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Gamble King Chapter 34. The Deeper North
🕑 Added 2025-08-30 04:16:15 +0000 UTCThe cave swallowed sound.
Not metaphorically. Literally. Whatever was going on at the entrance filtered out the world beyond until even the wind became a memory. The only sounds were the crackle of their small fire, the gentle bubble of snow melting in Marcus's battered tin pot, and the soft scrape of Max's knife against wood as he worked new fletching onto his damaged arrow.
The cave itself was disappointingly ordinary. Gray stone walls that curved back into darkness, a ceiling high enough that you couldn't touch it even standing on someone's shoulders, and a floor worn smooth by centuries of travelers seeking shelter. The rune-marked entrance let in just enough light to see by, though sunset turned everything the color of old blood.
Bubbles's lamb sizzled over the flames, fat dripping into the fire with small pops and hisses. The smell should have been mouth-watering after a day of hard travel. Instead, it mixed with the lingering memory of burnt mirrorkin and created something considerably less appetizing.
Nobody had spoken for the better part of an hour.
They kept looking at Bro.
The small white spider sat perched on Max's shoulder with what could only be described as patient dignity, occasionally tilting his head to observe Max's arrow work. His tiny form caught the firelight in ways that made the skull pattern on his abdomen seem to shift and move.
Dan hadn't stopped staring since they'd entered the cave.
Marcus kept glancing over, then looking away quickly, like he was afraid sustained eye contact might provoke something.
Even Bubbles, who'd spent weeks around the spider without comment, seemed to be seeing him differently now that flame-breathing had entered the equation.
Max finished tying off the new fletching and tested the arrow's balance. The gray goose feathers weren't as good as what he'd had before, but they'd do. He slid the arrow back into his quiver and finally looked up at his traveling companions.
"If Bro was dangerous," he said, "you'd have known by now."
The words hit the silence like a stone dropped into still water. Suddenly everyone was talking at once.
"Is that really a spider?" Dan asked.
"How did you get a beast like that?" Marcus demanded.
"Is it some kind of dragon?" Bubbles said.
"Dragons don't come that small," Dan protested.
"Maybe it's a baby dragon," Marcus suggested.
"Baby dragons don't exist," Bubbles said. "They're minor aspects, not from this world at all. They manifest or get summoned here, already formed. You can't just find a small one wandering around."
"How do you know that?"
"Everyone knows that."
"I didn't know that."
"Well, you should have—"
"He's not an it," Max interrupted. "He's a he. And he's not a beast."
They all stared at him.
"He's a..." Max paused, searching for words that wouldn't sound completely insane."Well. He's not a beast."
Bro straightened on Max's shoulder, his tiny form practically radiating pride. He spread his wings briefly—a flash of translucent membrane that caught the firelight—then folded them again and somehow managed to make his dragon-skull pattern more prominent.
Dan leaned forward, squinting in the flickering light. "Now that I look at it—him—those patterns really do look like a dragon skull."
"That's what I thought when I first saw him," Max said.
"So he is a dragon?" Marcus asked.
"I think he used to be. Maybe. It's complicated."
"How is being a dragon complicated?" Dan demanded.
"Because he's also a spider."
"That doesn't make sense."
"No," Max agreed. "It really doesn't."
Bubbles was studying Bro with the kind of intense focus he usually reserved for maps and supply lists. "When did you find him?"
"He found me. Dropped down from my ceiling one evening while I was practicing magic."
"And he could breathe fire then?"
"From the moment I met him," Max said. "First thing he did was scorch my ceiling."
"How much fire are we talking about?" Marcus asked.
"Enough to leave a black mark on it."
As if to prove the point, Bro hopped down from Max's shoulder and scurried across the cave floor to the pot of boiling water. He stood on his hind legs and peered into the steam, then looked back at Max with an unmistakably questioning expression.
"He wants to know if the tea's ready," Max said.
"How can you possibly know that?" Dan asked.
"Look at him."
They all looked. Bro was still standing beside the pot, head tilted at an angle that somehow perfectly conveyed polite inquiry.
"That's... actually pretty obvious," Bubbles admitted.
Max pulled the small pouch of tea leaves from his pack and added a pinch to the water. The smell of dried herbs and honey began to compete with the lamb for dominance of the cave's atmosphere.
Bro scurried back to Max's shoulder, apparently satisfied with this development.
"So he's intelligent," Marcus said. It wasn't really a question.
"Very intelligent."
"How intelligent?"
"He understands everything we're saying right now."
Dan's eyes widened. "Everything?"
"Every word."
Bro turned to look directly at Dan and performed what could only be described as a tiny bow.
"Oh, shit," Dan breathed. "He actually understood that."
"I told you he did."
"But spiders don't—dragons don't—" Dan gestured helplessly. "Things like this don't happen."
Marcus was still staring at Bro. "Can he understand us when we're not talking to him directly?"
"Can you understand people when they're not talking to you directly?" Max asked.
"Well, yes, but—"
"Same principle."
Bro seemed to find this conversation amusing. His tiny form began to glow softly, not the orange warning light from before, but something warmer, yellowish.
"Why is he glowing?" Dan asked nervously.
"Because he's happy."
"Happy?"
"You're paying attention to him. He likes attention."
As if to confirm this, Bro's glow brightened slightly.
"Actually," Bubbles said, settling back against the cave wall, "that's not quite right about dragons manifesting fully formed."
The others turned to look at him. Even Bro seemed interested, his tiny head swiveling toward Bubbles with what looked like curiosity.
"My grandfather told me the real story when I was young. Dragons are minor aspects, yes. Destruction, authority, sometimes greed or wrath. But when they cross into our world, they cannot just appear as full dragons. The barriers between realms will not allow something that powerful through." Bubbles poked at the fire with a stick, sending sparks spiraling up into the darkness. "So they find a living creature and... take it over. Slowly, bit by bit."
"Take it over how?" Dan asked.
"They inhabit the body. Change it from within. The creature starts small, but the dragon's essence reshapes it over time. First juvenile size, then larger, then larger still. Dragons never stop growing, you know." Bubbles paused, staring into the fire. "Once they form, to kill them for good, you need to destroy their heart. The heart that was retrieved in Dragonmeet by Harek was from a juvenile dragon like that, Feynir. I think he was killed since the time of Bjorn."
Feynir. Max knew that name. Feynir the Red Dragon, chapter 2038 of the Chronicles of Bjorn.
An aspect of pride, lust and greed who had made a habit of kidnapping women and hoarding treasures. He had taken the current king's only daughter—Princess Lyralei, Aelara's cousin, who happened to be Bjorn's lover.
She had died in captivity, and Bjorn had hunted the dragon down in a fit of rage. Three days and three nights of battle before Feynir finally fell. Max remembered writing a lengthy rant about that particular storyline back in his forum days.
So that was the soul that had entered Bro, then?
The author had treated dragons like any other creature—big, magical, dangerous, but never explained where they came from or how they worked.
Did that mean Bro would eventually grow into a full dragon?
....Into Feynir?
"The creature they enter," Max said carefully, "would it have the dragon's personality eventually?"
Bubbles shrugged. "I suppose they would? I do not know that for certain, but it would make sense, no? The dragon takes over totally from the start, so the personality is already there. Though it is strange. Your spider seems... submissive."
Right. If Feynir was taking over the spider, he would never be this submissive. Dragons were not submissive creatures as it was totally against their nature. Pride, dominance, the need to rule and hoard and destroy. Bro was nothing like that.
Somehow, this seemed to be a special case.
He looked down at the small spider still glowing contentedly on his shoulder. Bro caught his gaze and performed another tiny bow, clearly pleased with the attention.
Of course, there was always the possibility that Bubbles was wrong. A little research on that matter would be needed after this year.
Max found himself smiling despite the implications. "Well," he said, "the meat looks ready. Why don't we eat first, then have the tea after?"
"Good idea," Marcus said, already reaching for his knife. "I'm famished."
Max pulled out his pouch of tea leaves again. "Gerth gave me these. Said they help with recovery after long days of travel. Should leave us fully rested when we wake."
"Gerth knows about travel recovery?" Dan asked.
"Gerth knows about everything that keeps people alive and working."
They carved portions from the lamb and settled into the business of eating. The meat was better than it had smelled—properly seasoned, cooked through but still tender. After a day of cold travel and mirrorkin encounter, hot food felt like a small blessing.
Bro hopped down to investigate the meal, standing on his hind legs to peer at the proceedings with obvious interest.
"Does he eat meat?" Marcus asked.
"He prefers it," Max said, tearing off a small piece and offering it to the spider.
Bro accepted the morsel with dignity and began consuming it with what could only be described as enthusiasm.
"That's the strangest thing I've seen today," Dan said. "And today included a shapeshifter."
They ate in comfortable quiet, the cave's sound-dampening effect making their small meal feel cut off from the world beyond.
Outside, night was falling over the northern wilderness. Inside, surrounded by warm firelight and the smell of cooked meat, it was possible to forget about the long journey still ahead.
The tea would come later, when they were ready to sleep.
***
Bro had woven himself a small web bed at the entrance of the cave. Proper positioning for guard duty while his Great Master rested.
Not that He needed rest, of course – such a powerful being surely had deeper reasons for this ritual. Everything the Great Master did had meaning.
The day had been most enlightening.
When the Great Master had bestowed upon him the name "Bro," Bro had felt a surge of rightness. Yes. This was who he was. Not some ancient thing called Feynir - that name felt foreign, like ill-fitting silk. Bro was correct. Bro was his true self. Names were important things, after all. They defined the essence of a being.
The Great Master understood this, naturally.
The mirrorkin encounter had been handled with typical magnificence by his Lord. And the sage, Bubbles, had provided useful information, though Bro found his theories about dragon souls rather crude and incomplete.
Dragons were prideful, dominating creatures who bowed to none. This was fundamental truth. Dragons hoarded treasures and commanded lesser beings through fear and power. Dragons burned kingdoms and demanded worship.
Yet Bro knew, with absolute certainty deeper than bone, that he was Bro - loyal companion to the Great Master.
He served willingly. He found joy in his Master's approval. He had no desire to hoard or dominate or burn. The sage's theories suggested this should be impossible, that the dragon's nature should overwhelm all else.
But truth was truth, and Bro was Bro.
Perhaps the Great Master's power was so overwhelming that even ancient dragon essences bent to his will. Or perhaps Bro was simply special. Either way, the contradiction did not trouble him.
His identity was clear.
During his contemplations, movement caught his attention. Far outside the cave, a silhouette stood watching them. Female form, by the shape. At first, he thought treachery, after all, what manner of creature prowled in darkness save those with wicked intent?
His web tensed, ready to launch him toward the threat. But the creature remained still. Motionless. Waiting.
Closer observation revealed more details. Human female, entirely unclothed despite the bitter cold. Her hair hung forward, concealing her features completely.
Most peculiar was her skin – it glowed with pale luminescence, like moonlight given form. The sight stirred unease in Bro's core. Malevolence radiated from her like heat from forge-fire.
Yet she did not approach. Clearly, the Great Master's presence deterred her. Wise of her. His Lord's power was beyond mortal comprehension.
Bro maintained his vigil throughout the night, observing the strange watcher. She never moved. Never spoke. Simply stood in the distance, that eerie glow emanating from her flesh. When the first pale light of dawn touched the horizon, she vanished as if she had never been.
Most curious indeed.
***
The first pale rays of dawn filtered through the cave entrance, pulling Max from a surprisingly restful sleep. The tea Gerth had given him really was something special - he felt more refreshed than he had any right to after sleeping on stone.
"Good morning," he said quietly, sitting up and stretching. The fire had burned down to glowing embers during the night.
"Morning," Marcus replied, already awake and rolling up his bedroll. "Sleep well?"
"Better than expected. That was a good night." Max looked around the cave with satisfaction. Warm, dry, safe - exactly what they'd needed after the mirrorkin encounter.
Dan stirred next, followed by Bubbles, who emerged from deeper in the cave where he'd made his sleeping spot. Soon they were all moving about, packing their gear and preparing for another day of travel.
"Anyone hungry?" Marcus asked, pulling strips of beef jerky from his pack. "Not much, but it'll get us started until we can find something better."
They gathered around the dying fire, sharing the dried meat and passing around waterskins. Max pulled out his map and spread it on the ground, the others leaning in to study their route.
"We're still together for the next three days," Max said, tracing the path with his finger. "Then Marcus branches off here, toward the northeastern settlements."
"That's right," Marcus confirmed.
"Dan leaves us the day after that," Max continued, "and Bubbles the day after that. Then it's just me and Bro heading into the deep north."
Bubbles nodded.
They finished their meager breakfast and began the process of breaking camp. Max scattered the embers and made sure the fire was completely out, while the others shouldered their packs and checked their gear.
Bro scuttled down from his web near the entrance, looking alert and well-rested despite having kept watch all night. He climbed up to his usual perch on Max's shoulder.
"Ready?" Max asked, adjusting his pack straps.
The others nodded, and they stepped out into the crisp morning air, leaving the cave's warmth behind for another day on the road.
The deeper northern wilderness stretched ahead of them like something carved from winter itself. For five days, they walked through landscapes that seemed carved from winter itself—pine forests that stretched to the horizon, valleys carved by ancient glaciers, ridgelines that cut sharp lines against pale skies.
Max had never seen anything like it.
In the mornings, frost turned every surface into crystal. The trees stood like silent sentinels, their branches heavy with snow that fell in soft whispers when the wind picked up. At midday, when the sun broke through the clouds, the whole world blazed white and gold.
"Beautiful," Bubbles said on the second day, stopping to catch his breath at the crest of a particularly steep hill. "Makes you understand why the tribes consider this sacred land."
"Sacred and trying to kill us," Marcus replied, adjusting his pack straps. "Look at those storm clouds."
Dan squinted at the horizon where dark clouds gathered like an approaching army. "We'll reach the next shelter before they hit us. Probably."
They did. Barely.
The marked caves and blessed groves that dotted their route provided reliable sanctuary each night. Stone alcoves carved with Hedrig's rune, ancient trees whose trunks had been hollowed and blessed, abandoned watchtowers that still held their protective wards.
Each shelter felt like stepping into a pocket of safety in a world that wanted them dead.
The sounds started on the first night.
Max lay on his bedroll, listening to something howl in the distance. Not a wolf—he knew what wolves sounded like. This was deeper, more resonant, like stones grinding together.
"What is that?" Dan whispered.
"Don't know," Marcus replied. "Don't want to know."
The howling was answered by something else. A shriek that made the hair on Max's arms stand up even through his wool sleeves.
"The wards will hold," Bubbles said quietly. "That's why we use the marked shelters."
"Yeah," Max said. "That's why."
But sleep came slowly that first night.
By the third night, they'd grown accustomed to the symphony of inhuman sounds that echoed through the darkness. Howls, shrieks, things that sounded almost like human voices calling for help. Max learned to wrap his cloak around his head and focus on the crackling of their small fire.
During the days, they walked. And walked. And walked some more.
The rhythm of it was almost meditative after a while. Boot steps crunching through snow, the whisper of wind through pine branches, the occasional crack of ice settling somewhere in the forest. They talked less as the days wore on, but when they did, the conversation flowed easily.
"So Garrett Thorne," Marcus said on the second day, pronunciation carefully exaggerated. "That's quite the grand surname for a farmer's boy."
"It's an old name," Bubbles replied defensively. "Goes back generations."
"Oh, I'm sure it does. Very distinguished."
Dan snorted. "What's next? Are you going to tell us your great-great-grandfather was a knight?"
"He was a successful farmer," Bubbles said with dignity. "Which is harder than being a knight, if you ask me. Knights just hit things with swords. Farmers have to make things grow."
"Fair point," Max said. "Though I notice you're trying to become a knight yourself."
"Well, yes. But that's different."
"How?"
"Because I'm terrible at farming."
Marcus laughed. "There's honesty for you."
"My father despaired of me completely," Bubbles continued. "Couldn't tell wheat from weeds, killed every plant I touched, couldn't even milk a cow properly."
"How do you mess up milking a cow?" Dan asked.
"You'd be surprised how many ways there are to do it wrong."
"Such as?"
"Well, first you have to catch the cow..."
The conversation devolved into increasingly ridiculous stories about agricultural failures, with each of them trying to top the others' tales of incompetence. It made the miles pass quickly.
Max used the walking time to think about magic.
Each evening, while the others prepared their meal and bedded down for the night, Max pulled out the spellbooks he'd copied from Oberyn Blackwater's collection. Lightning spells, specifically. He'd memorize the incantations during the day, then practice the hand movements and focus exercises by firelight.
The progress was minimal.
On the second night, he managed to generate a small spark between his fingers. It lasted maybe half a second and left his hand tingling for an hour.
"What was that?" Bubbles asked, looking up from his bedroll.
"Nothing useful," Max replied, closing the book with a sigh.
But he kept trying. Every night, another attempt. Another small failure.
The landscape around them grew wilder with each passing day. The trees were larger here, older, their trunks thick enough that it would take four men holding hands to circle them. Snow lay deeper in the hollows, and the paths became less distinct.
"We're getting into the real north now," Dan said on the fourth day, stopping to examine tracks in the snow. "Look at the size of these prints."
Max crouched beside him. The tracks were strange—cloven hooves, but larger than any deer he'd ever seen. Deep gouges in the frozen ground suggested something much heavier than a normal animal.
"What makes tracks like that?" Marcus asked.
"Nothing good," Dan replied, shouldering his pack. "We should move."
They moved.
That evening, Max sat by their fire sketching in a leather-bound journal he'd brought along. Drawing used to be a hobby for him. He'd filled notebooks with fantasy art, trying to capture the images that lived in his imagination.
Now he was living in those images.
He sketched the pine forest they'd walked through that morning, the way shadows fell between the massive trunks. The ice formations they'd seen hanging from cliff faces like frozen waterfalls. The strange, twisted trees that grew near the blessed groves, their branches forming patterns that seemed almost intentional.
"You're good at that," Bubbles said, peering over his shoulder at the sketch.
"Thanks. It's been a while since I had time to draw."
"What's that supposed to be?" Marcus asked, pointing at a half-finished sketch on the previous page.
Max looked down at his attempt to draw Bjorn as he'd always imagined him—broad-shouldered and fierce, with intelligent eyes and scars that told stories. "Bjorn of Ursa."
"Bjorn looks different than I pictured him," Dan observed.
"That's the thing about stories," Max replied, adding shading to the figure's cloak. "Everyone sees them differently."
The wilderness around them was full of wonders that no story had adequately captured. On the third day, they'd seen a grove where every tree had silver bark that chimed softly in the wind. On the fourth, they'd witnessed aurora dancing across the afternoon sky in impossible colors.
Magic was real here in ways that made Max's small lightning sparks seem pathetic by comparison.
But Dan was growing increasingly tense as they traveled deeper north.
"Something's been following us," he said on the morning of the fourth day, crouched beside a stream where they'd stopped to refill their water skins.
"Following us how?" Marcus asked.
"Tracks. Always about a mile behind, keeping pace." Dan pointed to marks in the soft earth beside the water. "Cloven hooves, but massive. And they're staying too close."
"Deer don't usually track humans," Bubbles said.
"This isn't a normal deer." Dan's expression was grim. "Something much larger. And it's not running from us."
They'd been more careful after that. Dan ranged ahead during the day, checking for signs, while Marcus watched their back trail. Whatever was following them stayed just out of sight, but the tracks kept appearing.
"It's testing us," Dan explained as they made camp that evening. "Seeing if we'll make a mistake, get careless."
"What kind of mistake?" Max asked.
"Get separated. Leave someone behind. Travel at night." Dan poked at their fire with a stick. "Patient predators wait for opportunity."
"How long will it follow us?"
"Until we leave its territory. Or until it decides we're worth the risk." Dan's smile was grim. "Let's hope for the former."
They reached the first junction on the afternoon of the fifth day.
The path split here, one branch continuing north while another angled toward the northeast. According to their maps, this was where Marcus would leave them, heading toward the settlements where his assigned hermit waited.
They made camp early, wanting time for a proper farewell.
"Been good traveling with you lot," Marcus said as they sat around their fire that evening. "Better company than I expected when this whole thing started."
"Speaks well of our low expectations," Dan replied. "Amazing what you can bond over when you're all equally likely to die horribly."
"Cheerful as always," Max said.
"I prefer 'realistic.'"
"Well, I'll miss your sunny disposition," Marcus said. "And your ability to spot tracks before whatever made them spots us."
"Just remember what I taught you about reading the ground," Dan said. "Could save your life."
Max had grown fond of all three of his traveling companions over the past days. Marcus's dry humor and steady competence. Dan's expertise and cheerful pessimism. Bubbles's endless curiosity and unshakeable optimism.
They felt like real friends now, not just people thrown together by circumstance.
"Promise me something," Marcus said, looking around the fire at each of them. "When this year is over, when we're all back at Frosthold, we'll share a drink and swap lies about how dangerous our hermits were."
"Mine actually is dangerous," Max pointed out.
"Well, you'll have the best stories then."
They woke before dawn to clear skies and bitter cold. The fire had burned down to glowing coals, and frost covered everything in a crystalline shell.
Marcus packed his gear efficiently, checking his map one final time before shouldering his pack.
"This is it then," he said.
They gathered at the path junction, breath steaming in the cold air. The moment felt heavier than Max had expected.
"Marcus Ironhold," Bubbles said, extending his hand. "Good luck out there."
"And to you, Garrett Thorne of the distinguished farming Thornes." Marcus clasped the offered hand. "Try not to kill any plants during your Proving Year."
"I'll do my best."
"Stay safe out there," Dan said, gripping Marcus's shoulder. "Don't trust anyone completely, but don't assume everyone's an enemy either."
"I'll remember that."
Finally, Marcus turned to Max.
"Harek," he said simply. "Try not to die. I'd hate to lose drinking money to Jormund's bet."
"I'll keep that in mind."
They clasped hands briefly.
Marcus turned and walked away without looking back, his figure growing smaller as he followed the northeastern path toward whatever fate awaited him.
Max watched until Marcus disappeared around a bend in the trail.
When he turned back to the others—
Dan was lying face-down in the snow.
Max blinked. Dan's pack was still on his shoulders, his walking stick still gripped in one hand. But something about the way he was lying looked wrong.
"Dan?" Bubbles called. "What are you doing?"
Max stepped closer. Dan wasn't moving. There was blood spreading in the snow around his head. A lot of blood.
The back of his skull was caved in, brain matter scattered across the white ground like gray porridge.
Before Max could even react, something massive slammed into him from behind.
He felt the the tips of a sharp wood punch through his back and emerge from his chest in twin fountains of blood. The pain was immediate and absolute, like being struck by lightning made of agony.
The impact sent him sliding forward along the antler tines until his back pressed against the creature's skull. He could feel his ribs cracking, his lungs filling with blood.
Through the ringing in his ears, he heard Bubbles screaming.
Max managed to turn his head. The creature stood over Dan's body, roughly deer-shaped but wrong in every detail. Too large, too tall, antlers that branched and twisted like bare winter trees now slick with Max's blood.
The thing shook him off its antlers like a dog shaking water. Max hit the snow hard, blood pouring from the holes in his chest and back.
Huff... huff...
The creature rose up on its hind legs like a man, reaching down to grasp its front hooves. With a wet tearing sound, the hooves came free, revealing human-like hands underneath. It wiggled its fingers at Max and... smiled.
The fuck? Was what Max wanted to say, but could only gurgle in pain.
Bro erupted in flames on Max's shoulder.
A jet of orange fire engulfed the creature's head. It shrieked and threw itself backward, rolling in the snow, beating at the flames with its newly freed hands.
When the fire died, the thing looked at the small white spider and its smile turned to a snarl of pure rage. It started toward them.
Bro flamed it again.
This time the creature had enough. Still burning, it turned and loped away into the forest on its human-like feet, screaming in rage and pain.
Max tried to speak but only managed to gurgle. Blood filled his throat, his lungs, everything. He was drowning from the inside.
His vision darkened. The world faded.
[Number of rerolls remaining: 10]
***
The In-Between was starting to feel like an old friend. Which was deeply concerning, all things considered.
Max floated in the familiar void, consciousness detached from pain, blood, and the general inconvenience of having antlers punched through his torso. The numeral 10 pulsed gently before him.
He'd just lived through a horror movie.
The kind of thing that started with a group of friends on a nice trip and ended with most of them dead in increasingly creative ways. Peaceful morning, saying goodbye to Marcus, walking down a snowy path, and then—
Wham. Dan face-down in the snow with his skull caved in.
No warning. No dramatic music. No chance to react. Just instant, brutal death.
And the thing that had done it... Max tried to process what he'd seen. Deer-shaped but wrong. Too tall, too intelligent. The way it had stood up like a person and removed its hooves like they were gloves, revealing human hands underneath.
That casual smile as it looked at him.
The memory made his disembodied consciousness shudder.
But the creature wasn't completely unknown. He'd seen something like it before, in one of the books he'd brought along for his Proving Year. The bestiary Tredor had recommended—a collection of northern monsters and their weaknesses.
Max focused on the memory. Pages and pages of detailed illustrations and clinical descriptions. Creatures that hunted in packs. Things that mimicked human voices. Beasts that fed on specific emotions.
And something that looked like a deer but wasn't.
Dan had first mentioned the tracks on the fourth day. Said something had been following them since the third day, staying about a mile back. Patient predator, he'd called it. Testing them.
Max considered his options. He could go back to the beginning of their journey and prevent the encounter entirely. But that would burn through multiple rerolls just to avoid one threat, and who knew what other dangers waited ahead? His rerolls weren't infinite. He needed to use them strategically.
Better to go back just far enough to be prepared. The morning after Dan had first noticed the tracks, when they knew something was following them but still had time to plan.
The numeral 10 pulsed again, patient as a heartbeat.
Max focused his awareness on the number, pressing against it with his consciousness. It flashed bright, then shattered into fragments of light.
The void collapsed around him.
[Number of rerolls remaining: 08]
***
Fifth day. One day before the attack.
Max opened his eyes to gray stone and the fading warmth of dying embers. Early morning light filtered through the cave entrance, pale and cold. Someone was already stirring—Dan, rolling up his bedroll efficiently.
"Morning," Marcus said, poking at the fire to coax it back to life. "Sleep well?"
"Well enough," Max replied, sitting up and immediately reaching for his pack.
Bro scuttled over from his web near the entrance, climbing to his usual perch on Max's shoulder with a tiny chirp of greeting.
"Morning, Bro," Max said absently, pulling items from his pack with deliberate purpose.
"Looking for something?" Bubbles asked, emerging from deeper in the cave.
"This," Max said, producing the leather-bound bestiary. He opened it and began flipping through pages with obvious intent.
The others watched with growing curiosity as Max searched through illustrations of increasingly disturbing creatures.
"Educational reading?" Dan asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You mentioned tracks yesterday," Max said, still turning pages. "Large cloven hooves, following us. I want to check something."
Dan's expression sharpened. "You think you know what's making them?"
"Wendigo," Max read aloud. "A malevolent entity found in the deepest reaches of the northern wilderness. Though it bears the semblance of a great elk or stag, learned men warn that this appearance conceals a cunning and terrible intelligence."
Dan leaned forward, studying the image. "The hooves match what I saw in the tracks."
Max continued reading. "The creature is known to observe its prey for many days before striking, learning their habits and weaknesses. It possesses the ability to conceal human-like hands beneath what appear to be natural hooves, allowing it to manipulate objects and terrain in ways no true beast could manage."
"Well, that's unsettling," Marcus said dryly.
"Gets worse," Max said. "Scholars who have studied surviving accounts note the wendigo's particular cruelty—it prefers to attack when its prey is most vulnerable, often targeting moments of separation or distraction to maximize terror among survivors."
Bubbles peered at the illustration with a stern face. "So it's not just following us. It's studying us."
"Waiting for the right moment," Dan confirmed grimly. "When we're distracted, separated, or vulnerable."
"Like when someone leaves the group," Max said, looking meaningfully at Marcus.
Marcus's face went pale. "You think it's waiting for tomorrow? When I split off?"
"I think it's smart enough to know that smaller groups are easier targets," Max replied.
Max turned the page, reading the notes on combat. "Recorded weaknesses include sensitivity to flame, which causes the creature great pain and forces temporary retreat. Extreme cold beyond its natural tolerance may slow its movements. Multiple attacks to the same location have been observed to cause lasting harm, suggesting it can be killed through persistent effort."
"Fire," Dan mused. "We can work with fire."
"We have Bro," Max said, glancing at the small spider on his shoulder. "He breathes fire."
"A spider's worth of fire against something that size?" Marcus shook his head. "Might not be enough."
Max closed the book, considering. There was something else he remembered from those brief moments before the antlers punched through his chest. When he'd looked into the creature's intelligent eyes, he'd seen something floating above its head. He wasn't completely certain, but it had looked like the number 4.
Four rerolls. If he could kill the thing, he'd get those back. More insurance for whatever other horrors waited ahead in his Proving Year.
"I have a plan," he said.
Comments
bar.none
Just caught up on this series, really enjoying it, hope you continue to write it!
Tejas Patel
Damn has this been abandoned?
Chase D
When’s the next chapter?
Gernot Bahle
Just read up on the last chapter, really pumped for this arc ❤️ Minor typo, when they do their travel planning, it says Marcus will split off in 3 days, should be five :)
SC
Looking forward to the next chapters. This is one of the best stories in Patreon.
R. Maxwell Steele
The spider dragon seems very derivative of Brock the bro-rilla from Road to Mastery.
Harley Dalton Jr.
Thanks for the chapter.
Ace_the_owl
Hope you guys will have a great week-end!
