Chapter 30: The Gilded Cage

  The investigation team, a fragile alliance born of a public recruitment notice, had finally fractured.

  Four snow-hounds strained against their harnesses, their paws carving deep, rhythmic gouges into the white expanse as they pulled the heavy camp carriage. Emma remained a solitary figure, her snow-wolf a grey shadow flickering at the periphery of the convoy, a silent guardian in the vast, indifferent wild.

  Dragonwood Village stirred just as the sun crested the jagged mountain ridges.

  Three burly men stood outside a stone-walled hut, their breath blooming in the air like pale ghosts. After a few hushed words, they shouldered their axes and vanished into the Frostwood, their silhouettes swallowed by the dark, crystalline timber.

  Vivian stood by the doorway of their temporary shelter, arms crossed over her chest. She watched the tree line where the men had disappeared, her voice a low murmur meant only for Ronen. "Woodcutters and hunters, by the look of them. Just another day in the life of a village, right?"

  Ronen didn't answer immediately. His gaze swept across the awakening settlement, searching for the rhythm of life he expected to find.

  The morning light was like molten gold leaf, spilling over the eastern ridges and flowing across the heavy, snow-laden roofs. The Frostwood stood sentinel outside the village, its dark trunks encrusted with a layer of translucent rime that caught the light in a thousand splintered diamonds. Thin plumes of smoke rose from stone chimneys, ascending in straight, unwavering lines into a sky so blue it looked brittle. In the distance, the silent, snow-capped peaks cradled the valley in a cold, eternal embrace.

  On the surface, it was a scene of pastoral serenity. Women sat before their doors weaving ropes or scrubbing furs; the hunched shadows of the elderly moved behind frosted windowpanes. From somewhere unseen came the rhythmic, muffled thud of wood being split.

  But Ronen felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. It was a "cold uncoordination"—a dissonance in the air. The villagers’ faces bore no trace of the vitality of life; instead, they were masked by a frozen gloom, as if the entire village were being slowly crushed by an invisible weight. Their movements were practiced but mechanical, performed in a heavy silence where eyes never met and words were never exchanged.

  "This village lives and dies by that forest," Ronen finally said, his voice tight.

  He hadn't been as studious as Mary, but he had done his homework. Frostwood was a legendary timber—dense, resilient, and prized not only for weapon hafts but for high-end furniture and intricate carvings. Every villager here was supposed to be a master craftsman. In better times, merchant caravans would brave the seasons to haul away crates of exquisite woodwork. Now, with the winter deepening and the roads becoming treacherous, the world seemed to have forgotten them.

  Ronen turned back to the others. "Zoe, Mark—it’s time we moved."

  Mark was still kneeling by the twisted, mutated corpse they had brought back. His fingertips hovered just inches above the grey, leathery skin, his eyes shining with a light that bordered on obsession. He didn't even look up; Ronen might as well have been a gust of wind.

  Zoe, however, trotted over with a smile that looked painfully forced. "Vivian, Ronen... I think I’ll stay here and keep an eye on Uncle Mark. Besides," she lowered her voice, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her coat, "this place... it feels wrong. I don't want to get in the way if those monsters show up again."

  Ronen suppressed a sigh. A temporary team was always a gamble, and he had no real authority to command them. "Fine. Stay alert. If trouble comes, get to the dog pens. The snow-hounds know your scent; they won't bite. They aren't war-beasts, but they’re big enough to buy you some time."

  Zoe nodded vigorously, a flash of genuine relief softening her features. "Don't worry! I’ll be careful. I was actually thinking of studying the camp carriage—there are some functions I haven't figured out yet. Maybe I can make things a bit more comfortable for tonight."

  Ronen shook his head inwardly and looked at Vivian. "Looks like it’s just the two of us for the village tour."

  "And me," a soft voice interrupted. Jiu (酉伍) stepped forward, that enigmatic, faint smile playing on her lips as she looked toward the heart of the village.

  The houses were scattered, but following Wolf’s earlier description, they soon found themselves standing before a building that was notably more orderly than the rest. Throughout their walk, the silent stares of the villagers followed them like a physical weight—cold, scrutinizing gazes that made the hair on Ronen’s neck stand up.

  Ronen knocked. After a long moment, the heavy timber door creaked open just a crack.

  The village head, a man named Lei Fei, looked much like Wolf had described: a man in his middle years with a face carved by hardship, yet possessing a sharp, noble profile that hinted at a handsome youth. Now, however, his brow was a map of deep-set furrows, and exhaustion hung heavy in his eyes.

  He kept most of his body behind the door, peering out with sharp, guarded eyes. "You’re the outsiders from yesterday? I told you to leave at first light. Why are you still here? Or did you... come back?"

  Come back?

  The phrase struck a chord in Ronen’s mind. He stepped forward, keeping his posture open and his voice polite. "Good morning. We are investigators commissioned by the Lapsus Merchant Circle. We arrived yesterday, and I believe our leader spoke with you. We apologize for the intrusion, but our mission has only just begun. We’ll need to stay a while longer."

  "The other man told me as much," Lei Fei nodded, but his eyes darted past Ronen’s shoulder, searching the surroundings. His suspicion deepened. "Where is he? The one from yesterday?"

  "Our mission is to investigate the Eye of the Blizzard," Ronen explained, watching the man’s face for the slightest twitch. "They left for the tower at dawn. We stayed behind because we have questions—about the tower, and about whether anything... strange has been happening in the village lately."

  Lei Fei fell silent. He looked past them, toward the silent Frostwood, and let out a sigh that seemed to drain the very marrow from his bones.

  "Perhaps... it’s already too late for talk," he whispered. He pulled the door wide and stepped aside. "Come in."

  The interior was slightly more spacious than the hut they had occupied the night before, but the layout was identical. A woman and a child were inside.

  As their eyes met, Ronen felt a jolt of inexplicable discomfort. The woman didn't look at him like a stranger or a guest; her gaze held a raw, primal quality. It reminded Ronen of facing a wild beast in the deep woods—cold, direct, and filled with a wordless, instinctive rejection.

  "What a cute child!" Jiu’s bright exclamation shattered the tension. She hurried over and knelt so she was eye-level with the boy, reaching out to gently brush his hair. "I thought..." She stopped herself, glancing back at Ronen and Vivian before turning back to the village head. "Is he yours?"

  "My wife and son," Lei Fei said flatly. He didn't seem to mind Jiu’s sudden familiarity. "Please, sit."

  A large wooden table sat in the center of the room, surprisingly laden with fresh bread and vibrant fruit—a stark contrast to the desolate surroundings. The wife silently poured hot tea for the guests before leading the child into the back room.

  Jiu’s eyes followed the boy until the door clicked shut. She looked... worried?

  Ronen noted it but said nothing. He picked up the coarse ceramic cup, the rising steam blurring his vision but making the lingering unease in his heart feel all the more vivid.

  "My name is Lei Fei," the man said, resting his hands flat on the table. "As you know, I am the head of this village."

  After brief introductions, Ronen cut to the chase. "Is the village in trouble? We’ve noticed... the people here. Forgive me, but things seem... wrong."

  "Wrong? That’s one word for it," Lei Fei sighed, his voice thick with powerlessness. "But there’s nothing to be done. You don't understand... this village is cursed."

  He looked up, his gaze heavy and dark. "Anyone who sets foot in this village can never leave."

  "Never leave?" Ronen’s brow furrowed. "Is that what you meant by 'coming back'?"

  "You haven't tried to walk out yet, have you?" Lei Fei’s voice was level, but it carried a strange pressure. "Go ahead. Try it now. Walk back the way you came. Truly set your mind on going home, and see what happens."

  "What happens?" Ronen pressed.

  "The blizzard swallows you," Lei Fei whispered, each word sharp and clear. "Not a normal storm. A storm that eats directions, eats footprints, eats the very sound of your voice. You’ll walk and walk until you are utterly lost, and then you’ll look up—"

  He swallowed hard, his throat working. "—and find yourself standing right back at the village entrance."

  "It’s as if the storm has circled us," he continued, his eyes turning vacant. "The moment the thought of leaving takes root in your mind, the storm appears."

  Ronen looked out the window. The noon sun was bright, the sky clear. There wasn't a cloud in sight, let alone a blizzard.

  "That’s why I told you to leave at dawn," Lei Fei said, a ghost of a mocking smile touching his lips. "Maybe then the curse hadn't taken hold of you yet. Maybe there was still time."

  "But now..." He shook his head, letting out a soft, jagged laugh that was half-pity, half-despair.

  Ronen and Vivian exchanged a look. "So you’re saying... we’re trapped here too?"

  "You can leave the village limits," Lei Fei corrected, his eyes hollow. "But you can't go anywhere. The moment you cross the boundary, the wind rises. It traps you in a white void until you stumble back here."

  Ronen felt a tremor of shock, but his rational mind fought back. "I don't mean to doubt you, but that sounds... impossible."

  "Who would want to believe it?" Lei Fei shook his head, his fingers tracing the rough grain of the table. "We didn't. But it is the truth. If you don't believe me, go and see for yourselves. I hope you succeed. I truly do. Because if you actually make it out..." He looked up, his eyes suddenly burning with a desperate plea. "Please, tell the Mages Association. Tell them to send someone to save us."

  "You haven't tried to contact the outside world?" Vivian asked, her voice sharp with scrutiny.

  "How?" Lei Fei’s shoulders slumped. "People can't leave. Birds won't fly. Even the last merchant caravan was months ago."

  "What about magic?" Vivian’s eyes flashed. She remembered Wolf’s call to Alice the night before; the communication had been perfectly clear.

  Lei Fei shook his head. "There are no mages in this village. We’ve never had a need for such things."

  "Wait—the mages!" Ronen’s heart hammered against his ribs. "If no one can leave, what about the Eye of the Blizzard? The tower?"

  If Lei Fei was right, were Wolf and the others already lost in the whiteout?

  "The tower... you can still reach the tower," Lei Fei said slowly. "The storm only blocks the path south. The village is already at the northernmost edge of the Empire. Further north, there is nothing but the tower and the endless, empty wastes."

  "If the tower is still accessible," Ronen said, forcing his voice to remain steady, "why haven't you gone there for help? Do you know what’s happening up there?"