Chapter 11

In the midst of a relentless blizzard, where the world had been swallowed by a sea of white, a lone figure trudged through knee-deep snow. The only break in the endless expanse of snow was the dark, skeletal silhouettes of trees scattered across the landscape. The man, whose white hair nearly blended him into the frozen world around him, wore armor that seemed ill-suited for such a harsh climate. His armor was light, crafted for mobility rather than warmth or protection against the cold. Metal plates covered only his most vital areas—his chest, shoulders, and shins—gleaming dully beneath a thin layer of frost. The rest of his body was clad in dark, weathered leather, offering little resistance to the biting cold.

Strapped across his back were two weapons, their presence marked by the faint clinking as they knocked against each other with every step he took. One was a spear, its entire length forged from metal, with a porcelain-white shaft accented by intricate gold inlays that traced elegant patterns along its surface. The other was an axe, equally imposing, with deep black metal handle with golden inlays and a blood-red axe head that gleamed menacingly against the backdrop of snow.

The man came to an abrupt stop, his piercing blue eyes narrowing as he fixed his gaze on a particular tree ahead. For a moment, he stood perfectly still, as if contemplating some profound thought. Then, with a deep, exaggerated breath, he threw his hands up in the air.

"I'm lost!!!" he bellowed, his voice booming over the howling winds, as he dramatically flailed his arms. 

Winter's sudden outburst echoed through the trees, the sound swallowed quickly by the swirling storm. He began raking his hands through his white hair in frustration, his expression one of sheer exasperation. "Agh!!! I did that whole internal monologue about Hell freezing over and me coming for the demons, and now I'm here, walking in fucking circles!" he shouted, his voice rising in pitch as if on the verge of a breakdown.

With a wild look in his eyes, he jabbed a finger at the tree he had been staring at earlier. "You! How many times have I crossed your path!? Gods damn it! I'm now talking to a tree! I'm losing my goddess-damned mind!" he ranted, his voice carrying a mixture of anger and disbelief, as if the very tree itself was conspiring against him. 

The winds whipped around him, sending snow swirling in every direction, but even the blizzard seemed unable to drown out the sheer volume of his tirade.

Winter let out a long, deflating sigh, his shoulders slumping as his arms fell limply to his sides. He began to trudge forward with a defeated shuffle, his posture hunched like a zombie. No, that was an insult to the shambling undead; he moved more like an emaciated zombie with all its limbs barely hanging on.

"Why do I suddenly feel deeply insulted?" Winter muttered to himself, the absurdity of his own comparison not lost on him as he continued his weary trek. His gaze slowly lifted to the sky, a heavy chuckle escaping his lips—a self-deprecating sound that matched the bleakness of his situation. "I'm really not suited to travel alone, am I?" he mused aloud, his voice carrying a mix of resignation and amusement. 

"If Violet were here, she'd be laughing at me right now," he continued, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "She'd make fun of me for getting lost in a snowstorm, probably while throwing snowballs at me." The thought of his companion's teasing brought a lightheartedness to his tone.

"And Stroven… he'd go on one of his rants about how inferior I am to him, how elves are so much better than humans," Winter added with a smirk. "And he—" Winter's smile grew as he thought of another friend—"he would've agreed with Stroven just to mess with me." 

Memories of his companions flooded his mind, bringing with them a sense of warmth that cut through the cold. The recollections of their shared moments, their laughter, and their struggles reignited a spark of determination in him. Winter's posture straightened, his steps growing more confident as he felt a renewed sense of purpose. 

"Yeah," he said to himself, his voice firm with resolve, "I won't let our efforts, our memories, go to waste." He clenched his fist in determination, his blue eyes blazing with newfound energy. "I won't let the demons take over, no matter what. And I won't whine about being lost!"

With renewed vigor, Winter marched forward, his mind set on his mission. However, after only a few steps, he came to an abrupt halt, his expression shifting from determination to confusion. He rubbed the back of his head, his brow furrowing as a thought struck him. *Where am I even going?* he wondered, the realization dawning on him with a wave of exasperation. *I just up and walked off, but I don't even have a destination! Gods, why am I so dumb!?*

Just as he was about to spiral into another round of self-reproach, something caught his eye—a flicker of recognition in the endless white. He slowly turned his head, his eyes narrowing as they locked onto the same tree he had passed just minutes ago.

"There's no way..." he whispered in disbelief, his voice trailing off as the reality of the situation dawned on him. His entire body trembled with barely restrained frustration as he glared daggers at the stubborn tree. Shaking his fist in its direction, Winter let out another exasperated yell, his voice echoing through the blizzard.

"Curse you, tree!!!"