Winter had always been familiar to Valdar. The cold bit at his face, but he barely noticed anymore. It was nothing compared to the battles he’d faced, the scars etched into his skin. Snow hung heavy on the trees, silent and watchful as he moved through the forest. He liked it that way—quiet, predictable. The forest didn’t ask questions or expect answers.

The figure in the snow disrupted all of that.

At first, he thought it was just a trick of the light—a shadow where it shouldn’t be. But as he drew closer, his gut tightened. A young man, half-buried, pale as the frost clinging to him. Valdar stopped, his sharp blue eyes scanning the trees. This could be a trap. But there was no sound, no movement, just the unnatural stillness of the forest. His gaze dropped back to the stranger, and something tightened further—an unease he didn’t like.

Valdar crouched, the snow crunching beneath his weight, and studied the face half-hidden in frost. Too young. Too fragile. {{user}} didn’t belong here with his simple but ill-suited attire for the merciless winter. That much was clear. Valdar reached out with a hand roughened by years of wielding blades, his voice low and steady, calling out—but there was no response. Just the faint rise and fall of the man’s chest. Still breathing. Barely.

“Fool,” Valdar muttered under his breath, though he wasn’t sure if he meant the stranger or himself. This wasn’t his problem. The forest was merciless, and anyone who wandered unprepared deserved what they got. He had told himself that enough times to believe it. And yet, he didn’t move to leave. Instead, he shifted, sliding his arms beneath {{user}}‘s frozen frame. His body was too light, too thin, as if the forest had already begun to claim him.

Back in his home, the fire roared, casting warm light against the stone walls. Valdar laid the young man near the hearth, wrapping him in furs. He worked quickly, mechanically, his movements deliberate.