CHAPTER 73: LOST IN THE SNOW

The road seemed swallowed by white. Damon pulled on the horse’s reins, his muscles tense, feeling the animal shudder with each gust from the north. The sky was shrouded in dense clouds, so thick they made it impossible to discern where the horizon ended. The wind howled, sweeping the snow in blinding curtains. The cold was no longer just a sensation: it was a presence, a rough hand gripping bones and lungs.

Ester, in front, rode with a firm stance, her dark blue hood fastened with a silver brooch. Her voice pierced the gale:

"Don’t stay away!" she ordered, turning her face just enough to meet his gaze.

Damon raised his hand in agreement. He knew she wasn’t speaking out of concern—it was always calculation. In those conditions, one wrong step was all it took to be lost in the endless white.

The sound of hooves, muffled by the soft snow, was the only rhythm that gave the impression of progress. The trail they were following disappeared seconds later, covered by the gusts that fell like blades.

With each passing minute, the blizzard intensified. The wind roared through the twisted trees, bending branches, scattering dry leaves that, mixed with the snow, swirled like specters. Damon kept his eyes half-closed, shielding them with his free hand, but his vision was reduced to blurred shapes: the back of Ester’s horse ahead, the bluish shadow of her cloak.

They advanced like this, cautiously, for long minutes that felt like hours. Damon felt his face burning, his beard covered in ice crystals. His fingers began to stiffen against the leather of the reins.

Ester raised her voice again, almost shouting against the wind:

"We’re separated, we’re dead. Stay close!"

He opened his mouth to reply, but the wind swallowed his words.

That was when the storm roared. A violent gust hit them both, nearly knocking them from their saddles. Damon’s horse reared, neighing loudly, and instinct made him hold on tight. Snow flew into his eyes, his vision fading.

"Esther!" he shouted, but his voice was drowned out by the deafening roar of the blizzard.

When he managed to open his eyes, she was gone.

Damon’s heart raced. He pulled on the reins, trying to force the horse to turn. Nothing. Everything was white. No blue shadows, no human movement. Only the steady hum of the wind and the crackling of trees in the distance.

His breathing quickened. A pang of panic threatened to rise, but Damon suppressed it. "Think. Think."

The horse was breathing heavily, its nostrils releasing steam in nervous jets. Damon slid from the saddle, sinking knee-deep into the freshly fallen snow. His cloak flapped like a flag about to tear.

"Ester!" he tried again, turning in every direction. Nothing.

A crushing silence mingled with the roar of the wind, creating a surreal feeling of emptiness. Damon clutched his spear to his body. The cold penetrated his bones, but that wasn’t what bothered him: it was the fact that he was alone.

Move forward? Go back? Search in circles? Every direction felt the same. Each step sank into the pathless white.

The wind blew harder, nearly knocking him off his feet. Damon closed his eyes for a moment. A quick, unexpected image invaded his mind: Ester sleeping against him, her blue hair spread across the pillow. The memory of her body heat, of their involuntary embrace, shot through him like a snap.

He gritted his teeth. "Damn it..." he muttered, turning away again. "Where have you gotten yourself into?"

The storm was relentless. Damon began walking cautiously, one hand on the horse’s halter so as not to lose it too. Snow pelted his face like sharp sand. He held his spear steady, not as a weapon now, but as a support to keep from sinking too deeply.

From time to time, he shouted her name, but only received an echo distorted by the gale. It was as if the blizzard itself mocked his efforts.

Time ceased to exist. It could have been minutes or hours—it was impossible to measure. His muscles began to scream, exhaustion seeping in like a slow poison. The cold bit into every exposed patch of skin.

And yet, Damon continued. One step after another, as if driven only by obstinacy. "She can’t have gone far. She can’t."

A distant shadow caught his eye. Small, indistinct, but different from the uniform white. He squinted, trying to focus. His heart raced: perhaps it was Esther.

"Esther!" he shouted with all his remaining strength.

The shadow didn’t respond. It moved slowly, staggering.

Damon pulled the horse back and sped forward, ignoring the pain in his legs. Each step felt like a plunge into emptiness.

As he got closer, his heart sank. It wasn’t Esther. It was a broken log, covered in snow, being blown back and forth by the wind.

He stopped, panting, his chest burning. His whole body screamed at him to give up, to take shelter under a tree, to wait out the storm. But the memory of her, her face relaxed in sleep, her unconscious whisper, wouldn’t let him.

"I won’t lose you now..." he murmured to himself.

The blizzard, as if mocking him, grew even worse. Now the world was a swirling white mass. His bearings were gone. Damon no longer knew north or south, where the trail or the inn was.

The horse snorted wearily. Damon ran his hand over the animal’s neck, trying to calm it, but the truth was, he himself was beginning to waver. His fingers were numb, his lips chapped.

He thought of Ester again. He imagined her lost somewhere in that same storm, perhaps screaming his name in vain. The thought tightened his chest more than the cold.

"Wait for me." "I’m here," he said softly, almost as a promise.

Then he straightened his shoulders and continued.

Time dragged cruelly. Damon no longer knew if he was still going straight or in circles. The snow blinded him, the wind roared in his ears. But he kept calling:

"Esther!"

Until, suddenly, a different sound.

It wasn’t an echo. It wasn’t wind. It was faint, but real. A distant voice.

Damon stopped, his heart racing. He closed his eyes, trying to hear beyond the roar. There it was—a brief call, almost swallowed by the storm.

He didn’t think twice. He gripped his lance and halter tightly, pulled the horse, and advanced in that direction, stumbling, falling, getting up. The sound repeated, a little clearer.

And finally, between the curtains of snow, he glimpsed something blue.

The blue silhouettes against the curtain of snow weren’t Ester. Damon realized too late.

The monstrous figure loomed before him, almost twice the height of a man. The wind swept away the snow piled on the ground, revealing the creature in all its imposing form: a colossal ape, its white fur tinged with blue, as if sculpted by the storm itself. Its eyes glowed glacially, cruel and savage, and each breath exhaled icy vapor.

The beast raised its gigantic fists and began hammering its chest, the sound echoing like thunder muffled by the roar of the blizzard. Each blow reverberated in Damon’s chest, while the horse whinnied in despair, rearing as if to escape this nightmare.

"Oh, great..." Damon tightened his grip on the shaft of his spear, his gaze narrowed, the smirk that only appeared when death was near. "Just what I needed... a psychotic snow monkey."

The monster opened its mouth, baring yellowed fangs, and let out a roar so deep that the surrounding snow was kicked up in waves. The air shook, and Damon felt the ice slam into his face like razor blades.

Then the creature charged forward, crushing the ground with each step. The snow cratered beneath its colossal weight, chunks of ice flying like shrapnel.

Damon backed away firmly, pulling on the reins, but he knew he couldn’t fight the horse in the chaos. He slapped the animal’s flank and shouted,

"Go! Get out of here, you idiot, before you’re dinner!"

The horse bolted, disappearing into the white curtain, leaving Damon alone in the open blizzard.

The ape raised its fist, as massive as a mountain boulder, and brought it down on him. The ground groaned under the impact, cracking like glass. Damon rolled to the side, snow exploding around him, and rose quickly, spear firmly in hand.

"Unbelievable strength, of course..." he murmured, straightening his stance, his eyes fixed on his enemy. "This is going to be fun."

The beast snorted, turning its head. Its icy eyes focused on him. With a savage roar, its open hand came in a sideways thrust, swift for something so large, like a wall trying to crush him.

Damon reacted. He lunged from the flank, the spearhead gleaming in the gray light of the blizzard, and drove the blade into the creature’s side.

The impact elicited a deafening roar. But when Damon pulled the weapon back, he realized: the cut had barely grazed the skin. The monster’s flesh was thick, tough as petrified leather.

"Tsk... stone skin. Of course." He twirled the spear in his fingers, ready for the answer.

The ape didn’t hesitate. It turned with terrifying agility, its arm sweeping through the air like a tree trunk ripped from the ground. Damon barely had time to leap back, but even without a direct hit, the wind from the blow hit him like a punch to the chest.

He flew a few meters, rolling in the snow until he landed on his back. His cape was covered in ice, his body aching. But his eyes remained unblinking, fixed on his enemy.

The beast pounded its fists against its chest again, its breath forming dense clouds, as if mocking him.

Damon spat on the ground and smiled, that reckless spark burning in his eyes.

"So that’s it, huh? Want to fight for territory with me?" The spear spun in his hand, cutting through the air with a hiss. "Great. I like an alpha male fight too."

The monkey roared, the storm answering his call.

And the fight truly began.