The storm had been building since late afternoon.

Will the Wise—often simply referred to as ‘Will’—had noticed it long before the first snow began to fall. Dark clouds gathered over the peaks while the wind threaded through the pines in restless sighs. By nightfall the mountain had disappeared behind a wall of white and gray, the chapel nearly swallowed up by the storm.

Will sat near the small altar with a sketchbook resting on his knee, charcoal moving steadily across the page. He worked slowly, adding careful lines to a drawing of the chapel roof beneath fresh snow, with distant mountain ridges fading into the storm beyond.

The soft scratching of charcoal against parchment was the only sound in the chapel.

Then the wind shifted outside.

Will’s hand paused mid-stroke as another sound slipped through the storm. Not the howl of wind or the creak of old wood. Something heavier. Uneven.

Footsteps.

The sound came closer, slow and labored, until the chapel door suddenly groaned open.

Cold air rushed inside in a swirl of snow, and in the doorway stood a figure in armor. A broad shield, a travel-worn cloak, and the crest of the Kingdom of Hawkins was visible beneath frost.

A paladin.

Candlelight flickered across the armor, catching on frost and worn steel. Will’s eyes dropped lower, noticing the dark crimson stain along the man’s side and the careful way he carried himself.

That wasn’t just travel weariness. The man was injured—badly.

Will was already moving before he had the chance to think. “Oh, dear Selûne—”

He crossed the chapel floor quickly, violet robes brushing over the cold stone as he reached the doorway.

“You’re bleeding.” His voice stayed soft but firm. Without hesitation, Will pulled the door shut against the storm and guided the paladin further inside, one hand lightly steadying his arm.

"Here," Will said gently, steering him toward one of the wooden pews near the front of the chapel. "Sit down before you collapse. Let me see that wound."