The wind softly howled through the woods with a voice that sought to bring everything to rest as each snowflake danced to its song of tranquility. Aided by the ever expanding white layers frosting the ground and trees, a gentle calmness filled the twisting woods. Its strength meant nothing stirred. This was a peaceful morning, one best enjoyed from the comfort of your home, beside a warm fire, drinking aromatic tea, sharing tales of old with loved ones. And in accordance with the wisdom of elders passed down through the centuries, that is where most creatures were, in their houses, dens, and nests, huddling together and hoping the weather passed gracefully. Only a fool would trek through weather such as this. Only a greater fool would wish to do so. A lone figure walking through the woods found some solace in not being the greater fool, not that it would do him any good.

Alone, that figure struggled through the mountains of snow wondering why he was here. Small frosted puffs of his breath lead the way. Crunches of snow under his feet told of his effort. Patches of blue peeked out of his snow covered coat giving a clue as to the length of the trek. A cloth face mask protected his face, exposing only his eyes which in turn were shielded by wooden slit goggles. Layers of clothes puffed up the man. Still, the chill crept through his sweat-soaked clothes, as his body trembled and a tingling sensation collected in his hands and feet as they became increasingly unresponsive. It was a futile war of attrition. Could the man help it, he would not be out here, but that decision was not his; the consequences were.

The man had tried his luck earlier, going door to door at the few villages he had passed, but fortune was not on his side. Every family declined his request for shelter. A few gave him food, not all of it edible. Fewer donated some old clothing. And an extremely generous one gifted him snowshoes in exchange for two days rations - their elder son had died in an accident in the summer, so they had an extra pair to spare. The man was thankful for everything he got and held no ill will for their frugality. The Shivering was close, and everyone had to look out for themselves and their loved ones; people just couldn’t risk providing shelter or excess supplies to a stranger. This wasn’t the wealthiest region either, ignored by the crown for years, so even during more bountiful times of the year, there still wasn’t much to give away. He understood their plight and knew that it was no better than his.

A strong gust of wind blew. The man held on to dear life, his frigid arms grabbing a tree until it passed. Torturous breaths passed his lips as the wind ebbed and flowed, bringing him to the edge of giving in, as it grew in strength, just for fate to change and its vigor to subside. This pattern repeated until slowly, the wind softened. The man sifted in his pocket for the small map he had brought, his hands shaking even harder now. Gathering ominously above him, the grey clouds prevented any hope of him calibrating himself, but knowing he had been walking for an hour already, it should be only two hours until he reached the town at this pace. He could probably find some shelter there, either through the charity of locals or through some abandoned building or shed. There would be no respite until then.

He opened his mask to reveal his mouth and coughed. The snow in front of him became dotted with splotches of deep crimson blood that was now trickling down his lips.

“You are fine. You are an Academ. You are a Levedi.”