Days stretched on, each colder than the last. The biting chill was more than just weather—it felt alive, gnawing at the edges of Sam’s resolve and weaving itself into every corner of their lives. The fire in the hearth, once a symbol of safety and warmth, now seemed impotent, barely able to push back the frost that clung to their home.

  Sam’s parents, Claire and Caross, huddled together under heavy blankets, their faces pale with worry and exhaustion. Even Isonorai, usually steadfast, shivered in the dim light, her hands wrapped around a steaming cup as though it was her last line of defense against the cold.

  For Sam, the Cold Resistance skill dulled the worst of the frost’s bite, but it didn’t shield him from the oppressive weight that settled over their home. This cold was unnatural, a force that seemed to seep into the soul and siphon away strength. Sam couldn’t ignore the connection—it had to be tied to the mysterious sorcerer the villagers whispered about, the one cloaked in shadows and strange lights.

  As he watched his parents and Isonorai struggle against the creeping frost, anger bubbled in his chest. This wasn’t just a fight against the cold. It was a battle against the unseen hand tightening its grip on their lives.

  Sam clenched his fists, his voice cutting through the silence. “This has to end. I’m going to find the cause and stop it.”

  Claire’s eyes widened, her expression a mix of fear and disbelief. “Sam, no! You’re still recovering. You can’t face this alone—it’s too dangerous.”

  “I don’t have a choice, Mom,” Sam replied, his voice steady but carrying the weight of his decision. “The cold is getting worse. If we don’t stop it now, we’ll all freeze to death.”

  “You’re just a child!” Claire pleaded, tears glistening in her eyes.

  “I’m not a child anymore,” Sam said, his voice softer but firm. “I survived dying, Mom. I can handle this.”

  Caross, silent until now, placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “If you’re going, promise me one thing.” His voice, though calm, carried an unshakable seriousness. “Come back to us. No matter what happens out there, come back alive.”

  Sam met his father’s gaze and nodded. “I promise.”

  Before Claire could protest further, Isonorai stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the wooden floor. “If you’re going, I’m coming with you.”

  Sam turned to her, eyebrows raised. “Isonorai, this isn’t your fight—”

  “It’s everyone’s fight,” she interrupted, crossing her arms with a defiant look. “And besides, I need to know what’s out there. This sorcerer has been playing games for too long. If you think I’m letting you run off alone, think again.”

  There was no arguing with her. Sam sighed, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Fine. But don’t slow me down.”

  One hour later, Sam and Isonorai stood at the edge of the village. The wind howled through the empty streets, rattling shutters and scattering snow across the barren ground. The oppressive cold had driven the villagers indoors, leaving the place eerily silent.

  The forest ahead loomed like a wall of darkness, the gnarled trees clawing at the sky. The stories they’d heard from the villagers played in Sam’s mind: strange lights flickering among the trees, whispers on the wind, and the figure in the cloak who vanished like smoke.

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  As they stepped into the forest, the world seemed to shift. The air grew heavier, colder, thick with a sinister energy that pressed against Sam’s skin like an invisible hand. The usual hum of life was gone. No birds, no rustling leaves—only silence, broken by the crunch of their boots on frozen ground.

  “We shouldn’t be here,” Isonorai muttered, her voice low but tense.

  Sam nodded but didn’t stop. “If we’re scared, imagine how everyone else feels. That’s why we have to keep going.”

  The deeper they ventured, the more oppressive the forest became. Frost coated every surface, turning the trees into skeletal sentinels. Their breath misted in the frigid air, and the unnatural silence grew louder, pressing on their ears like a physical weight.

  Then, ahead of them, a faint glow appeared.

  At first, it was a faint glimmer, barely noticeable through the dense fog. But as they drew closer, the glow intensified, casting long shadows through the trees. They stepped into a clearing, and Sam’s breath caught in his throat.

  At the center stood a stone altar, ancient and worn, its surface covered in frost. Strange runes glowed faintly along its edges, their light pulsing rhythmically like a heartbeat. The air shimmered with an unnatural energy, and atop the altar rested an open tome, its pages alight with a ghostly glow.

  Standing beside the altar was a figure cloaked in shadow, their dark robes flowing like liquid night. Their hood obscured all but a faint outline of their face, and their presence radiated an aura of command and unease.

  “You’ve come,” the figure said, their voice smooth and sharp, laced with an unsettling calm.

  Sam swallowed hard, forcing himself to step forward. “Are you the one behind all this? The cold, the lights, the fear in the village?”

  The figure tilted their head slightly, as if amused by the question. “Behind it?” they repeated. “No. The cold is merely a symptom, not the disease. But I am… familiar with its source.”

  Sam’s fists tightened. “Then tell me what’s going on.”

  The figure chuckled, the sound low and almost mocking. “So eager. So brash. Very well, allow me to introduce myself.”

  They raised a hand, and the glow from the runes intensified. The air seemed to hum with their presence as they continued.

  “My name is Lareth,” they said, their voice carrying an edge of condescension. “And I am but a seeker of knowledge. A scholar, if you will.”

  “Scholar?” Isonorai scoffed, her hand resting on the hilt of her blade. “You call yourself a scholar, but you’ve terrorized an entire village. What kind of scholar does that?”

  Lareth’s hood shifted slightly, and Sam could feel the weight of their gaze. “Knowledge is never gained without sacrifice,” they said, their tone unwavering. “What you see as terror, I see as… progress.”

  Sam stepped closer, ignoring Isonorai’s sharp intake of breath. “What do you want with me?”

  Lareth’s smile was audible in their voice. “You’re an anomaly, Sam. A ripple in the fabric of this world. Powers like yours aren’t meant to exist anymore, and yet… here you are. A walking contradiction.”

  Sam’s chest tightened. “How do you know about my powers?”

  “I know many things,” Lareth said smoothly. “I’ve spent years unraveling the secrets of this world. But you, Sam—you are a secret I have yet to unravel. And that makes you… fascinating.”

  Their words sent a shiver down Sam’s spine. He couldn’t tell if it was curiosity or malice that drove Lareth, but one thing was clear—they were dangerous.

  “You need guidance,” Lareth continued, their voice dropping to a whisper that seemed to echo unnaturally. “Without it, your power will consume you. Let me help you. Let me teach you.”

  Sam hesitated, his instincts screaming at him to back away. There was a pull to Lareth’s words, a seductive promise of knowledge and control. But beneath it, he sensed something darker—something hungry.

  “I need time to think,” Sam said finally, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him.

  Lareth tilted their head again, as if weighing his words. “Very well. But do not take too long. The cold is patient, but it is not kind.”

  With a wave of their hand, the glow around the altar flared, blinding Sam and Isonorai. When the light faded, Lareth was gone, leaving only the faint hum of lingering energy in the air.

  Sam stared at the empty altar, his thoughts a whirlwind of fear and uncertainty.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Isonorai said, her voice shaking slightly.

  Sam nodded, his resolve hardening. Whatever Lareth wanted, he wouldn’t give in. But deep down, he knew this was only the beginning.