"You know, though fire is a beautiful thing, it's also dangerous," the man said, stepping closer. "It was born to give life, to keep us warm in the bitter cold, to cook our food. But humans… humans twisted it, corrupted its nature and forged it into a weapon to destroy one another."
"So when people die, it's not the fire's fault, but it's the people's, those who misuse it, corrupting it for their own gain."
He stepped over leaves and dead twigs without a sound, his movement unnerving, almost as if he were not truly there.
"Who are you? And what do you want?" Remy's voice rang through the night.
"Now, now… no need to be angry with me," the stranger replied. "I'm not the one who took your mother away."
"What! Did you see them? You saw them, didn't you..." Remy spoke, coughing through the smoke; he had got to his feet.
"I sure did in fact… I'm on your side, you see. And I'd like to offer you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity."
Remy stared at him, thoughts racing.
"Yeah, right. The last 'opportunity' I got landed me on death row."
"Oh… haha, it's written all over your face," the man chuckled softly. "Some shady son of a bitch comes offering you something—you'd be a fool not to be suspicious."
"Well… you can decide after you hear me out, Remy—Son of the Saint of Winter."
At the name, "Who the f*ck is this Saint of winter I keep hearing about? I have never met the man, and yet he seems to be at the centre of it all." Remy spat.
"Who are you, and where is my mother?" Remy asked again, his curiosity now sharpened to a point.
"Oh my… Forgive my manners." The man dipped into a slight bow. "My name is Tear—the Lonely Jester."
Tear moved with an enigmatic grace, each step deliberate, as though he danced to a tune known only to him. Though the ground was filled with dead leaves and twigs, his footsteps made no sound, almost as though he hadn't even stepped there.
"So…" Tear extended his pale, bony hand toward him. "What will it be, Son of Winter? Take my hand, and I will show you the world… or stay here and burn with the shack behind you, letting your poor old mother die."
Remy hesitated, the fire's glow flickering across his face. Then, slowly, he stretched out his hand.
"You tell me everything you know about my mother," he said, voice low and dangerous, "and I'll consider joining you. But if I find out you're lying—" his gaze locked with Tear's, cold and sharp as a drawn blade—"I will kill you."
"Oooh… scary," Tear chuckled, the sound light and mocking.
"Don't worry," he said with a lopsided grin. "If I ever deceive you, I'll gladly hand you my head on a silver platter. But for now… follow me, before they find us. The saints are getting rid of everything."
He turned away from the burning shack, stepping toward the shadowed woods.
From the distance came the baying of hounds, their cries slicing through the night. Torchlight flickered between the trees, closing in like the eyes of predators.
Remy followed behind, leaving the burning house and stepping into the woods.
He ran.
Branches clawed at his clothes; roots rose like hidden traps beneath his feet.
He staggered, almost falling at certain spots, but Tear didn't stop; he moved his steps even and his pace unchanging.
"Careful," Tear called over his shoulder, laughter curling around his words, "there are plenty of uprooted trees here. Best not to trip." His tone was almost… playful, as though the danger thrilled him.
"No shit… I've been tripped by them since getting in her—" he was cut off.
"Ow!" Remy yelped as a low branch whipped across his face. Tear only laughed again, the sound needling under his skin.
How could he move like that in the dark? His stride never faltered, his steps almost dancing. He didn't even seem to tire—annoying, yet strangely… captivating.
At last, the forest broke, and a dark silhouette rose before them. An old mansion loomed in the moonlight, its spires clawing toward the sky, ancient and magnificent.