The Keeper leaned in and brushed a stray hair from the sleepy girl’s face.
“Tell me another story,” she mumbled, her eyes fluttering half closed.
“What kind of story, little one?” the Keeper asked with a gentle smile.
The little girl yawned. “A hero story!” she said. “Uncle Bill always used to tell me a hero story before bed.”
The Keeper chuckled. “A hero story it is, then.”
They paused, humming thoughtfully.
“Let me tell you the story a Winterguard once told me. A story about the bravest man he’d ever known.”
——————————————————
“CLOSE THE DOOR!” the most senior guard of the small village I found myself in yelled, just as the last of the surviving villagers rushed through the gap. Howling winds and biting ice nipped at their heels as the guards — those who were left — and I struggled to close the massive wooden doors of the equally massive longhouse. We grunted and strained our broken bodies with effort, but finally the heavy door slammed shut, just as fingers of ice crept over the threshold.
As they did, ancient runes flashed to life, and a haze of warmth flowed out, causing the ice to retreat. I collapsed against the door, sinking low and taking in deep, rasping breaths that caused my body to ache and the bleeding gashes in my side to sear with pain. My eyes swam as I reached down to stifle the warm flow leaking from my side. My hands glowed with a faint light, and the radiant warmth of the sun flowed through my body. The various wounds across my body slowly healed, but the Spring magic left my body drained.
“That’s why I warned you against Spring’s Renewal, boy,” a voice called. I turned and glared at the man approaching me from the crowd. At a glance, one could tell the old man had been a warrior, once. Though time had hunched his back and withered his muscles, the shape of the man he once was remained. Even now, swaying on his feet as he did — no doubt thanks to the mostly empty bottle clutched in his hand — the man gave the impression he could end me with a swing of his hand.
Fitting, for Rodrick, the last living Cycle Mage, I suppose.
“Sure, it’ll patch you up right nice, but Spring magic can only work with what’s already there. You’d not be the first to empty himself dry because he didn’t know how to pace himself… or when to quit,” Rodrick admonished me with a chuckle.
“You could have helped us…” I squeezed out through clenched teeth as I glared hard at the man.
Rodrick sneered back, then, with a huff, took a swig from his bottle and drained it. He lowered the bottle and peered into its empty depths before tossing it away.
“Aye, I could have,” he said, swaying slightly on his feet as his cheeks flushed red. “But then what happened to ‘proving yourself’, lad? I thought you were gonna show me how good you were? That you were ‘worthy’ of me teachin’ your sorry behind? Given up already?”
I gritted my teeth and nearly threw the heavy summersteel shield I carried at the wretched old man.
What the hell had I been thinking? I came to this remote village on some stupid rumor. Sure, in the end, it had turned out to be true… but the Rodrick I had found wasn’t the Rodrick from the stories I heard in my youth. No… this was a withered old drunk who had taken one look at me and laughed in my face.
I hadn’t found Rodrick the Indomitable. Rodrick the Unmoveable.
No, who I found was a Rodrick from much newer stories. Sad stories whispered in dark corners of grimy taverns instead of the bright bard stages.
Stories of Rodrick the Broken. Rodrick the Traitor.
“Rodrick the Coward,” I growled. “They were right about you… I prayed they weren’t, but they were right. You’re just a blood coward, aren’t you?!”
Rodrick’s sneering grin slowly slipped from his face, replaced by a blank, dull-eyed stare, as if he didn’t even really see me anymore. “You’re right. I am a coward. I ran. Betrayed those I was supposed to protect. I lived, and they died.” His eyes slowly wandered to the large, runed doors of the hall. “Though I guess that’s about to change.”
Beyond the doors, the howl of the Eversnow could be heard, accompanied by rhythmic pounding, as if something were striking the doors with sharp claws.
The Eversnow had plagued the continent for centuries now. An eternal, wandering blizzard that sought to bury everything it touched in cold winter’s embrace, regardless of the time of the year. It could appear seemingly out of nowhere, descending from on high in the blink of an eye. Royal mages had developed ways of tracking it and predicting when and where it would fall next, giving the common man time to evacuate.
When these predictions failed, entire cities and provinces could be wiped out in the span of a night. For the Eversnow didn’t just bring with it the cold and ice. ‘Things’ lurked in the bitter blizzard. Dark things. Things of wind, and ice, and shadows. Snowraiths, as most called them. Beings that fed on the very warmth of life, until all that was left was a frozen husk.
It was the Winterguard’s duty, my duty, to fight back. The royal mage’s forecast was far from perfect. Accidents happen, and the Eversnow could be… unpredictable. Sometimes, its reach extended farther than expected, and Snowraiths poured into the surrounding area. My organization would follow the Eversnow as close as possible and rescue as many as we could, fighting back the storm’s touch until it once more retreated to the heavens.
Sometimes the Eversnow fell in places it wasn’t supposed to be. That’s what had happened here. It was just my luck that the Eversnow would fall on me while I was on leave, chasing down hopeless rumors on the barest hope they could make me stronger.
Rodrick Flurrybane. Cycle Mage. He had been one of the Winterguard’s greatest. Until one day, he vanished while protecting a major trade city from an unexpected snowfall. From a city of almost 300,000 souls, barely a hundred survived.
At first, people assumed Rodrick had simply failed. That he had died trying to protect the city. After all, only a handful of Winterguard had been stationed there at the time of the Snowfall. But soon, rumors started. Survivors had claimed he had simply vanished into the blizzard shortly after it started, leaving the city to its doom.
Nonsense. Rodrick had been the best of them. There was no way he would have done something like that? Right? That’s what most had thought… Until one day, the man himself had appeared at the Winterguard headquarters, his armor in tatters and his eyes hollow.
He had dropped his shield at the High-Captain’s feet and walked away, never to be heard from again.
Rodrick slowly turned back and stared me in the eye. They felt so… cold. Like the ashes of a fire that had long since died out.
Then Rodrick turned and vanished into the crowd.
————————
Hours passed.
The longhouse’s once vibrant warmth was now a fragile barrier against the biting cold outside. The protective runes etched into the great wooden doors shimmered weakly, their flickering glow illuminating the worried faces of the guards and villagers. Some huddled close to the central hearth, trying to soak up the last remnants of heat, while others stood at the edges, weapons at the ready, staring at the shuddering doors.
The guards’ voices were tense as they argued in hushed tones.
“We can’t hold out much longer,” one muttered, his knuckles white around the hilt of his sword. “The runes are failing. When they go, we’re done for.”
“And running into that storm is any better?” another snapped, his armor dented and stained with blood. “We’ll freeze before we even get a chance to fight.”
The older guard, the one who had commanded the doors to be shut earlier, slammed his fist into the table, silencing the debate. “Enough. If anyone has ideas, now’s the time. Otherwise, we hold the line until the bitter end.”
I listened from where I sat, leaning heavily against the wall. Pain shot through my side with every breath, but I forced myself to focus. I had already made my decision.
“I’ll go,” I said firmly, pushing myself to my feet. The room turned toward me, the flickering firelight casting shadows across their skeptical faces.
“You can barely stand,” one of the guards said, shaking his head. “You’re not saving anyone out there.”
“I know,” I replied. “But if I can hold them off, even for a little while, it might buy you the time you need. Time for reinforcements, or for the storm to pass.”
My words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of inevitability. Then came the laugh. A dry, bitter sound that cut through the tension like a knife.
Rodrick stepped forward from the shadows, his face flushed from drink, but his eyes as cold as the storm outside. He shook his head, his lips curled into a sneer.
“You’re a damn fool,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Throwing your life away out there isn’t bravery. It’s stupidity.”
I rounded on him, my frustration boiling over. “And what would you have me do? Sit here while they break through? Watch these people die because I was too scared to try?”
Rodrick’s expression darkened, the mocking grin slipping from his face. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to stand where you are?” he growled. “You think you’re the first to face the impossible? I’ve stood in the storm, lad. I’ve fought until there was nothing left, and do you know what I learned? It doesn’t matter. Not when the odds are stacked this high.”
“Then why are you still here?” I shot back. “If you think it’s all pointless, why bother staying at all? Unless…” I hesitated, my anger giving way to a sharper, colder edge. “Unless you’re just hiding. Cowardice suits you, Rodrick.”
The words hit him like a blow. His face twisted, his hands trembling at his sides. “You don’t understand,” he whispered, the bravado drained from his voice. “You weren’t there.”
Rodrick staggered to a chair, collapsing into it with a weary groan. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. When he finally did, his voice was barely audible.
“I ran,” he said. “I left them all to die. Silverpeak… you’ve heard the stories, haven’t you? Rodrick the Indomitable, the hero who turned and fled when the storm came. They’re true.”
The room was silent, save for the howling wind outside.
“I fought as hard as I could,” he continued, his eyes distant. “We were outnumbered, overwhelmed. My men were falling all around me, and the city was already lost. I thought… maybe if I left, I could warn the next town. Save them instead. But I didn’t. I kept running. All the way to the edges of the storm.”
“You gave up,” I said, my voice trembling with rage and disbelief. “You could have stood your ground. You could have died fighting, and maybe—”
“Maybe what?” he snapped, his voice rising. “Maybe the storm would have spared them? Maybe my death would have meant something? You don’t get it, boy. Sometimes there is no winning. Sometimes all you can do is survive.”
Before I could respond, Rodrick rose to his feet, his movements unsteady but purposeful. He turned toward me, a strange glint in his eye.
“You’re right about one thing,” he said quietly. “I gave up. And I’ve been living with that shame ever since.”
Without warning, he reached out and snatched the spear and shield from my hands.
“Rodrick, what are you doing?” I shouted, stumbling after him.
“What I should have done a long time ago,” he said.
The room erupted in chaos as the villagers and guards tried to stop him, but with a surge of Summer magic, he flung the heavy doors open. The storm roared in, freezing air tearing through the longhouse. Rodrick stepped out into the snow, turning back only once.
“Stay alive,” he said, slamming the doors shut behind him. The runes flashed, sealing us inside.
————————
The sound of battle raged outside, echoing through the longhouse. How long exactly? I didn’t know. Long enough for the last candle to burn out, at the very least. The clash of steel, the roar of fire, and the unearthly screeches of Snowraiths filled the air. The guards and I tried desperately to open the doors, but the runes held firm, sealing us inside as Rodrick had intended.
Time dragged on, each passing minute feeling like an eternity. Finally, as dawn broke, the howling wind began to fade, and an eerie silence overtook the world. Light leaked through the cracks in the doors, and the runes dimmed. Together, we forced the doors open.
The world outside the longhouse was a haunting, desolate tableau. Snow blanketed the village, transforming it into an unrecognizable white wasteland. What had once been bustling streets and humble homes were now buried under drifts taller than a man. The air was still; the silence so profound it seemed to press on my ears.
A trail of carnage stretched from the longhouse doors to the village square—Snowraith corpses, twisted and shattered, lay scattered across the ground like macabre sculptures. Frost clung to their translucent, jagged forms, and their once-terrifying presence now seemed pitiful in their defeated state. Rodrick’s path was clear; he had cut through them like a blazing comet in the storm.
I followed the trail, my boots crunching through the snow, the others trailing behind me in solemn silence. Each step was heavier than the last as we neared the center of the square.
As we approached, our breath visible in the cold air, we saw him. Rodrick stood amidst the carnage, his back to us, surrounded by the evidence of a great battle. His spear was planted firmly in the ground, and his shield was raised high as if in defiance of the storm itself.
“Rodrick!” I called, my voice echoing in the stillness. Relief surged through me, a warmth that momentarily pushed back the chill. I broke into a run, the snow crunching beneath my boots. But as I drew nearer, my steps slowed. Something was wrong.
Rodrick didn’t move. He stood tall and proud, but there was an unnatural stillness to him. My heart pounded in my chest as I called out again, more softly this time, “Rodrick…”
He remained silent. The others caught up to me, forming a semicircle around the man.
“No…” I whispered, my breath catching in my throat.
I reached out, my fingers trembling, and touched his shoulder. His armor was cold as ice, his skin pale and frosted. His eyes, once fiery with life, were glazed and lifeless.
With a hollow clang, the summersteel shield slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground, its impact sending a shiver through us all.
————————
That night, under a sky cleared of the storm’s fury, we built a pyre in the village square. The villagers worked silently, their movements mechanical, as if in a trance. The only sounds were the crackling of wood and the soft murmur of prayers.
Rodrick’s body, still encased in its icy armor, was laid at the center. His spear and shield, symbols of his strength and bravery, were placed by his side. The flames were lit, and they quickly consumed the dry wood, rising high and hot into the night.
We stood in a circle around the pyre, our faces illuminated by the fire’s glow. The warmth was a stark contrast to the cold that had gripped us for so long. The flames danced and flickered, casting long shadows that seemed to reach out and touch us.
As the flames grew higher, I felt the weight of his actions settle fully on my shoulders. He hadn’t just saved the village—he had shown me what it truly meant to be a Winterguard. To face the impossible, to stand firm even in the face of certain death, and to fight not for glory, but for the lives of others.
“He was a coward once,” one of the villagers murmured, breaking the silence. “But not tonight.”
“No,” I said, my voice steady. “Not tonight.”
——————————————————
As the Keeper ended their story, they looked down at the tiny form curled up next to them.
“Well then, little one? What did you think?”
No response came.
They glanced down to see the young girl fast asleep beside them.
The Keeper’s warm smile widened, and he gently stroked her head.