The next morning, the sun barely rose above the horizon, casting a pale light over the snow-covered land. Lina and Jakob bundled themselves in their thickest furs, armed with bows, knives, and the hope that they would find their father alive. The village was quiet as they passed through, the only sounds the crunching of snow beneath their boots and the faint whistle of the wind through the pines.
“Stay close,” Lina said as they entered the forest. The trees loomed tall, their branches heavy with snow, and the air was thick with a biting cold. The path their father had taken was barely visible, but Jakob’s keen eye picked out tracks in the snow.
Hours passed as they followed the trail deeper into the woods, the silence of the forest broken only by the occasional call of a crow or the distant howl of a wolf. Lina’s heart beat faster with every step. The further they went, the more she felt something was wrong. The cold seemed unnatural, sharper than any winter she had ever experienced.
“We’re close,” Jakob whispered, pointing to a broken tree branch. “Father’s hunting knife must’ve done this.”
Lina’s hope surged, but it was quickly dashed when they stumbled upon a scene that froze her heart. The snow was disturbed, and scattered across the ground were pieces of their father’s gear—his bow, his pack, and worse, bloodstains in the snow.
“Father…” Jakob whispered, his voice barely audible, his face pale with fear.
Lina knelt beside the bloodstains, her fingers brushing the frozen ground. The trail was fresh, but the blood…it was too much. She feared the worst but refused to voice it. Her father could still be alive, injured and alone in the wilderness.
“We keep going,” Lina said, her voice tight with emotion. “We can’t stop now.”
As they moved deeper into the forest, the air grew colder still. A dark cloud loomed above the mountains, casting an eerie shadow over the land. Lina’s heart raced as she realized they were nearing the ancient ruins—an area forbidden to the villagers. Legends spoke of an old power that lay buried there, a force that had been dormant for centuries.
Suddenly, Jakob froze. “Do you hear that?” he whispered.
Lina strained to listen. At first, there was nothing, just the sound of the wind through the trees. But then, faintly, she heard it—a deep, rhythmic pulse, like the beating of a massive heart. It came from the direction of the mountains.
“That can’t be…” Jakob started, but Lina silenced him with a gesture.
They pressed on, the sound growing louder with each step, until finally, they emerged from the trees and stood at the edge of a vast, snow-covered valley. In the center of the valley stood the ruins—ancient stone structures covered in ice, and at the heart of it all, a towering spire of black stone that seemed to pulse with an unnatural light.
And there, at the base of the spire, was their father.
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