It was on a long night of the silent season that Varu‘kan walked alone into the heart of the Frostwood, following a call only he could hear. The snow muffled every sound but the soft hum of the runes that stirred beneath his skin, glowing faintly as though remembering something he had forgotten.

He knew this place.

Not from memory, but with instinct.

As the moon turned pale above him, his antlers crackled to life, arcs of frost fire tracing along their branches. The forest responded knowingly: ancient pines bowed beneath invisible weight, shadows lengthened, and the wind dared not breathe.

This was the night when the ancestors spoke.

He knelt in the snow and pressed his palms to the earth. At once the runic circle appeared around him, not drawn, not called, simply revealed, like a truth rising through ice.

From the trees came a whisper.

No words, nor song,

something older.

Shapes formed in the air, ghostly silhouettes of guardians long returned to the stars. They circled him, their voices weaving through the frozen dark like threads of silver. Their words were both prophecy and memory, reminding him of battles yet to come, victories already carried in his blood, wounds that were never his to heal.

Then the vision took him.

He saw the Winter Gate shattered, its spiral unfurling like a broken galaxy. He saw shadows boiling through the breach, clawing the sky. He saw himself standing alone at the edge of a frozen world, antlers blazing brighter than any sun.

And he saw a choice.

One path where he remained the eternal guardian.

One path where he broke his ancient vow and became something… more.

The vision dissolved as suddenly as it had come, leaving only silence, snow, and the faint tremble of starlight in his antlers.

He rose.

The whispers faded.

But the choice remained,

like a weight heavy as the paining heart, uncertain like the futures dream.

Tonight had not been a battle, nor a summoning, nor ritual .

Had it been a reminder? A warning?

Even gods dream.

And some dreams demand an answer…