Snow fell in thick, relentless sheets, whipped into a frenzy by howling winds. A lone wagon creaked and groaned as it pushed forward through the heavy snow, its wheels struggling against the frostbitten path. Inside, a group of young adventurers huddled together, their breaths visible in the frigid air as the storm raged on outside.
The driver, a grizzled old man, stole a glance at his passengers. The adventurers sat quietly, tension thick in the air. Sensing the weight of their silence, he decided to break it with some small talk.
"I must say, you lads sure are brave," he mused, his voice rough from the winter cold. "Heading to Mount Draegnor this time of year, of all things." He shook his head. "So, what business do you have in those parts anyway?"
One of the adventurers, a young woman with long red hair and piercing crimson eyes, scowled at him. "That's none of your business, old man," she snapped. "Do us a favor—keep your mouth shut and your eyes on the road."
Her name was Raine, a skilled adventurer known for her greatsword technique—and her short temper.
Sitting beside her, a young woman with golden hair and gentle blue eyes placed a calming hand on her shoulder. "Now, now, Raine," she chided softly. "He's just trying to be nice, that's all. No need to bite his head off."
The driver chuckled, unfazed by Raine's harsh tone. "Just curious, that's all. I've heard Mount Draegnor is crawling with dangerous beasts—not exactly a place for a casual stroll."
That remark only made Raine's temper flare further. "Like I said, you old geezer—IT'S NONE OF YOUR DAMN BUSINESS!" she barked, clearly irritated.
Lyra sighed, shaking her head. "Raine, that isn't very nice. Please stop."
Across from them, another member of the party, a young man named Thorne, smirked. His blonde hair was tousled, and his brown eyes gleamed with amusement. "Raine, your true colors are showing again," he teased. "And honestly? It's not a very pretty look on you."
Raine clenched her fists in fury. "You want pretty?! I'll show you pretty—COME HERE!" She half-rose from her seat, ready to lunge at him.
"Both of you, stop it! Please!" Lyra interjected, her voice rising in frustration.
Before the argument could escalate further, another voice cut through the tension—a calm yet commanding tone.
"Enough," said Galen, the leader of their party. His brown hair was slightly disheveled, his black eyes sharp with authority. "Quit it."
Silence fell instantly. The bickering ceased, and all eyes turned to their leader. Under his firm gaze, the group reluctantly settled back into their seats. The tension in the air slowly simmered down.
Galen exhaled and leaned forward, addressing the driver. "If you must know why we're heading to Mount Draegnor—it's simple. We're on a hunt."
The old man met Galen's gaze, eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the adventurer's unwavering determination.
Then, without another word, he nodded and turned his focus back to the road. The conversation ended there.
Outside, the wind howled like a beast in the night, snow swirling violently around them. Inside the wagon, the heavy silence returned as they pressed onward, deeper into the heart of the storm—unaware of what awaited them ahead.
End of Chapter 1.