Meanwhile, in an endless snowfield stretched beneath the night.
The frozen plain ran flat and pale to the horizon, broken only by the slow rise and fall of drifts sculpted by countless storms.
Above, the sky had deepened into a vast indigo, the last traces of daylight swallowed behind distant mountains, and the cold settled over the land like an immense, invisible weight.
Loose snow hissed across the hard-packed surface, dry as sand, streaming in long white ribbons that twisted, scattered, and formed anew with every restless gust.
Far away, jagged peaks stood in silent ranks, their shoulders draped in snow, their dark faces swallowed by shadow.
Nothing moved. Nothing lived. Only the wind, endless, patient, and relentless, scraped across a world of ice.
And in the heart of that frozen emptiness, a single fire burned.
It was a stubborn orange flame, crouched low against the wind, casting a tight circle of warmth that held the darkness at bay for only a few precious feet.
Sparks burst free from the fire, racing sideways before vanishing into the night. Its flickering light washed over the faces gathered around it in shifting gold, while beyond them the darkness pressed close, so complete that the men seemed cradled within a lone pocket of warmth in an otherwise endless wilderness.
There were six of them, wrapped in heavy furs, their beards rimed with frost.
And they were happy.
The day’s kill turned slowly over the flames, its steaming carcass dripping fat that hissed and snapped as it struck the glowing coals. The rich scent of roasted meat filled the air before the wind stole it away into the frozen night. One of the hunters rotated the spit with a gloved hand, tore off a strip of meat, and hissed as the heat bit into his fingers. He tossed it from palm to palm before finally taking a hearty bite. Grease glistened in his beard.
He muttered something through a full mouth.
The man beside him burst into laughter, the sound booming into the stillness as white breath billowed from his lips. He clapped the hunter hard enough on the shoulder to make him stumble.
"Eat slower," another called. "You’ll choke, and then who’s carrying the hides?"
"Better choking than freezing."
The fire crackled.
Someone passed around a skin filled with something far stronger than water. It traveled from hand to hand, each man taking a long pull before exhaling sharply, grinning as warmth spread through his chest. Their voices overlapped in easy conversation, the relaxed banter of men who had worked hard, hunted well, and earned a quiet night beneath the open sky. The hunt had been successful. The kill had been clean. Tomorrow they would return home with packs heavy with meat.
Tonight, they had fire.
Food.
And one another.
For now, that was enough.
The youngest among them animatedly recounted a story, punctuating every sentence with broad gestures while the others interrupted with jokes and jeers. Firelight danced in their eyes.
Then one of them stopped laughing.
His gaze drifted beyond the circle of firelight, into the vast darkness where the snow stretched away without end.
The warmth left his face.
He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward ever so slightly, as though straining to catch sight of something hidden beyond the reach of the flames.
Out there, far beyond the firelight, at the very edge of where the eye could reach, there were shapes.
Small. Dark. Three of them, perhaps four, standing in a loose row against the endless white. So distant they were little more than smudges, upright marks on the snow, the sort of thing that could have been rocks, stunted trees, or simply tricks of weary eyes and failing light.
Except there were no rocks out there. No trees. Nothing. And they were standing perfectly, unnaturally still.
"Is that a," he began, his voice coming out thinner than he intended.
"Sit down," one of the others said without even looking. "It’s snow. A drift. You’ve had too much of that skin."
"Drink your drink, ghost-hunter."
Laughter followed, quieter this time. A few of the men glanced toward the horizon, more to indulge him than out of concern. The fire crackled. The wind swept a curtain of loose snow between the camp and the distant shapes, blurring them into wavering shadows.
"There’s nothing," one of the hunters started, finally turning to look properly.
The shapes were gone. No. They were here.
There was no crossing of the distance. No figures growing larger as they ran over the snow. One blink, they stood a thousand yards away at the rim of the world.
The next, firelight washed across grey fur slick with frost, long wet fangs, and eyes that caught the flames and hurled the gold back at them. Close enough to touch. Close enough that the heat of the fire illuminated the steam rising from their hides.
No one screamed. Everything happened so fast... It ended in the space between two heartbeats.
Most of those hearts never reached the second.
A blur of grey tore through the circle, and a man simply came apart, his upper half flung one way while the rest of him remained where he had been sitting. Another vanished beneath something enormous, the impact kicking the fire sideways in an explosion of sparks that scattered across the snow.
Wet tearing sounds came one after another in savage succession. A weapon spun into the darkness from fingers no longer attached to an arm. Someone folded backward across the glowing coals. The youngest hunter’s story died in his throat before it could become a scream.
And then... Silence.
The wind continued as it always had, hissing loose snow over the frozen crust with complete indifference.
The fire, half scattered from its bed, crackled weakly now, its diminished glow casting long crimson shadows across the torn earth. The comforting scent of roasting meat still lingered in the air, now tainted by something hotter.
Sharper. Copper-rich... Blood.
It spread slowly across the snow in dark, branching fingers, soaking into the white until crimson blossoms bloomed where moments before there had been only untouched frost. Thin wisps of steam curled upward wherever it pooled.
Separate streams met, merged, and widened until the entire campsite became a ruin of scarlet and churned slush, while beyond it the snow remained flawless all the way to the horizon.
A severed head rolled across the frozen ground, slow and uneven, before coming to rest against a drift. Firelight flickered in its open, unseeing eyes.
A weapon lay half-buried nearby, its edge catching the dying glow.
Scattered furs. A split wineskin, its dark contents spreading across the snow before freezing into the ice.
The embers pulsed a dull orange beneath the churned slush. Fading and fading.
And in the silence, new sounds emerged; the wet, deliberate tearing of flesh, the sharp crack of bone giving way between powerful jaws. A low, contented hum, almost a sigh.
Off to one side, one of the great grey beasts sat back on its haunches, patient, its long muzzle tilted toward the sky. Across the clearing, a severed head came tumbling through the firelit air, spinning end over end, flung loose in the frenzy of feeding. It traced a slow, lazy arc before dropping neatly into the creature’s waiting jaws.
Its mouth closed.
CRUNCH
The werewolf chewed slowly, unhurriedly, working its jaws with the care of something savoring a taste long forgotten. It rolled the morsel across its tongue. Its eyes drifted half shut.
"Crunchy," it murmured, its deep voice thick and oddly gentle. "It’s been so long."
The others never looked up. They were already feeding, great grey forms hunched over the mangled bodies, speaking between mouthfuls the way men might converse around a dinner table, easy, familiar, with all the patience in the world.
"After tens of centuries," one said without raising its head, "we’re finally out."
Another tore something free with a wet wrench of muscle and sinew. It paused only long enough to swallow before replying.
"I can finally eat human flesh in peace." It let out a satisfied breath. "Those True Humans were troublesome."
A low rumble of agreement answered from somewhere in the circle. Another bone splintered.
The wind drew a ribbon of loose snow through the ruined camp. The scattered embers glowed one final, weary crimson before surrendering to darkness.
Above them, the mountains loomed black against the deep indigo sky.
The snowfield stretched away, flat, silent, and endless in every direction.
And at its center, the ancient things bent over their feast, unhurried, content and free.