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You are lost.
You cannot see. You feel nothing but the stinging pain of the blizzard driving itself into your face, into your unprotected eyes. You hear nothing but the howling of the great winter gales around you. For a moment you wonder if the Kindred have come to claim you already, before you realize it is only wind. Deadly wind, if you cannot find shelter; perhaps Wolf is prowling these woods for you after all.
The snow is nearly up to your knees. Your steps are sluggish with it. Water sloshes in the soles of your boots. The sheer whiteness of everything, from the snow-covered trees to the flurries battering your body,.makes your head hurt. The brightest splash of color out here is the almost blue tint of your hand as you raise it to your face to shield your eyes from the stinging flakes.
You had been told to run. A disastrous storm was set to strike your village: your local seers had been warning you and your neighbors about it for weeks, and now it was finally here. Most of your fellow villagers had not taken the threat seriously. Why, in the name of all the gods, would the first snow of the season be a disastrous one? Storms happened, naturally—either as the will of nature or the will of Polaris, depending on who you asked—but never so early.
But you—ever the worrier, and a little bored with your trite small-town existence anyway—packed a small bag and decided to head to the neighboring city before the storm hit.
You were too late. And now you are about to die.
It isn’t your lack of strength that makes your feet give out from underneath you. No, it’s the frigid numbness that seeps through your clothes and into your bones, rendering you too numb to continue. Your knees buckle, and the thick snow rises up to meet you.
Each inhale sends what feels like a dozen icicles prickling their way down your throat and chilling your insides. You wonder distantly if this is the end, if your attempt to protect yourself has well and truly backfired. At least death is numb. At least there will be no pain.
Suddenly, the clouds part. Suddenly, you are not alone.
An aurora the likes of which you’ve never seen paints the sky above you. You’ve just enough strength to lift your head and watch the colors unfurl like ribbons, glimmering shades of pale pink and green and blue that make even your weary heart soar with wonder. If this is the last sight you’ll ever see, perhaps you can die happy after all. Maybe whatever waits for you in the next life is as beautiful as this.
Dazzling as the lights are, they pale in comparison to the radiance of the figure that hovers above you. He seems to have come from nowhere, appearing in a burst of snowflakes. Even from the ground, you can see the piercing pale blue of his eyes as he surveys the scene below him. In one hand, he clutches a massive, bejeweled paintbrush, which disappears in a rush of light when he spots you.
He descends gracefully, swiftly, as if he’s skating on the cold air, and lands noiselessly in the snow. He takes a few tentative steps toward you. Perhaps you are delirious, but you swear he leaves no prints behind as he approaches. Had you had the strength, you would have spoken. Asked who he was. Instead you are still as the beautiful stranger kneels down before you and traces one elegant hand along your cheek. “Traveler,” he whispers in a kind, melodic voice that allows some heat back into your face. “You are lost.”
Your teeth chatter in lieu of a reply. With stilted movements, you try to tug your sorry excuse for a coat tighter around your shoulders. Only then does true alarm spark in the stranger’s eyes. “You are dying,” he breathes. “Here. Let me help you.”
He shines, you realize as he hoists you into his arms. His pale skin, thick snow-white hair, icy eyes… his whole body glitters like stars. You rest your weight against him, but he feels insubstantial, like he isn’t fully there. Like he is both real and not. “Shelter is not far. In fact…”
You blink your blurry gaze. The forest seems to go on forever, snowcapped pines stretching on as far as you can see. The storm is already beginning to let up. The clouds part, and the aurora stretches through the gray sky toward the horizon, pointing you and your mysterious rescuer to solace. You rest your head against his chest. The fur collar of his thick velvet coat tickles your cheeks. His arms, though slender, are sure and tight in their hold.
The trees have begun to thin out before you. Replaced by their thickly clustered trunks is a clearing just large enough for a tiny building—a shack, you want to call it at first, but upon closer inspection it seems to be more of a cabin. Wooden, with cheerfully curtained windows and a stone chimney spewing smoke. It looks like something out of your dreams.
Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. You grip your rescuer’s coat more firmly. “Almost there,” he whispers to you.
You dread having to leave his arms so he can open the door, but he does not make the suggestion. The door opens for him. Opening is the wrong word. For a heartbeat, it simply… ceases to exist, melting into the rest of its glimmering surroundings.
The warmth hits you with an intensity that makes you gasp. It’s the most delightful sensation you’ve felt in months.
The cabin’s living room—only room, it seems—is furnished rather sparsely. A fireplace on one end, faced by a plush-looking sofa. A small bed and nightstand in one corner. A dining table and kitchenette in the other.
Your muscles go slack as the stranger sets you down on the sofa. He’s sure to prop your head up with a pillow, and as you watch him, his eyes shift hues from determined icy blue to warm lavender. “Rest,” he says. “I will make you something warm to drink. Do you prefer hot chocolate or tea?”
You stammer your preference at him, and he nods solemnly. “Wait,” you say, making a grab at his furred sleeve as he turns to go. “Who… who are you? Where are we?”
His eyes shift again, this time to a navy blue dark as night. “I am Hwei,” he replies simply. “And you are safe.” You have more questions, but he hustles away before you find the voice to ask them.
You try to keep your eyes from shutting as you listen to the clatter of pots and pans behind you. Hwei. The name is familiar. You’ve heard it before, whispered around campfires and over cups of hot chocolate, spoken in the hushed tones reserved for the subject of the divine.
You take a deep breath in and slowly let it back out. Delirium. That’s all this is. You died in the snow, and your mind’s not quite sure what to do with itself. The aurora, the cabin, the beautiful stranger and his strange artist’s brush… you have always been prone to flights of fancy, you suppose.
He returns quickly and presses a steaming mug into your hand. His fingers brush yours—despite the warmth of the fireplace, he’s still cool to the touch. “Drink,” he says quietly. “You’ll feel better. Can you sit up?”
You nod and shift to give him room. The warm drink floods your insides. Rejuvenating is an understatement. You’re still fighting a case of shivers and goosebumps, but it’s an improvement.
Hwei sits next to you and lets out a sigh. You can’t help but turn your head just enough to stare at him. He’s gazing forlornly into the fireplace, shoulders hunched. He still looks as ethereal and pristine as he did when you first saw him. “Hwei,” you say, testing the word out on your tongue.
He looks at you sidelong, and his gaze softens. “Yes. Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you. You’re still looking a bit… blue in the face.”
“You can tell me why you saved me,” you say between sips. “I still don’t really understand what’s going on. Hwei’s the name of—”
“I couldn’t have left you there,” he said hurriedly. “You were in need of help. I had help to give. I would never have left someone so helpless to die. The first snow of the season was not supposed to be such a torrential blizzard. I wish I could have—”
He’s torn out of his thoughts when you place your hand on his arm.
“Thank you,” you say.
“Of… of course.” He gives you a shaky smile. It seems to be a difficult task—you wonder if smiling’s not something he’s used to. He places his hand on top of yours, skating his thumb across your knuckles. “It’s the least I could do.”
“There must be something I can do to repay you.”
“Worry not about that,” he murmurs. “Worry about recovering. You came within an inch of your life in that storm—I certainly don’t mind housing you while you get better.”
“So this is your house?”
“It is now.”
“It wasn’t before?”
“It wasn’t here before.”
“Are you real?”
Hwei laughs, a strained but lovely sound. “That’s quite the loaded question,” he says, and gives your hand a squeeze. “If you’re asking if I am human, the answer is no. But I suspect that’s not what you’re asking.”
“I’m asking if the legends are true.”
“That depends. What have you heard?”
You stare into the fire—even if the flames aren’t real, the warmth, at least, is, and so is the cool grip of Hwei’s hand in yours. “That Hwei is one of the legendary heralds of winter. He paints the aurora in the sky with his brush, creating a path for the season’s first snow. Some say he was once a human who traded his mortality for command over the sky, and some say he has existed forever, an ancient being made of stardust and snow.” There is one thing all variations of the tale have in common—they all say that the legendary painter is one of the most beautiful creatures in existence, and to lay your eyes on him is a surefire way to lose your heart to the stars.
“They’re half right,” he amends. “It is true that I will see lifetimes upon lifetimes pass before I truly become one with the stars again, that I have never truly been mortal… that being said, I’m still relatively new to existence.” The corners of his mouth quirk up endearingly. “The responsibilities of the artist of the aurora are relatively new ones. This is my thirtieth winter. The rest of the Winterblessed are far, far older than I am.”
You’ve heard tales of the painter’s kin as well, but none of them captivate you quite as much as the story of the man who skates through the sky with his paintbrush, leaving the heavens a veritable work of art in his wake. You haven’t, however, ever believed that they are anything but legends.
Hwei looks at you expectantly.
“I still don’t understand,” you mumble. “You—you’re an immortal celestial being. You hold power over the sky itself. And yet you saved me.”
“You say that as if the fleeting nature of your existence makes it any less valuable.”
You could argue, but your skin’s still covered in goosebumps and your teeth are still trying not to chatter and despite the warmth of your drink, your hands are still shaky and pale. It will take longer than a few minutes in front of a fireplace and a warm mug to restore you enough to attempt a hike through the blizzard’s aftermath. “Then I suppose all I have to say is thank you,” you sigh. “And that I’ll be out of your personal space as soon as possible.”
“You are welcome to be here for however long you need it.”
He makes an attempt to stand, but your insistent grip on his hand doesn’t let him get very far. “Wait,” you force yourself to say. You feel unfathomably stupid. You have so many questions—let alone no way to know for sure that you can trust this stranger and his secluded cabin in the woods—but your heart rate spikes at the prospect of being left alone right now, even if he won’t be going very far. “Stay. Please. I—I don’t want you to go.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” sighs Hwei. His eyes are now the warm amber of the fire in front of you. “Of course I can stay, if that’s what you want. I suppose I am partially responsible for how you ended up in this state to begin with… so for that, you have my apologies.”
“Don’t say that. You saved my life.”
He sits again. Closer to you, this time. “You’re so warm,” he whispers. And there’s his perfect, slender hand again, tracing its way over your jawline. “Humans truly are works of art. I’ve never been this close to one.”
The contact is cool, but not painfully so. Not cold. You lean into the touch, chasing a high you didn’t know you’d been starved of. He stiffens for a moment—and then his arm is around your shoulders, and your head’s against his chest, pressed against the soft purple velvet of his shirt. You listen for his heartbeat. There isn’t one.
It’s not long before you fall asleep like that. The chill in your bones subsides, replaced with the comfort of Hwei’s proximity and the cozy toastiness of the fireplace. You dream in bursts of light, in sparks of icy blue. In the throes of deep sleep, you dash gleefully over a thick layer of snow, chasing an aurora that bleeds endlessly into the sapphire winter sky.