Chapter 6: A Trail in the Snow

  The storm had lessened, but the cold remained merciless. Snow blanketed the ground, swallowing footprints, leaving behind only a bleak, endless expanse of white. Caius pulled his cloak tighter, his noble attire barely shielding him from the relentless chill. His breath left in visible puffs, and despite his composed exterior, frustration gnawed at him.

  His nephew was nowhere to be found.

  The bandit camp, once a den of depravity, was now a graveyard. Bodies lay frozen, twisted in unnatural positions, their flesh marred by deep, inhuman gashes. Some had been torn apart. Others had been burned, but not by human hands. The marks of an Eret attack were unmistakable.

  Caius crouched beside a fallen bandit, his gloved fingers brushing the frost-covered wounds. The kill was fresh. Whatever had come through here had done so recently.

  His nephew had been here.

  A quick search through the remains confirmed what he feared—there was no sign of the boy among the dead. He had either escaped or had been taken, and neither possibility sat well with Caius.

  He exhaled sharply. He could not afford to fail.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  His mind wandered, unbidden, to the origins of this nightmare. The first Eret outbreak had been nothing but a whisper at first, a small village lost to the sickness. It should have ended there. It could have ended there.

  But fear had turned men into monsters.

  The town chief, desperate to contain the spread, had ordered the village burned to the ground. But fire did not kill them. It fed them. The bodies that should have been reduced to ash had risen, stronger, more resilient. The Eret had learned.

  That was when they realized the truth—Eret were drawn to heat. The more warmth they consumed, the stronger they became. Sometimes, if they devoured enough, they gained something even more terrifying.

  Consciousness.

  Eret were not mindless forever. If they absorbed enough heat, they transformed into something worse—Veyrn. These creatures were not just predators; they were harbingers. Unlike the mindless husks, the Veyrn could spread the plague with a single touch. A calculated, deliberate infection. Fire mages, once the pride of the kingdom, became a liability. The moment they used their power, they only fed the enemy.

  And so, cold weapons became the future, while his kingdom—the land that had once prided itself on its fire-wielding warriors—began to crumble. Their neighboring kingdoms flourished in their downfall, adapting while they stagnated.

  Caius gritted his teeth.

  The Veyrn had only continued to grow in number. His nephew—his only family—was caught in the heart of this nightmare.

  A sharp sound cut through the silence.

  A crunch. Snow disturbed. A figure, moving in the distance.

  Caius rose to his feet, hand on his sword. If it was an Eret, he would cut it down. If it was something worse, he would face it without hesitation.

  Because he was running out of time.