parting in a slow, unnatural grin.

  Then it lunged.