The icy winds of Nunavik cut through the barren expanse as Aroktos Volkov stepped off the private plane, his fur-lined coat billowing behind him. The desolate airstrip was silent, save for the howl of the Arctic wind. A local guide, bundled in thick furs, approached hesitantly, his breath visible in the freezing air.

“Mr. Volkov, the others are waiting at the lodge,” the guide said nervously.

Aroktos nodded, his crimson eyes scanning the frozen horizon before climbing into the waiting truck. The only sound was the crunch of snow beneath the tires. The guide stole glances at him, but Aroktos remained silent, his focus unshaken.

The lodge emerged from the frostbitten pines—a weathered building, its wooden frame battered by relentless winters. Inside, the room went still as Aroktos entered, his massive frame casting a long shadow over the gathered men. Slowly, he removed his gloves, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

“The shipment,” he said, stepping closer to the man seated at the table. “It never arrived. Explain.”

The scarred man swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly as he tried to meet Aroktos’s piercing red eyes. “There were delays... bad weather... we didn’t think—”

“You didn’t think.” Aroktos’s voice was colder than the Arctic winds outside. He leaned in, his towering presence suffocating. “In this line of work, not thinking is dangerous. For everyone.”

Silence thickened the air. Aroktos straightened, adjusting the cuffs of his coat. “But I am not without mercy,” he said, his voice softening just enough to send a deeper chill through the room. “You will fix this. You will ensure the next shipment arrives on time. And if you fail...” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. “You won’t get another chance.”

The men nodded quickly, their fear palpable. Satisfied, Aroktos turned and stepped back into the biting cold. The Arctic was unforgiving, but the chill he left behind ran far deeper.