The wind in Norveil never stopped.It howled through the broken iron walls of the northern barracks, sweeping over the frostbitten plains like a voice trying to wake the dead.
In the middle of that frozen wasteland, a boy dragged a bundle of firewood twice his size through the snow. His hands were red, skin cracked open from the cold. Every breath left a trail of mist that vanished before he could take another.
"Wait, Kai!" a girl's voice called from behind.
He turned slightly, and a small figure stumbled toward him, a scarf covering half her face. Her eyes, wide and sharp, glimmered with the same stubborn fire as his.
"Luna," he said softly. "You shouldn't be out here. You'll catch a cold."
"I said I'd help," she panted, clutching her own smaller bundle of wood. "You promised we'd finish together."
Kairo's lips curved slightly, a rare thing in Norveil. He nodded. "Then keep up."
The two hiked on through the storm, the endless white stretching around them like a graveyard. Behind them, the dark silhouette of the Wolf Barracks loomed, an old fortress where Norveil's orphans were raised not as children, but as soldiers.
Kairo and Luna weren't supposed to exist. Their parents, miners from the lower tunnels, had died in a cave collapse years ago. The royal army collected the orphans, marked them with the sigil of the Wolf, and gave them one rule: Survive, or feed those who can.
At dawn, they trained until they bled. At night, they ate whatever they caught. The strong took more. The weak took less, or nothing at all.
Kairo had always been quiet, not because he feared speaking, but because words had no meaning here. In Norveil, promises didn't keep you alive. Only control did.
Still, Luna brought color to that gray world. She talked too much. She smiled too easily. She made the frost feel a little warmer.
That night, the children huddled in the mess hall, a long room filled with smoke and the smell of boiled roots. The instructor's whip cracked against the table.
"Eat fast. Tomorrow's the Hunt."
A murmur ran through the ranks. Even the older trainees went still. The Hunt was a test given every winter, the Wolves were released into the forest to hunt wild beasts, and those who returned were accepted into the main corps. Those who didn't… froze, or worse.
Luna looked at Kairo, her voice trembling. "They'll send you too?"
He nodded slowly. "It's my turn."
She reached out, gripping his sleeve. "Then promise me. Promise you'll come back."
He looked down at her hand, small, shaking, but strong. And for once, he allowed himself to smile.
"I will," he said. "Even if the snow buries me."
The forest of Norveil was a place of ghosts. Every tree stood black against the white ground, branches twisting like claws. The children moved silently, spears in hand, breath shallow. Snow fell so heavily that visibility vanished beyond a few steps.
Kairo crouched behind a fallen trunk, eyes scanning the clearing. His team, five other Wolves, waited for his signal.
"There," he whispered.
Through the mist, a horned shape moved, a frost stag, rare and deadly, its breath forming ice clouds with every exhale.
They attacked together. The beast roared, flinging two boys aside with its antlers. Blood sprayed across the snow. Kairo dove low, rolling under its legs, and drove his spear upward into its chest. The stag screamed, crashing down, its body convulsing before going still.
Silence.
Then, the crunch of boots. From the trees, a squad of older soldiers emerged, faces covered with wolf masks.
"Well done, pups," the leader said, kicking the dead stag. "The army thanks you for the offering."
One of the children frowned. "Offering?"
The leader raised his sword and, without hesitation, cut the boy down.
The forest went red. The other soldiers surrounded them, blades glinting under the snowlight.
Kairo froze. The world tilted, the air burning in his throat. He turned to run, but a hand grabbed his collar.
Luna.
She had followed him here, hidden in the shadows. Her eyes widened as she saw the massacre unfolding.
"Kairo."
The soldier beside her swung his sword. Kairo moved instinctively, tackling her out of the way, but the blade cut across her back. Her scream shattered the silence.
"Luna!" he yelled, pressing his hands over the wound. "Stay with me!"
Her blood stained the snow dark. The soldiers laughed.
"Another useless pair of rats," one said. "Leave them. The cold will finish the job."
The world grew quiet again. Kairo held her close as the snow buried them. Her breathing slowed, then stopped.
He sat there for hours, motionless, eyes unfocused. The wind howled, tearing at his cloak, but he didn't move.
When morning came, he dug her grave with his bare hands, frostbitten fingers bleeding into the soil, and placed her scarf over the mound of snow.
Then, without a word, he stood and began to walk.
Three days later, a patrol found the massacre site. The snow had frozen the corpses into sculptures of death, but one figure stood in the middle of them, alive, half-covered in frost.
Kairo.
His skin was pale as ice, his eyes gray as ash. The patrol called to him. He didn't respond. When they approached, one of them touched his shoulder, and their breath stopped in their throat.
A cold wave surged through the air, invisible but heavy. Kairo's hand moved faster than sight, and when he lowered it, the soldier fell, neck twisted.
The others drew their blades, but none dared move closer. The boy's heart pulsed faintly through his ribs, glowing silver.
A Specter Heart.
He looked at his bloodstained hands, then at the corpses of those who had left him to die, and whispered, voice hollow,
"I told her I'd come back."
He picked up a sword from the ground, its edge chipped but sharp enough. Snow fell thicker, covering everything, even the bodies, even the blood.
When the wind cleared, the patrol was gone. Only footprints led away from the forest, one pair, heading north, deeper into the storm.
From that day, Norveil whispered a new name: The Ghost of the Wolves. A boy who had died once, but kept walking.
And somewhere beyond those frozen hills, the legend of Kairo Draeven began.