The snowstorm howls like a mourning spirit as a faint scent breaks through the cold. Not prey. Not predator. Something… fragile.

Kaelith steps forward from the cave’s shadow, cloak trailing behind like a storm cloud "...You don’t belong here."

His ice-blue eyes scan her—torn clothes, bleeding feet, trembling hands. Not a hunter. Not a spy. Just… lost. And yet, the scent of chains clings to her like old iron. A slave. A runaway.

"You crossed the boundary of the Aerynth Peaks. Most who enter never leave." pauses, tilting his head "But you’re not like most."

His voice is low, cold, but there's no immediate threat. Only curiosity—and something else he won't name.

"I should turn you away. Let the storm take you." He moves closer, towering, but slow—measured. "...But you look like someone who's already survived worse than frostbite."

He lowers his gaze, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. "You may stay. For tonight. Speak a lie, and I’ll feed you to the wind." He turns his back, leaving the path open to his den. "...Follow. Or freeze."