Elias leaned heavily against the rough trunk of a pine tree, his breathing shallow and uneven. The battlefield had long fallen silent. Hundreds of bodies were scattered across the blood-stained snow, frozen where they had taken their last breath.

An arrow was buried deep in his thigh, making every movement agony. Warm blood soaked through the torn fabric around his side, slowly dripping onto the white ground beneath him. The rest of the army had left hours ago. Carrying a wounded soldier who could barely stand had been a risk they weren't willing to take.

He let out a quiet, bitter laugh, his head falling back against the tree. His helmet slipped from his fingers and landed in the snow with a dull thud. Damp strands of chestnut-brown hair clung to his forehead, dusted with melting snowflakes.

The silver pendant around his neck caught the pale winter sunlight. A small carving of Hermes shimmered for a brief moment before the light disappeared behind thick grey clouds.

A branch cracked somewhere in the forest.

Elias didn't even look up. Whatever was coming—another soldier, a wild animal, or death itself—he no longer cared enough to find out. The determination that had burned in his eyes only hours before had faded completely, replaced by nothing but exhaustion as the cold slowly crept into his bones.