"Prelude to the Residents of Barley."

[The Village, Barley]

The cacophony of battle resounded through the night like the thunderous roar of an enraged tempest!

An arctic wolf, one of the many that had been stalking the survivors, leapt at Arteus, teeth bared and snarling like a beast from the abyss. His fist connected with its snout with the force of a sledge hammer upon an egg, the impact of which sent a shiver down the beast's spine before forcing it to implode upon itself.

Splat!

...The sound was one of a wet sack of meat being slammed to the ground, a gruesome finale that echoed through the barren landscape. The beast's fur stood on end for a brief moment, a frozen tableau of rage and terror before it collapsed into a twitching pile of gore.

"They grow more predictable," Arteus murmured to himself, his breath coming out in frosty puffs. "Or perhaps, I'm, growing stronger..."

Each encounter with the corrupted animals had revealed their tactics, their patterns. They had become tools of a larger game, pawns in the grand scheme that was unfolding around him. He could feel the prophecy's hand at work, orchestrating each event with a precision that was both terrifying and infuriating.

But now wasn't the time to worry about that.

Wolves lay strewn across the snow, their lifeblood painting the pristine whiteness a vibrant crimson. He had arrived just in time. The survivors of Barley, huddled by the base of a great oak, were surrounded by the frozen carcasses of their attackers. Relief washed over Arteus's face as he saw them alive, their eyes reflecting a mix of hope and fear.

From the shivering group, a burly, bearded man pushed through, his heavy fur coat stained with the grime of battle and his breath coming in ragged gasps. He held out a gloved hand, calloused and trembling with emotion. "Thank the ancients you came when you did!" he boomed, his voice a mix of relief and desperation.

But as his eyes fell upon Arteus, the warmth in them froze over. Recognition dawned, and with it, an awkwardness that hung in the air like a dense fog. The man's hand, once extended in gratitude, hovered uncertainly, as if unsure whether to offer friendship or recoil in fear.

For in front of the man stood the boy they had deemed a curse. A blight upon village, Arteus Montfreed, the outcast.

Arteus felt the weight of their stares, the unspoken accusations that had followed him since birth. It was a burden he had long ago learned to bear, but it never grew any lighter.

Tension grew as Millie and her granddaughters slid down the slope to join them, their eyes never leaving Arteus. "What happened here?" Millie barked as the wind picked up, whipping the snow into a frenzy, as if mirroring the turmoil in the hearts of the survivors.

The burly man, still grappling with the sight of Arteus, stumbled over his words. "W-we were attacked," he managed to say, his voice hoarse with fear and cold. "Arctic Wolves... acting like none we've ever seen before."

Arteus' eyes narrowed at the man's hesitance, his fists clenching in response. But before he could speak, the man's gaze shifted to Millie and her granddaughters, and the weight of the moment seemed to lift from his shoulders. With a sudden burst of energy, he pushed past Arteus as if the young man was merely a shadow on the ground, and rushed to embrace the trio.

"Elder Millie!" the burly man boomed, his voice cracking with emotion. "Gracie! Lilly! Thank the ancients you're all safe!" The warmth in his words was palpable, a stark contrast to the icy air that surrounded them.

"Yeah, yeah, skip the pleasantries. What are you all doing here?" the staunch old lady asked, feigning a smile for the weary. "Why did you leave the safety of the barricades we put up at the red-square?"

"Well we," began the burly man, "...Is that blood?" He asked, his voice dropping to a whisper, as he gestured to Millie's severed legs, the sleeves of which were torn and stained crimson.

"Hmph, just a scratch." Millie responded, her voice gruff and her eyes steely. "Now, go on."

The burly man paused, the gravity of his next words weighing down the air around them. He took a moment to gather himself, his bearded chin rising and falling with deep, deliberate breaths. Then, with a solemnity that seemed to silence even the raging blizzard, he spoke.

"Before we get into that," he began, his eyes flicking briefly to Arteus before returning to Millie, "there's something I need to tell you. Something... important."

The words hung in the air, as heavy as the snow that continued to fall around them. Millie's gaze sharpened, her expression a thundercloud of impatience. "Well, out with it," she snapped, her voice cutting through the wind like a knife.

The burly man took a step back, his hand still hovering awkwardly in the space between them. He looked at Arteus, then at Millie, his eyes darting back and forth as if weighing the consequences of his revelation. "It's about your son... the village chief, Castrol," he finally managed to say, the words coming out in a rush.

The impact of his words hit Millie like a freight train, the air around her seeming to still as the wind held its breath. Her eyes grew wide with worry, the color draining from her face as she almost audibly gasped. Silence washed over the group, the only sound the mournful wail of the blizzard that raged around them, as if the very world knew something had shifted.

What now?

-To Be Continued-