Chapter Text
The winter had started early that year. It was harsh, colder than anything they’d seen in years. The village was driven into the mountains early, and their supplies ran low. They sent a group out to request supplies from the nearest town. The village sent them off with heavy hearts and high hopes.
Past when the group had been set to return, the gate to the town opened to find a sled. One piled with bodies and supplies. No sign of whoever had dragged it there.
The bodies were that of most of the group they’d sent out into the winter. Wounds consistent with ones they’d seen from previous bandit attacks. Despite that no supplies were missing from the sled. The arrival of the sled saved the town, the group still succeeding in their mission despite their deaths.
A funeral was held in their honor, and their bodies burned as a final goodbye. Yet one member of the town’s fate remained unknown. Even after searching for days once spring came, no body was ever found for that of Scott Boralith.
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Black was closing in around the edge of Scott’s vision, threatening to pull him under. A knife sat neatly in the side of his torso, between two ribs. It didn’t hit anything important, but without medical care he was certain to die soon. Like the people he’d been traveling with.
His narrowing field of vision focused on the bandits. They seemed to ignore him, not even caring that he was still standing, certain of his approaching death. They reached for the supplies.
Scott knew the supplies would never make it back to the town, even if the bandits didn't take the supplies, he wouldn’t be able to pull the sled back with his wounds. Yet, Scott didn’t want the bandits to have them. He wanted them to pay for killing his companions, for condemning his town to suffer.
His hands twitched and formed tight fists at the side. He didn’t know what to do, he just knows he wants them dead.
The winds steadily picked up, whipping around the small clearing. They seemed to rotate around Scott as he took a step forward, then another. Approaching the bandits that finally seemed to notice the growing storm.
They looked at Scott in terror as he raised his hand. His vision narrowed on only the bandits, hate fueling him. The snowflakes in the air turned to ice, sharp spikes flying through the air and into the bandits.
He didn’t feel bad as they screamed. His attention turned away from them and to the bodies of his companions. Gently he lifted them off the ground, one by one placing them on the sled.
Scott ignored the bodies of the bandits, instead grabbing the ropes and pulling.
He walked day and night, barely aware of what he was doing. All he knew was he had to return the sled. Snow piled on his shoulders, but he didn’t mind, didn’t notice the cold. He felt distant from his body and from his mind.
He didn’t know why the sled was so important, he just knew it was. So he kept walking.
It took him days of non-stop moving to arrive at a tall gate. It was on the side of a mountain. He couldn’t remember what it led to, but he knew to leave the sled here. He gently set the ropes of the sled on the ground and stepped back.
And as though he was never there in the first place, he faded away. His body slowly turned to snowflakes, starting at his hands and feet, and crawling up his limbs until all of him was drifting away in the wind. It was peaceful, slowly fading out from existence as he watched the gates open and the sled be pulled inside with a smile.