In the heart of the mountain, the seasons seemed to pass unnoticed. The cold wind blew, and snow fell relentlessly, covering the village paths with a thick white blanket. The inhabitants were accustomed to such harsh weather, and even the newcomers had eventually grown used to it. And while the place seemed inhospitable to any form of life, if one listened closely, it became clear that nature thrived beneath its pristine carpet.
Yet one morning, silence fell over the surroundings. Neither the wind, nor the snow, nor the birdsong disturbed this sudden stillness. Although the weather appeared milder, this unsettling quiet carried a blood-chilling undertone, like a sea withdrawing abruptly, signaling an impending catastrophe.
The day wore on, and the snow began to fall gently once more. The villagers, relieved, relaxed and resumed their daily activities. Yet the wind and the birds remained silent.
Evening came, and the rays of the setting sun, breaking through the clouds, warmed the air.
Then, intermittently, the ground began to tremble slightly. The walls vibrated in an almost military rhythm, eerie in its regularity. The tremors intensified gradually, each stronger than the last. The villagers, fearing an avalanche, looked toward the peaks. They prepared to take cover; it wasn’t unusual—they knew what to do.
Yet the peaks remained unchanged.
Puzzled, the villagers tried to understand what was happening. They had never seen anything like it before.
???
At nightfall, a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old boy with long silver hair tied in a low ponytail, had positioned himself atop the village walls. He observed silently in the distance, his gaze piercing the curtain of snow slowly drifting from the sky.
It was already so dark that one could barely see a few meters ahead. Yet he seemed unfazed—he didn’t need to see: he could feel it. For several hours, the tremors had never ceased, but no one could determine their source.
A young man joined him, his black hair contrasting sharply with the pure white surroundings. He squinted, brow furrowed, trying in vain to follow the boy’s gaze.
“What’s happening?” he asked.
Owen lowered his head slightly, still staring in the same direction. A sinister glint in his eyes, he whispered,
“It’s coming.”
The man studied him for a moment. There was no doubt. He knew it too, deep down, but had preferred to ignore it until now. The village had always been safe, but its inhabitants were not warriors; until the boy’s arrival, he had been their sole protector.
Owen continued,
“Go back to them. I’ll handle this. No one will get near them.”
Seeing Owen’s determined gaze, the man shivered. Was it fear? Worry? In any case, he had a bad feeling.
“Owen. Don’t try to take everything on yourself. You’re not alone anymore. Otherwise, you might—”
“I told you to let me handle this,” Owen cut him off. “Trust me. Whatever happens, I will not fail.”
The man did not argue further with the boy, stubborn as he was. He did not know what he and his mother had endured back then, but he knew that Owen had always carried the weight of many responsibilities. He had always been ready to do whatever it took to protect his family, and this would not change today.
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He walked away, casting one last glance into the darkness and cold of the mountain.
???
A twenty-five-year-old woman and a girl of about twelve were in their small but cozy house. Lit and warmed by the flickering fire and a few candles, they watched the young man enter silently.
Elvira, her long black hair braided, sat quietly reading a book in a corner, whistling softly.
Cerena, however, looked toward her companion with concern. The tremors, persisting for hours, still unnerved her. She asked,
“Where is Owen?”
“He stayed outside. He wants to handle it himself…”
Elvira looked up, curious.
“Handle what?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” he replied. “But whatever it is, he seems serious.”
Cerena quickly rose, grabbed her cloak, and rushed outside, anxiety flashing in her eyes. Surprised, Elvira tilted her head, watching her dash off.
Outside, Cerena caught up with Owen.
“Did you feel something?” she asked immediately.
He nodded but did not answer.
“Owen… please, come inside and get warm. There’s no point waiting out here. If we stay together, everything will be fine, won’t it?”
“No. I don’t want to put you in danger. If someone comes… they’ll be after me.”
“How can you be so sure?”
He remained silent.
“Owen, you never told me… What happened that time? The day… we left?”
No answer. Owen stared into the void of night. Cerena lowered her head, thinking, then asked,
“What exactly did he say to you?”
A long moment passed.
“…That we would see each other again,” he finally said, a grave look in his eyes.
Silence settled. Then he turned to his mother.
“Please, go back inside and get to safety.”
She shook her head slowly, meeting his gaze. A fearful light shone in her son’s eyes, despite the darkness surrounding them.
“Owen. I have never forgotten what he did to both of us. Nor all that you’ve done for me, and I will be eternally grateful to you for that. It’s thanks to you that we’ve come this far, and that we’ve been able to live peacefully for so long. You’ve given me far more than I could ever repay. But you are my son, and I also promised to protect you. We are no longer defenseless. We can fight—together.”
“You don’t have the strength for that. I’m sorry, but I cannot let you put yourself in danger.”
He paused, then continued,
“If you want to protect someone, then protect Elvira. She needs you more than I do. Go back to her, and I’m sure everything will be fine,” he said finally, turning his gaze once again into the distance.
At his words, Cerena felt her heart tighten. Not knowing what else to say, she also averted her eyes. A few minutes passed in silence, then she slowly returned inside to her companion and daughter.
The tremors now came faster, stronger, as though they had reached their peak.
