"Demons have names, y'know."

-A Short While Ago-

[Lilly's P.O.V.]

The sound of the alpha wolf smashing into a tree was like a sonic boom that shattered the frozen silence of the glade. It was a cacophony of snapping branches and a thud so deep it seemed to resonate in the very core of the earth. The impact sent shockwaves through the icy ground, the tremor echoing in their bones as if the very fabric of the world had cracked. The tree groaned, its mighty trunk bowed by the force of the collision, as the beast's lifeless form was absorbed into the unforgiving embrace of the frozen earth.

Lilly watched the scene unfold, her eyes wide with disbelief, her breaths coming out in great, ragged gasps. It was as if she had been plunged into a nightmare and could not find the way out, the snowflakes that danced around them seeming to mock their plight with their delicate beauty. The beast that had haunted her dreams, that had taken so much from her and her village, was now still, its once fiery eyes extinguished.

But as she stared into the abyss of the beast's lifeless gaze, she saw movement in the corner of her eye. It was a flicker, a whisper of black against the endless sea of snow that stretched out before them, a solitary figure emerging from the blizzard's embrace like a specter.

"...I'll take it from here." the figure's voice broke the silence like a crack in the ice, a sudden, jolting presence in the frozen stillness. Arteus emerged from the blizzard, a figure of stoic resolve against the backdrop of the swirling white. Lilly's eyes widened in disbelief, her breath hitching in her throat as she saw the bloody mitten in his hand, a grisly trophy of his victory over the alpha.

With a swift, decisive movement, he reached into the folds of his fur-lined coat and pulled out a single dagger, its blade a stark contrast to the pristine snow. The weapon was slender, yet it radiated a fierce power that seemed to pulse with every beat of his heart. It was a tool of precision, not brutality, a silent promise of protection for those who needed it.

The wolves, driven mad by the scent of their alpha's blood and the loss of their leader, turned their hungry eyes upon Arteus. They howled in unison, a chilling sound that could send shivers down the spine of any human. It was a call to arms, a declaration of war. The pack had tasted defeat once, and they were not ready to accept it. They lunged forward as one, their teeth bared in a snarling, frenzied charge.

Yet the battle that followed was not one of brute strength and chaos. Instead, it unfolded with a bizarre elegance, as if choreographed by the gods themselves. Arteus moved with a grace that defied the very essence of his form, his blade a blur of steel that danced between the gaping jaws of the beasts.

The first wolf that pounced met with an unexpected end. It had leapt with a snarl, a creature of teeth and claws and hunger, expecting to find purchase in the flesh of its prey. But instead, it found itself face-to-face with a fist that seemed to hold the very essence of the world's wrath. Arteus' hand collided with the creature's skull with a sound that was both wet and metallic, a gruesome symphony that echoed through the glade. The creature's eyes bulged, its snarl frozen on its lips as it hovered in midair for a fraction of a second, suspended by the sheer force of the blow. And then, it simply... imploded.

As the lifeless body of the first wolf dropped to the ground, Arteus spun around with the grace of a dancer and the speed of a whirlwind. His dagger, which had been a mere extension of his arm moments before, was suddenly a living, breathing weapon, a silver arc of death that cut through the air with the precision of a falcon's dive. It sliced through the throats of five wolves as if they were mere ribbons, the crimson spray painting the pristine snow in a macabre ballet of gore.

The pack paused in their frenzied charge, stunned by the sudden and brutal demise of their kin. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, the glade was silent save for the soft patter of falling snowflakes and the distant, mournful howl of the wind. Then, as if jolted into action by an unseen force, they lunged at him again, their hunger and desperation overwhelming their fear.

Arteus stepped into their fury, his movements a blur of power and precision. Each punch was a dance, a lethal pas de deux with the creatures that had once been feared and revered. The wolves fell like dominos, their lifeless forms piling up around him, a gruesome tapestry of fur and crimson. The snow was no longer pristine; it had become a canvas for the grim masterpiece of his rage.

"...demon," Lilly whispered, the word a benediction of disbelief and awe.

-The Present-

"How much further to the red-square?" Lilly inquired tiredly, her voice a mere wisp in the relentless wind.

"Not much farther now," Millie's smile, though pained, offered a beacon of hope as she spoke from the warmth of Lilly's embrace. Despite her trembling form, she managed to convey a sense of strength that seemed to radiate through her granddaughters' arms. "The red-square is just over the next hill."

As they approached the crest of the hill, the wind seemed to double in ferocity, the cold sinking its teeth into their very bones. The snowflakes grew sharper, as if they had been forged from ice shards, stinging their faces and biting at their exposed skin. The air grew thinner, each breath a battle to pull in enough oxygen to fuel their weary lungs. Yet, the four of them pushed on, driven by the promise of warmth and safety that lay just beyond their frostbitten horizon.

"Do your injuries pain you, Millie?" Arteus's question was gentle, a stark contrast to the brutal landscape that surrounded them. His eyes searched hers, a silent plea for honesty in a world where every answer seemed to be shrouded in a veil of prophecy and deceit.

Millie's expression was a complex tapestry of pain and pride as she met his gaze. "I've felt worse," she replied, her voice a testament to the iron will that had made her a leader in her prime. "But your concern is appreciated, young one. My granddaughter helped me through it"

Lilly's cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and anger at the mention of her work on their grandmother's wounds. "It's nothing," she said, her voice muffled against Millie's shoulder. "Just a bit of patchwork."

"Your granddaughter?" Arteus echoed, his gaze lingering on the bloodstained bandages that wrapped Millie's stumps.

"Aye, Lilly here's got the touch of the old ways in her," Millie said, her voice filled with a pride that seemed to warm the very air around them. "A grade three elemental mage, she is. Not many can claim that, especially not at her tender age."

"A grade three elemental mage," Arteus murmured, his eyes alight with something akin to fascination.

Lilly ducked her head, her cheeks flushing even further. "It's really not that much," she mumbled, trying to brush off the praise with a shrug. "It's just...something I can do."

Except it was something, wasn't it? In a world where mages were as rare as a sunny day in the heart of winter, Lilly's gift was a beacon of hope, a whisper of warmth in the face of the icy prophecy that had claimed so much from them. Magic was not just a trick of the mind or a sleight of hand, it was the lifeblood of the world itself, a force that could shape the very fabric of reality. And yet, in the human realm, it had grown scarce, a relic of a bygone age where the lines between man and myth had been blurred by the brushstrokes of the ancient gods.

There were three grades of mages in the ancient lore, each wielding power as distinct as the snowflakes that fell from the heavens.

The third grade, which Lilly belonged to, was the most common. Mages of this grade had the ability to manipulate the elements in simple, practical ways—starting fires without flint, coaxing water from the ground, or warming a room with a thought. They were the village's handymen and women, the unsung heroes that kept the hearths warm and the crops from freezing. Their magic was subtle, often dismissed as mere tricks by those who did not understand its true worth. Yet, this was the beginning stage for those with the potential to manipulate the soul's energy.

The second grade, however, was a different beast entirely. It was a realm of power where the very fabric of the world was their canvas and the elements their brushes. They could call forth storms that would make the gods weep with envy, conjure flames hotter than the sun's kiss, or freeze the blood in a man's veins with a mere glance. Their abilities were not just practical, but awe-inspiring, a testament to the boundless potential of the human spirit. They were the guardians, the wielders of power so intense that it could shake the very foundations of the world.

But it was the first grade, the most powerful and arcane of all, that held the true terror of the mage world. They didn't just bend reality; they shaped it as a potter shapes clay, molding it into forms that defied the very laws that governed the universe. Theirs was a power so great that it was whispered about in hushed tones, a legacy so feared that it had been all but eradicated from the annals of history. They could bend time, summon the very essence of life and death, and peer into the very heart of the cosmos to unravel its secrets. They, were myth. And called by a title wholly different, 'chaos mage'.

The thought of such power made Lilly's heart race, and she pushed it aside. For now, they had more immediate concerns. The red-square grew larger as they approached, its crimson walls standing out starkly against the monochrome of the world. The sight of it brought a sense of relief, a promise of warmth and shelter.

But as they crested the hill and the full extent of the carnage came into view, the mood immediately turned sour. The village that had once been a bastion of warmth and life now lay in ruins, the buildings shattered and splintered like the bones of a long-dead giant. The once bustling streets were now silent, the only sounds the mournful cries of the wind and the occasional distant howl of a creature that had not yet succumbed to the cold. The sight was enough to make even the hardest of hearts ache, and Lilly felt a knot form in her chest as she took it all in.

Gracie, the youngest, was the first to break the silence, her voice trembling with the weight of the question that hung in the air. "What happened here?" she whispered, her eyes wide with shock and fear. "What kind of monster could do this?"

Lilly tightened her grip on her grandmother, her own eyes scanning the desolate scene before them. The question of who or what could wield such destruction was one that she had been afraid to voice. But as she took in the devastation, she felt a coldness in her heart that had nothing to do with the biting wind.

"Sometimes," she said softly, her voice barely carrying over the howling gale, "the answers are best left unspoken." She looked at her sister, the younger girl's eyes wide with fear and confusion. "Some things are... too big to understand, Gracie. Sometimes, it's better to focus on what we can do rather than what has been done."

But as they approached the outskirts of the village, Arteus's steps faltered. His eyes narrowed, and he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. His sixth sense, had always been sharp, but now it was screaming at him, a cacophony of alarms that resonated through every fiber of his being. Without a word, he leapt forward, placing himself in front of the foremost Gracie, his hand tightening around the hilt of the dagger at his side.

In the very moment that Gracie's eyes widened in horror, Lilly's shout of "No!" seemed to hang in the air like the cry of a lost soul, echoing through the lifeless streets of the village. Time seemed to slow, each snowflake a frozen tear that fell in silent testament to the terror that was about to unfold.

Gracie looked up at her sister, the innocence of her gaze shattering into a thousand pieces as a creature of shadow and ice coalesced before her.

-To Be Continued-