A Cold Hunt

The wind howled as Lore stood at the edge of the training grounds, watching the Squires go through their drills. As Head Squire, his responsibilities had grown, and the demands of the role kept him busy. Yet, despite the rigors of training the younger recruits, his mind drifted—far from the castle, far from the grounds, to the north. There, in the frozen wasteland, was a challenge unlike anything he had ever faced. A rumor, a whispered legend among the Knights: the *Demon Snow Lion*.

The stories of the beast had gripped his imagination since the first day he'd heard them. A magical predator that stalked the snow-covered peaks of the northern mountains, its roar said to freeze the blood of even the bravest men. Many dismissed it as a myth or a relic of a forgotten age. But Lore had become obsessed. His recent promotion to Head Squire, while an honor, only made him more determined to prove his worth. The role had brought prestige, but also an aching restlessness, a desire to test his limits.

"Enough for today!" Lore called to the Squires, watching as they sheathed their weapons and headed for the barracks. He remained, his mind still fixed on the north, heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and fear. The *Demon Snow Lion* wasn't just a rumor to him anymore. It had become a symbol of what he needed to face—his own limitations.

Over the past few weeks, whispers of the beast had grown louder, with talk of patrols going missing and strange signs near the mountains. It wasn't long before even the Knight Captains had taken notice. Lore knew they would soon send a team to investigate, and it was only a matter of time before they made a decision. But Lore wasn't planning to wait for an official mission. He had other plans.

As the last of the Squires left the field, Captain Riven approached. His footsteps were heavy with purpose.

"You've heard the rumors?" Riven asked, not bothering with pleasantries.

Lore nodded, keeping his expression neutral. "The *Demon Snow Lion*."

"Scouts have reported strange activity in the northern mountains," Riven continued, his voice low. "We've lost two patrols already. The mountains are treacherous, and the reports are… troubling. If the creature is real, it's more dangerous than we've realized."

Dangerous. The word hung in the air like a challenge, but Lore kept his features impassive. He couldn't let Riven see his interest.

"We'll be forming a team," Riven said, his eyes narrowing. "This isn't a mission for Squires, though. We'll need experienced Knights."

"I understand," Lore replied, his voice steady.

But in his heart, he was already making plans. Riven's words only solidified his resolve. He would not wait for the Knights to form their team. He would go alone, as soon as the opportunity presented itself. The north called to him, and he could feel the pull of the mountains deep in his bones.

That night, Lore prepared. He gathered supplies carefully, making sure not to raise suspicion. His enchanted cloak would protect him from the cold, and he packed enough rations to last several weeks. The journey north was long and treacherous, but he welcomed the challenge. This was what he had been waiting for—a test of his strength, both physical and magical.

He left before dawn, moving through the shadows of the castle with practiced ease. No one noticed his absence as he made his way out, taking the northern path alone. The air was crisp, the sky still dark, and the quiet of the early morning gave him time to reflect on what he was about to face.

Days turned into weeks as Lore traveled farther north, leaving the warmth and comfort of the southern lands behind. The terrain grew rougher, the air colder with each passing day. His enchanted cloak shielded him from the worst of the elements, but even it couldn't fully protect him from the biting wind that cut across the snow-covered plains. The journey tested him in ways he hadn't anticipated—not just physically, but mentally. The isolation gnawed at him, the silence broken only by the crunch of snow beneath his boots and the occasional howl of wind through the peaks.

At night, he would sit by his small fire, staring up at the stars, the vast emptiness of the north pressing in on him. He thought of the stories—the *Demon Snow Lion*, a creature of immense power, lurking in these very mountains. It had become more than just a beast to him. It was a reflection of his own need to grow, to overcome the doubts that had plagued him since the encounter with Hamel. If he could defeat it, perhaps he could silence those doubts once and for all.

After weeks of travel, Lore finally reached the foothills of the northern mountains. The landscape was stark, unforgiving. Jagged cliffs rose up like the teeth of a giant, their peaks lost in the swirling clouds of snow. This was the territory of the *Demon Snow Lion*.

He moved cautiously, his senses on high alert. The temperature had dropped sharply, and the wind howled as it funneled through the narrow passes between the cliffs. His breath fogged the air, and every step felt heavier under the weight of the snow.

The first sign was subtle, almost imperceptible. A faint disturbance in the snow—a patch that looked too smooth, too perfect to be natural. Lore knelt down, brushing away the powdery layer to reveal massive tracks, half-covered by the fresh snowfall. The paw prints were larger than anything he had seen before, each one as wide as his chest.

His heart pounded, but he kept his breathing steady. The tracks were fresh. The *Demon Snow Lion* was close.

For the next several hours, Lore followed the tracks deeper into the mountains. The air grew thinner, and the light began to fade as evening approached. He hadn't seen or heard anything yet, but he could feel it. The presence of the creature weighed on him, a silent pressure that grew with each step.

As the sun dipped behind the peaks, casting the mountains in a deep blue shadow, Lore spotted something that made him freeze in his tracks—a large, jagged formation of rocks at the base of one of the mountains. It was partially obscured by the snow, but the closer he got, the more he could see that the formation wasn't entirely natural. A dark opening loomed at its center, almost hidden from view.

A cave.

His pulse quickened. This was it—the lair of the *Demon Snow Lion*. He could feel it in the cold air that emanated from the entrance, in the way the wind seemed to hush as he approached.

He hesitated at the mouth of the cave, peering into the inky darkness. The air inside was frigid, carrying with it a faint smell—something musky and ancient. Lore tightened his grip on his sword. He had come too far to turn back now.

Summoning a small flame in the palm of his hand, he stepped inside.

The cave walls were rough, jagged with icicles hanging from the ceiling like teeth. His breath came out in clouds of mist as he moved deeper, the soft glow of his flame casting long shadows against the stone. Every step echoed in the cavernous space, the sound amplified by the silence around him.

And then, without warning, the ground beneath his feet shifted. A low, rumbling growl vibrated through the air, reverberating off the cave walls. Lore froze, his heart hammering in his chest. The air grew colder, almost unbearably so, and the growl deepened, turning into a low, menacing snarl.

The *Demon Snow Lion* was awake.

Somewhere in the darkness ahead, the creature stirred, its massive form moving with a grace that belied its size. Lore's flame flickered in his hand as he steeled himself for what was to come.

He had sought out this challenge, this battle. Now, there was no turning back.