Under a bleak and overcast sky, a magician named Krampus stood across a dying field. He was a monstrous sight: half-devil, half-goat, his towering frame cloaked in a tattered red and blue winter robe. The robe's hem dragged behind him like a shadow. Sharp blue thorns curled around the fabric, pulsing dimly with ancient energy. His glowing red eyes burned beneath a heavy brow. Long, crimson horns twisted back from his forehead like jagged spears, and his elongated ears flicked at the faintest sound, attuned to things mortal ears could never sense. His hooves struck the ground with dull thuds as he approached a small wooden hut at the edge of the forest. The structure appeared ordinary at first glance, crooked, slumped, forgotten, but no birds sang near it, no insects stirred, and even the wind bent its course to avoid the place.
Krampus reached the door, carved with unholy symbols that flickered faintly when he raised a clawed hand and pushed it open. Inside, there was only darkness. True, living darkness. As Krampus stepped through the threshold, the outside world vanished behind him, swallowed in shadow. Then came the voice. A voice that whispered like rot and ruin, filling every inch of the small hut with its unnatural presence:
"Are you here to let out another one of these monsters to spread my darkness?"
Krampus bowed his horned head, eyes glowing crimson in the void.
"I have something else. I can bring back the forgotten Arctic. And with it, one of your kind. The fallen king, left to drift among mortals. Banished. Hidden. Forgotten."
"Didn't he fail before and escape like a coward?" the darkness spoke.
"Yes, my King, but he was only away for a decade to become stronger. I was the one who gave him his powers, and I was the one who told him to go away."
"Fine then, I will wait for you… Vindlér."