Breaking the Chain

The village stood before them, shrouded in snow and silence. The wind carried a constant howl, whispering between the sturdy wooden structures, some still standing, others reduced to mere skeletons of broken beams. The architecture spoke of a lost past, something that, in another time, might have been a prosperous civilization. Slanted rooftops, reinforced to bear the weight of snow, were adorned with intricate wooden carvings—dragons with hollow eyes and wolves with sharp fangs. Posts that once held torches lined the streets, now nothing more than shadows of their former purpose.

Ethan moved forward cautiously, feeling the weight of the silence pressing down on his shoulders. Footprints in the snow—his own—were the only recent marks on the ground, but the scattered remnants around the village hinted that this place wasn't entirely dead. Fragments of old weapons, rusted armor, human bones half-buried under layers of frost.

"Fascinating, isn't it, Ethan?" The Sorcerer's voice came casually, as if they were merely sightseeing in an ordinary village.

He walked beside Ethan, hands clasped behind his back, observing the village like an explorer discovering a rare artifact.

"A village buried in snow, abandoned for centuries… Who would've thought that even a world like this once had something resembling civilization?"

Ethan kept his eyes on the structures ahead. "You talk like you know what happened here."

The Sorcerer gave that smile Ethan had come to recognize well—the kind that said, "I know more than you think, but I'm not going to tell you."

"Let's just say places like this always hold stories. Some forgotten, others… merely asleep."

That answer helped nothing. Ethan rolled his eyes and kept walking.

The center of the village seemed to have once been a gathering place. A main hall, larger than any other building, stood supported by robust columns carved with scenes of hunting and battle. Broken statues flanked the entrance—tributes to fallen warriors or forgotten gods. Snow piled around them, hiding details, but Ethan could see that some faces had been deliberately destroyed, as if someone had tried to erase them from history.

Then he noticed something strange.

He turned to his side.

The Sorcerer had vanished.

In his place, a small, steaming kettle dangled slightly above the snow, puffing out vapor from a crooked spout. The kettle mumbled incoherent words, trying—and failing—to mimic the Sorcerer's voice.

Ethan stood there for a moment, then sighed deeply.

"Of course."

He kicked snow at the kettle, annoyed, and continued on alone.

Hunted Among Ruins

The village seemed empty. Seemed.

The first sign was a guttural growl, something unnatural carried by the wind. Then a pale, withered arm emerged from the shadows between buildings. Then another. And another.

Ethan's stomach sank.

Zombies.

But these were different. Their bodies were gaunt, their bluish skin stretched tight over fragile bones, mouths twisted into grotesque grins as if the muscles no longer knew how to form any other expression.

But the worst part was how they moved.

No hesitation.

No fear.

And they were coming straight for him.

Ethan cursed and ran.

His feet sank into the thick snow, making escape difficult, while the creatures glided over the ice with erratic movements. He weaved between crumbling columns, dodging collapsed beams and remnants of forgotten lives. Every turn led deeper into the ruins, leaving him unsure if he was running toward safety—or a trap.

He dashed into one of the larger halls, slamming the door shut behind him.

Silence.

Inside, the air felt heavier. Dust mixed with the scent of aged wood and damp snow, creating a suffocating atmosphere.

Then he saw it.

At the far end of the hall stood a massive wooden statue.

A wolf.

Ethan approached cautiously. The creature was poised as if ready to pounce, its carved claws sharp, its fangs glinting faintly even in the dim light. Its tail was unnervingly long, coiling around the base like a serpent.

Behind it, a mural.

Ethan swallowed hard and stepped closer. The carvings told a story.

In the first panel, villagers stood armed, defending something from an encroaching darkness.

In the second, shadows attacked. Twisted creatures—like the zombies outside—ravaged everything, consuming homes and bodies alike.

In the third… the wolf.

It rose from the destruction, its massive form towering over the ruins, fangs illuminated by an otherworldly flame.

But the final panel made Ethan's blood run cold.

It was him.

Etched into the wood, standing right there in that very hall.

Being hunted by the wolf.

A crack echoed behind him.

Ethan didn't think—he leapt to the side.

The wood shattered where he'd just been standing.

The statue had moved.

The wolf was alive.

Ethan snatched his slingshot, grabbing the first piece of debris he could find and firing instinctively.

The projectile morphed mid-air, transforming into a colossal tree that erupted within the hall. Roots cracked the stone floor, branches tore through the ceiling, and twisted wood engulfed the room like a living creature.

Ethan tumbled between the roots, gasping for breath.

But above him, the wolf ripped through the chaos with terrifying ease, its claws shredding the wood like paper.

He scrambled, finding a hole in the floor and diving through it, sliding out of the building into the cold once more.

But he wasn't alone.

The zombies were waiting.

He grabbed three stones, loaded them all at once, and fired. The shots ricocheted wildly, bouncing off surfaces and taking down several creatures in one go.

A path opened.

He sprinted.

His instincts screamed—keep moving or die.

Another stone, another shot fired blindly behind him toward the wolf.

The sound of impact echoed, but he didn't dare look back.

The ground trembled.

A clawed hand burst from the snow, grabbing his ankle.

"Damn it!"

He crashed face-first into the snow, struggling as the wolf's shadow loomed over him.

Without thinking, he pulled the slingshot taut and fired straight into the ground beneath him.

The blast launched him skyward, sending him tumbling onto the roof of a crumbling building.

And there he saw it.

A dagger.

Alone, glinting under the starry sky.

He seized it.

The wolf leaped.

Ethan didn't hesitate.

He fired the dagger.

It blazed green as it soared through the air, piercing the creature mid-pounce.

The explosion was immediate.

Wooden shards rained down like deadly splinters as the beast crumbled.

Ethan collapsed onto the rooftop, gasping, his heart pounding like a war drum.

But he'd made a mistake.

The wolf's serpent-like tail lashed toward him—a final, desperate strike.

Too fast.

Too close.

This is it, he thought.

But then… nothing.

The tail froze mid-strike, suspended unnaturally in the air.

And that's when Ethan saw it.

Half-buried in the snow below.

An ancient book.

Heavy.

Chained.

Waiting.