A few minutes earlier, inside their small home, Elara sat by the hearth, pulling a coarse brush made of boar bristles through Iska's thick winter coat. The great wolf lay patiently, her head resting on her paws, enjoying the attention. Elara, already dressed in her warmer patrol furs, paused and looked towards the door, a slight frown on her face. Alph should have been back by now.
"He's been acting strange these last few days, hasn't he, girl?" she murmured, more to herself than to the wolf. Iska's ear twitched in response. "All that extra running, the questions for Borin... even his talk yesterday." She sighed, resuming the rhythmic brushing. "I suppose it's to be expected. The Awakening ceremony, and now this business with the men in the woods... it's a lot for a boy to handle." She dismissed her own flicker of deeper concern with a shake of her head. It was just nerves. He was a good boy, but he thought too much for his own good sometimes.
Her brushing hand stilled mid-stroke. Iska had suddenly gone rigid beneath her touch, the relaxed posture instantly replaced by taut muscle. The wolf's head snapped up, a low, guttural growl rumbling deep in her chest as her ears swiveled, locking onto a direction outside. "What is it, girl? A fox?" Elara whispered, but even as she spoke, she felt it too. It was a subtle shift in the air, a prickling on her skin that was intimately familiar to her Frostmoon bloodline. It wasn't just the ambient cold of the mountain; it was a sudden, unnatural surge of frost elements, a focused vortex of power converging somewhere just beyond the northern edge of the village. And it was growing, fast.
Elara didn't hesitate. She grabbed the spear leaning by the door and burst out into the night, Iska a white streak of movement just ahead of her. They bolted towards the source of the disturbance, their feet barely seeming to touch the deep snow.
By the time they reached the small grove of pines, the phenomenon had escalated dramatically. Before them, a swirling tornado of snow and ice roared, as tall as two men stacked atop one another, its winds whipping loose powder and pine needles into a frenzy. It was thick enough that the swirling white walls were completely opaque, obscuring whatever—or whoever—was at its heart.
Just as Elara took a step forward, intending to plunge into the maelstrom to find its cause, a calm voice spoke from directly beside her. "Hold, Elara."
She gasped and spun around, her spear coming up defensively. The bark of a massive, ancient pine seemed to ripple, and from the solid wood, Old Man Hemlock stepped out as if passing through a mere curtain, his expression a mixture of profound awe and deep concern. A moment later, Borin emerged from the treeline on the opposite side of the clearing, his heavy axe already in his hand, his eyes wide as he took in the impossible scene.
"Teacher!" Elara cried out, her voice tight with panic. "What is that? We have to stop it!" Borin, meanwhile, took a defensive stance, his knuckles white around the haft of his axe. His pragmatic hunter's mind saw only a violent, unnatural storm, a threat to be faced.
Hemlock, however, raised a calming hand, his gaze fixed on the swirling snow. A flicker of recognition, of memory, softened the deep lines of his face. He'd seen this once before, years ago, when a much younger Elara had first truly tapped into her Frostmoon heritage. "Peace, both of you," he said, his voice low but cutting through the roar of the wind. "Look closer. It is not a storm of wild destruction. It has a focus. This is a resonance… a spontaneous awakening. There is no danger to him. On the contrary," he turned his awe-filled gaze back to the vortex, "this is a very, very good thing."
Him. The word cut through Elara's battle-ready panic like a shard of ice. Her mind instantly connected Hemlock's pronoun with the faint, familiar resonance she felt from the vortex – the unique signature of the Frostmoon bloodline. A dawning, impossible realization washed over her. It wasn't just frost magic; it was their frost magic. It was Alph. Her tense, aggressive posture slackened, the spear lowering slightly. The fear of a wild magical event was instantly replaced by a different, sharper, and far more personal worry for the boy at the center of the storm. Borin, seeing Elara's shift and trusting Hemlock's calm authority over his own bewildered senses, cast one last uncertain look at the elder before letting out a slow breath and easing his grip on his axe, choosing to watch and wait.
Hemlock gave Elara a reassuring look, his eyes conveying a depth of understanding that went beyond words. "The night your own bloodline called to you," he reminisced softly, "it was much the same. A quiet power, a focus that could chill the very air. I had almost forgotten what it looked like." This is the blood forging its own path. It is a delicate time, but a necessary one." He then turned his stern, commanding gaze to the Ranger. "Borin, the village cannot be left unwatched. Take over Elara's patrol for the remainder of the night. Your eyes are needed on the perimeter." His gaze softened again as he looked back at his apprentice. "You and I will stand guard. Our task is simple: let nothing and no one disturb him until this passes."