Tiyan’s tired legs left footprints in the thick snow. The silent landscape seemed to laugh at his efforts, but the boy knew he couldn’t return home without a kill. Hunger was creeping into his house – and not just his. The whole Vennklan valley was frozen in time – held in cruel talons of eternal winter. It sapped their strength and drove them to despair. This winter felt harsher, as if it wanted to see how long they could live in these conditions without breaking in half.

Some were broken.

Some were still fighting.

Some, like Tiyan, had certain skills that helped them survive. Existence became a string of days that dragged through the snow like a wounded moose, an endless darkness with no hope for the better. Maybe only for the worse.

Tiyan felt the cold creep under his jacket and he tucked himself deeper into the layers of scarves. This kind of clothing slowed him down, but he had no choice. The freezing air liked to find holes in his defences.

He was equipped with a short spear, his freezing hands, which he couldn’t hide in gloves, were barely usable. But the wind, the cruel wind, had brought the scent of the carcass. That seemed to be a salvation.

Where there is fresh carcass, there is at least one anglor.

Anglors, the scavenging type of wolf that evolved during the long winter touched by decaying magic, were among the strongest and toughest animals in the Vennklan forests. But only they, and a few other species, hadn’t been touched by the dark spells that made them inedible. And even if the skin of an angler was full of rot, its flesh was clear and, though bitter in taste, didn’t cause illness.

Before the Fey invasion, no one would have thought of eating a canine. Now, twelve years after it, everything had changed.

The woods were filled with ill-fated creatures, sometimes people would disappear and return – white-haired, with dead eyes, almost frozen – but still breathing, like puppets held together by some unknown and terrifying force.

His father always told him that the Vennklan valley was still in better shape than the villages in the mountains, closer to the Unseelie Realm. This was only partly true. The animals they usually hunted lost their common sense and began to attack human settlements, mushrooms growing out of their skin, mouths full of blood, eyes blind – or the opposite, seeing too much. Decay took their minds and their instincts.

Then came magical abominations. Animals that were only partially touched by rot. Beasts that had been so altered by the magic that had seeped into Avras that they no longer resembled anything living. Yet they breathed and lived, dangerous as stepping over the abyss, bloodthirsty and ever stronger, ever better than their ancestors.

Magic crept from the Fae realm, untamed, wild and deadly.

And those who ventured too close to the Unseelie lands, the Fae lands, never returned. Devoured by the magical overgrowth of the Fae realm. No one knew what would happen to them, if they were killed – or worse. The Fae could appear beautiful and gracious, but their calculated ruthlessness was something all humans living in Avras knew only too well – and tried to avoid when given the chance.

The Fae were creatures of ancient times and ancient darkness. They possessed abilities beyond human comprehension, and their hearts were filled with black knowledge and night from the eve of time. They held all of Avra under their boot, from afar, but very effectively. Snow and ice bound the whole kingdom, making life in it dependent and cruel.

The stench of the carcass grew stronger. Tiyan fixed his cold hand on the spear and began to slowly cut through the bushes, trying to make as little noise as possible. The snow worked in his favour this time, muffling his tearing sounds as he crept through the branches and snow-covered foliage.

The only sound was that of the anglor. He was there. Tiyan’s heart began to beat hopefully. He really was there.

He closed the fingers of his left hand around the sharp knife. If the animal took the spear, he could finish it with a cut through the aorta.

The anglor was already slurping the blood, a loud noise for which the boy was grateful. The scent of the blood masked his own, and the noises the anglor made made Tiyan’s approach even more silent.

He peered from the bushes, trying to be as invisible as possible.

The beast was covered in old blood and old wounds. A colony of fungus was growing in the gash on its back, and its entire skin was covered in rot. Tiyan held his breath, waiting for the right moment to attack. The animal savoured the blood, bit through the bones and drank the marrow. Together with the overwhelming smell of decay, it made Tiyan sick, even though numerous hunts had taught him a certain resistance to such sights.

And then the beast spat blood and lunged at him, its horned head pointed straight at him.

Damn it, Tiyan wanted to pin the beast with his spear, aiming for its heart, but it quickly tore it from his fingers with sharp teeth. Its mouth dripped with thick saliva and something slimy and foamy. Do not let it bite you, he remembered his father’s words. One bite and you are dead, even if you walk for days without symptoms. His only chance now was the knife, but he would have to let the animal get very close, and that always meant risk.

Tiyan groaned and the anglor fell on him like a huge sack of potatoes, pinning him to the ground with its sharp claws and rotting body. Its long tongue worked dangerously close to his throat.

Tiyan groaned in anger and fear as the overwhelming stench of decay assaulted his senses. The rotting fur and flesh seemed to enter his mouth and choke him. He couldn’t let it, and his hand slowly began to move beneath the anglor’s massive body.

“Get. off. me…” he murmured into the fur, trying to find a spot where the rot was especially loose and his knife would penetrate the healthy flesh more easily. The beast growled right into his face, hitting him with a breath full of vermin and stench; Tiyan almost choked on it.

Its teeth were getting closer and closer to his own aorta. His hand worked desperately, his fingers crawling under the large body until he found it… a small loose spot where the rot was so deep it was beginning to eat away at the muscles. Tiyan struck the large head with his elbow, moving the anglor a little, but enough to free the hand… and plunge the knife straight into the attacking animal’s flesh.

The wolf screamed.

It was a real cry, pained, sad and shocked. Its eyes turned to him, even sadder. Almost human. Its pupils widened in horror and Tiyan felt a pang of guilt and a strange thought crept into his mind – if these beasts also suffer and how much they understand from their agonising condition. Are they mindless horrors – or, as he had always suspected, are they still animals of old, trapped in cages without locks or bars?

“I’m sorry,” Tiyan said, and slit its throat with a flick of his trembling hand.

Quickly.

He didn’t want to look into those eyes again.

As he stood over the corpse, trying to spit the rest of the diseased fur out of his mouth, he felt no victory, no elation from a job well done.

He thought only of how ugly this world had become.

And how much uglier it would become in the future.

Slowly, he began to strip the anglor of its rotten skin and cut off the healthy flesh.

The snow was coloured with blood. His hands barely moved, but he would never be able to carry the whole anglor on his back.

Cursed snow.

Everywhere and seemingly everything. Fitting into human bones with silent thorns.

It was everywhere, even in his heart.

Fighting the urge to vomit, he continued skinning until he had enough fresh meat to put in the sack and carry home. His sister was waiting for him, as were his father and mother. They waited for the hunter to return.

By the time he turned from the dead form of the skinned anglor, the sun was setting. In a hurry, Tiyan made his way to the Vennklan valley. At night, the darkness comes alive.

At night… the darkness grows hungry.