Soren blinked, his vision still blurry from the cold and exhaustion. He was lying on a bed of fur blankets inside a small, dimly lit hut. His head throbbed, and his body ached from the fight with Fangor. Slowly sitting up, he tried to make sense of his surroundings.
The old man sat by the fire, his back turned to Soren. The flickering flames cast long shadows across the stone walls of the shelter, and the smell of herbs filled the air. As his vision cleared, Soren's heart skipped a beat.
"Grandpa?" Soren asked again, this time louder, his voice filled with a mixture of hope and disbelief.
The old man didn't respond at first. Then, without turning around, he spoke. "You've been through a lot, haven't you, Soren?"
Soren lay still, his body wrapped in blankets, watching his grandfather tend to the fire. The warmth was comforting, but his mind churned with questions. He had been through so much—surviving the blizzard, discovering the Borealis Sword, and defeating Fangor—but one question nagged at him: How did his grandfather survive?
As the flames crackled and danced, Soren spoke up. "Grandpa... how did you escape Fangor?"
His grandfather, who had been sharpening a small knife, paused for a moment. He glanced over at Soren and gave a weary smile. "It wasn't easy, Soren. That beast was strong, but it underestimated me. I fought it off long enough to escape, using every bit of strength I had."
Soren frowned, trying to make sense of his grandfather's words. "But... you only had a shovel. How did you survive against something so powerful?"
The old man sighed, sitting down beside Soren. "It wasn't just the shovel. It was the will to live, the determination to protect you. That's what kept me going."
Soren wanted to believe him, but something still felt off. He couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that something wasn't right. As they sat together, his grandfather pulled an apple from a small bag and began to slice it.
Without warning, his grandfather's hand slipped, and the blade nicked his finger. A thin line of blood appeared, but it wasn't red—it was blue.
Soren's eyes widened in shock. "Grandpa... your blood... it's blue."
His grandfather quickly wrapped his hand in a cloth, laughing nervously. "Oh, it's nothing, Soren. The cold plays tricks on the eyes, and it's night. Maybe that's why it looks strange."
But Soren couldn't shake the feeling of confusion. He stared at the bloodstained cloth, his mind racing with questions. How could blood turn blue just because of the cold? Something wasn't adding up.
That night, Soren lay restless, his thoughts tangled. He drifted in and out of sleep, plagued by strange dreams and the unsettling memory of his grandfather's blue blood.
Suddenly, he was awakened by a faint cracking sound. His eyes snapped open, and he sat up, listening carefully. The sound came again, like ice splintering under pressure. He stood and quietly made his way to the door of the shelter.
As Soren peeked outside, his heart nearly stopped. There, in the pale moonlight, stood his grandfather—or what he had thought was his grandfather. The old man's skin was peeling away, like a snake shedding its skin. Beneath the layers of human flesh, a darker, more sinister form was emerging.
Soren's breath caught in his throat. This isn't my grandfather.
The figure turned slightly, unaware of Soren's presence. Its body shimmered in the moonlight, slowly transforming into the shape of an elf, tall and lithe. Soren's stomach twisted with dread. It wasn't just any elf—it was a shape-shifting one. Sensing Soren's love for his grandfather, the elf had taken his form, using his memories to deceive him.
Soren's voice trembled with fury as he stepped forward. "You... you're not my grandfather!"
The elf spun around, its eyes widening in shock. It had not expected Soren to awaken. Soren quickly reached for the Borealis Sword, but his hand grasped at nothing. The sword was gone.
"You took it," Soren muttered, eyes narrowing. The elf smirked, clearly pleased with itself.
Soren's heart raced, but he forced himself to stay calm. The elf had hidden the Borealis while he slept, but he knew panicking would only weaken him. His training with the sword had taught him one important lesson: Breathe, stay calm, and the sword will come to you.
The elf, seeing Soren standing unarmed, made a sudden dash toward the forest. "GIVE IT BACK!" Soren yelled, chasing after it.
The elf was fast, its speed enhanced by some unnatural magic. But Soren wasn't worried. He knew the elf's trick—relying on fear and confusion to gain the upper hand. As he ran, he took deep, measured breaths, focusing on his rhythm. The cold mist began to swirl around him, and he felt the familiar warmth of the Borealis Sword calling to him.
With his breathing in sync, Soren's pace quickened, and the mist thickened around him. The elf glanced back, its smirk fading into fear as Soren seemed to vanish into the fog. The elf pushed harder, trying to outrun him, but Soren was already closing in.
In a blur of motion, Soren dashed forward, tackling the elf to the ground. The two tumbled through the snow, and Soren delivered a powerful punch, knocking the elf unconscious. He tied the creature to a nearby tree, securing it with rope before retrieving the Borealis Sword from the elf's belt.
Panting and still shaking from the encounter, Soren stood over the bound elf, his sword glinting in the moonlight. He had questions that needed answers.
"Why did you take my sword?" Soren demanded, his voice hard. "Who sent you? Why do you want the Borealis?"
The elf stirred, its eyes flickering open. Despite its defeat, it smiled, its lips curling in a sinister grin. "You're too late, boy," the elf sneered. "Khione will have her way... and you'll never stop her."
Before Soren could press further, the elf's body began to shudder violently. A layer of frost spread across its skin, and in moments, it was encased in ice. The elf's laughter was cut short as it froze solid, leaving Soren standing there with his questions unanswered.
Frustrated and exhausted, Soren stared at the frozen figure. He knew now that this was no ordinary fight. Khione's reach was far greater than he had imagined, and the battle ahead would test him in ways he had never expected.
With the Borealis Sword in hand, Soren steeled himself for what lay ahead. The road to finding his real grandfather and stopping Khione had only just begun.