Sif climbed the narrow staircase slowly, each step a battle against muscles long unused. Two guards flanked him, one ahead, one behind, their boots ringing against the cold stone.
"Move it, prisoner," growled the guard behind him. "We don't have all day."
Six months.
Half a year spent locked away in solitary confinement, where the only company was the gnawing cold and the silence of his own thoughts. Sif had almost forgotten what it felt like to move freely.
They emerged into the prison yard — a wide, windswept expanse enclosed by towering walls of ice and stone.
Sif inhaled sharply as the northern air hit him, biting and pure.
For the third time in his life, he gazed up at the sky: a vast dome of grey clouds smothering the pale sun.
He closed his eyes, savoring the scent of freedom, faint and distant though it was.
His brief moment of peace was broken by the sharp voice of the warden, who approached flanked by two more guards.
"I had hoped you would stay longer, prisoner," the warden said with mock regret. "But something tells me we haven't seen the last of each other."
He gave a curt nod, and the guards moved to unshackle Sif's wrists and ankles.
Cold iron fell away with a clatter, leaving raw red marks on his skin.
Sif collected his meager belongings: an old pocket watch, a worn leather book, a silver longsword dulled by time, and a battered crossbow with only four bolts.
Finally, the great iron gates of Demon's Pit groaned open before him.
Without looking back, Sif stepped forward, feeling a strange lightness as he crossed the threshold into the open world.
The vast expanse of Estheria spread before him: endless frozen forests, craggy icebound mountains, and a sky heavy with snow.
For a long moment, he simply stood there, drinking it in — the silence, the cold, the vastness.
Then realization hit him like a slap.
He had no idea where he was.
Blinking against the wind, Sif turned and marched back toward the prison gates, raising a fist to pound against the iron door.
A moment later, a familiar grinning face appeared atop the wall.
"Miss us already?" called the guard, laughter in his voice.
Sif squinted up at him, trying not to shiver too obviously.
"Not quite. Do you happen to have a map? Or at least point me toward the nearest village or city?"
The guard threw his head back and barked a laugh.
"Map, he says! Ha!"
He shook his head, still chuckling.
"Just walk west. You'll find a little village eventually — has a miserable inn and even worse food."
He leaned forward, lowering his voice slightly.
"But here's a friendly bit of advice, lad: try to get there before nightfall."
Sif raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
The guard's grin widened into something more wicked.
"Because the wolves out there... they don't hunt rabbits. They prefer their meat young and fresh."
Sif stared at him for a heartbeat, then sighed heavily, adjusting the strap of his crossbow over his shoulder.
"Wonderful," he muttered under his breath. "Out of prison, straight onto the dinner menu."
Without waiting for further mockery, Sif pulled his coat tighter around himself and turned westward, boots crunching through the frozen earth.
Behind him, the guards' laughter echoed against the cliffs, fading as he plunged into the deep white wilderness — alone, but free.
The snow crunched beneath Sif's boots as he trudged westward, each breath misting the frigid air. The wilderness of Estheria loomed all around him—vast, silent, and indifferent to the struggles of a lone boy fresh out of prison.
The hours dragged on.
Twisted trees loomed like skeletal hands, their branches rattling in the icy wind. Every so often, Sif would glance over his shoulder, half-expecting to see wolves loping through the drifts behind him.
He hadn't seen a single soul.
No road, no smoke rising from chimneys, not even a broken fence to mark civilization.
"This is fine," Sif muttered, dragging his feet through knee-deep snow. "Just a little walk. Little bit of cold. Little bit of imminent death by wolves. Great first day of freedom."
His stomach growled.
His hands ached from the cold.
And the sun — what little could be seen of it — was slipping lower behind the mountains.
Panic began to gnaw at the edges of his mind.
How far was this stupid village, anyway?
Was he even walking west anymore?
What if the guard had just been messing with him for a laugh?
Sif came to a halt, turning in slow, miserable circles, squinting at the landscape.
Everything looked the same: white, grey, dead.
He threw up his hands in exasperation.
"Brilliant. Escaped the noose just to freeze to death in the middle of nowhere."
As if answering his complaint, a low, distant howl rolled across the frozen expanse.
It echoed off the cliffs, long and hungry.
Sif froze, every instinct in his body screaming.
Another howl answered the first, closer this time.
He didn't waste a second.
Swearing under his breath, he broke into a clumsy run, stumbling over roots and hidden stones, snow spraying around him.
He ran until his legs burned, until he could barely catch his breath.
Just when he thought he couldn't go any farther, he saw it—a thin plume of smoke rising between the trees, faint but real.
"Thank the Six," he said jokingly, forcing his aching limbs forward.
At last, through the tangle of the forest, the village came into view: a handful of squat wooden houses, half-buried under snowdrifts, their chimneys puffing out lazy trails of smoke.
Sif staggered toward it, half-crawling the last few steps.
Behind him, the howls faded into the distance, as if the beasts sensed that their prey had slipped through their jaws.
The first building he reached was a crooked inn, its sign creaking in the wind.
Sif didn't hesitate. He shoved open the door and stumbled inside, collapsing against the nearest wall.
Warmth hit him like a hammer — smoky, greasy, and absolutely glorious.
A few rough-looking villagers turned to stare at him: a scrawny, half-frozen boy covered in snow, clutching a battered sword and crossbow.
Sif gave them a crooked smile, teeth chattering.
"Evening," he rasped. "Is the stew as bad as they say?"
A beat of silence—then, to his immense relief, a few chuckles rolled through the room.
Maybe, just maybe, things were starting to look up