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Speaker 1: Around five years ago, I started gravitating towards jobs that

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made solitude a requirement instead of a consequence. Just after

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finally accepting that I was an introvert, I tried wild

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life surveys, a forestry internship, and even worked private fire

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mitigation one summer before this gig found me. It's how

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I ended up at my post on the Northern Edge

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Tower nine. The government or whoever owned this place referred

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to it as a conservation perimeter or some other empty phrasing.

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What it really was, though, was a swath of wilderness,

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too big and too wild for anyone to trust leaving alone.

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The acreage stretched far enough to swallow towns Hall. Thirteen

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fire towers covered the zone. Thirteen watchers, if you counted

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us all. They called us rangers, though it was more

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about fire prevention than policing hikers or keeping bears away

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from trailheads. Most rangers keep to their towers, but some

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of us made a habit of breaking the rules we

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decided were pointless. Technically, we weren't supposed to leave our

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posts without clearance, especially during the dry season, but out here,

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miles from the nearest supervisor, the rules didn't mean much.

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Logan worked out in Tower seven, which sat a good

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few miles east, and he didn't talk much about where

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he came from. He gnored through most of the conversation,

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say something dry under his breath, then go quiet again.

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But he was solid. We didn't hang out often, but

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sometimes we'd meet half way between towers, trade supplies, pass

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a flask, and sit in silence. I liked that about him,

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but not everyone was like Logan. Ezekiel worked out of

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Tarer eight, the closest one to me, and he'd been

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there longer than anyone. Every ranger I asked gave me

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a different answer about how long it'd been around. Some

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said five years, others said twenty. I knew only this.

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He never left. Those were the only two towers that

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were within reasonable trekking distance. The other towers sat so

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far away the only interactions I ever got with them

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was through the radio. Winter rotation was optional. Most of

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us rotated out during the snow season tuk breaks, went

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home let the off season crew handle things. But Ezekiel

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stayed through all of it, year after year. Supposedly he'd

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signed some agreement with the agency to maintain permanent watch.

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I'd only spoken to him twice. Both times were uncomfortable.

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The first time I passed him on the ridge while

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heading toward Tower six, I didn't say anything to him,

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and I felt bad about it, But Logan had told

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me so much creepy stuff about Ezekiel that I almost

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didn't even want to speak to him. He didn't say

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anything either until I was nearly past and asked me

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if i'd seen anything strange on my way. I said

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I hadn't. Then he just looked away and seemed to

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be focused on something else entirely already. He wasn't warm,

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far from it, and I didn't really like spending too

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much time around him. My first winter in the tower

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wasn't forced on me. I asked for it. The agency

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gave me a pay cut, and in short I understood

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the response time would be a joke if anything went wrong,

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but I signed off anyway. I was starting to I

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really liked this job. One Slogan cleared out, the ridge

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went dead quiet, his tower light stopped flickering across the

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tree line. In the evenings that left me and Ezekiel,

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I didn't think about it much. I just focused on

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the scenery. The forest itself had no straight edges. It

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was hills and valleys stitched together by frozen creeks. Snow

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blanketed the evergreens early that year. Most of the smaller

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trees had dropped their leaves already, and the taller one

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stood out black against the white. Wind carved up the

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snow into low spines that looked like frozen wakes, as

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if something had swung through the powder and disappeared. I

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was out near the edge of my patrol line when

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I saw it. The light had shifted into that flat

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winter amber that shadows long and deceptive. I'd been inspecting

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some of the brush piles left behind by the firebreak cruise.

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The wind was quiet and the trees barely moved. Then

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a break in the whiteness. It was too far off

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to see clearly, but it looked like a large deer limping.

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I don't mean walking unevenly, I mean dragging itself forward

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in slow, holding burst, like one of its legs didn't

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want to follow. My first instinct was the stayput. We're

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told not to interfere with wild life. If an animal dies,

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it dies, we aren't rescue. But I hadn't been out

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here long enough to be numb about animals suffering. I

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stood there for a minute, staring across the slope. The

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sky overhead was clear, visibility wasn't bad. I could see

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the shapes of the tree for a few hundred yards

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before they disappeared behind a ridge. The animal had crossed

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into a shallow trench and left the trail behind it,

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a broken red line bleeding into the snow. I figured

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I could follow it for a bit and see if

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I could help us somehow. I wasn't even sure how,

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but I knew it did stare my mind. If not,

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I could at least make sure I didn't go down

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in some ditch where nothing would find it until spring.

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I checked my belt, my radio was on, my coat

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was zipped tight. I still had enough daylight to get

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back if I moved quick. I started walking. The snow

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had only started falling the night before, so it was

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easy to see the fresh marks for the tracks were off.

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I've seen Dear Prince plenty of times, and these didn't match.

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They were larger, for one thing, and they weren't symmetrical.

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The spacing between them seemed wrong, longer than a deer

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should have been able to manage with a limp. I

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stopped to examine them, several times, crouching down to touch

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the edges. Some of them looked melted around the sides,

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as if the heat had softened the snow when they formed.

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An injury, maybe a birth defect. I kept moving forward.

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The blood trail dipped into a shallow drainage basin where

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the trees thinned out. I followed it between clumps of

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dead brush and saplings half buried under snow drifts. The

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wind began to shift while I walked. I felt it

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before I heard it, sharp, low, funneling down the slope

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like something alive. The clouds hadn't warned me. The sky

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had stayed open and glassy above the tree tops, but

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within seconds the snow came, driving in sideways, fine and fast.

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The shift was absolute. One moment I could still see

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the trees standing in soft ranks ahead of me. Then

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without build up, they disappeared. Wind slammed through the trees

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and pulled the temperature down so fast my fingers ate

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through the gloves. I stopped walking, turned a slow circle.

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Everything I'd used to orient myself, tree formations, ridge lines,

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even the slope under my feet vanished beneath a layer

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of rushing white I squinted through the sudden torrent. The

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trail had disappeared so hard everything else. I looked behind me,

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where my bootprints had been only second to go. There

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was nothing the snow. I had sealed them up, as

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if I'd never walked there at all. My first thoughts

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was the find higher ground. I turned around and took

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two steps, then stopped again. I couldn't see anything I recognized.

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Even the sound of my own steps felt swallowed by

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the wind. It wasn't that I couldn't tell which direction

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I had come from. I had no idea which direction

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anything was anymore. I reached for my radio and keyed

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it Tower nine to anyone on frequency, come in nothing, repeat,

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this is Tower nine. Whiteout conditions need triangulation or direction.

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Assist anyone reading this silence. I lowered the radio. I

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tried to listen past the storm to find some auditory

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landmark that might give me a clue. Still, there was

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an nothing except wind tearing across the snow and the

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occasional snap of overburdened branches breaking underweight. I started walking again.

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I kept my bearings tight, using small trees as markers,

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and moving slowly, hoping to recognize some formation or shape

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that would confirm I was looping back toward familiar territory.

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I paused again and took a long breath. My breath

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bugged up the inside of my hood. I adjusted the

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draw string, tried to calm the pounding in my chest.

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Getting lost out here wasn't new. Every ranger did it,

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at least once. I kept walking. Minutes passed, I couldn't

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tell how many. Then I saw something on the ground ahead.

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It was the deer, or what had looked like one.

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I approached slowly, expecting it to jolt up, the way

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wounded deer sometimes do when you get too close. But

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it stayed still, half buried in the snow, ribs rising

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in a sharp curve. One hind leg twisted off to

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the side at an unnatural angle. The closer I got,

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the less it made sense. I stopped ten feet away

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and stared. Its head was all wrong. At first glance,

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it resembled a deer skull, long and narrow, with patches

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of fur frozen stiff across it, But the face and

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lips thin, cracked lips stretched back over teeth, almost human.

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Its neck bent upward in a way no animal spine

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should have allowed antlers or something like them, jotted out

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in short knobs from either side of its skull, but

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they had branching ends that looked almost sculted. Its torso

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heaved slow and unsteady, and I realized it was still breathing.

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I took one step back, then another. My boots sank

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into the snow. I tried not to make noise. Its

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eye turned toward me, singular, strikingly human, and its body convulsed.

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A pause shot forward from beneath its torso. Not a hoof,

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not a deer leg. A bear's limb, thick and matted

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with fur, punched into the snow and dragged the rest

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of the body forward As it rose. It stood half upright,

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something between a man and a beast. Then it lunged.

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I dropped my radio and fell sideways into the snow.

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Its claws grazed the sleeve on my jacket, tearing the

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fabric but missing the flesh. I rolled backward and kicked

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at its ribs, but its weight bore down fast. It snarled,

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wet breath blasted against my neck. The smell made me gag.

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I noticed then a massive bleeding gash on its side. Quickly,

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I grabbed a branch off the ground, snapping it from

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the ice, I drove it into the thing's injury. It

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made a deep choking noise and reeled back, landing hard.

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I scrambled to my feet and ran. I pushed through

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snow drift and tree trunks, branches tearing at my clothes,

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breath heaving through my throat. My legs went numb from

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the cold, but I didn't stop. I ran until my

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lungs burned and the wind was a wall against my chest.

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I didn't even realize where I was until I saw

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the structure through the white, thin metal legs extended upward

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into the mist, too straight to be natural. I recognized

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the silhouette immediately a tower, Ezekiel's Tower. Somehow I had

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looped west. I didn't waste time. I found the staircase

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and started up, my boots barely gripping the ice slicked metal.

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I knocked when I reached the top. No answer. I

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knocked again, harder, this time nothing. I pushed the door open.

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The warmth hit me first. A weak orange glow flickered

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from an old stove in the corner. The windows were

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covered in thick, mismatched curtains, blankets, and furs were piled

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around the walls. I stepped inside and closed the door

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behind me, my fingers trembling. I didn't realize how cold

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i'd been until the hid my skin. Then I looked around.

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I had never been inside his Equals tower. I didn't

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know anyone who had. The space was packed with things

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that didn't belong in a lockout. Wall to wall, hooks

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and shelves cradled with weapons. Rifles lined the east wall.

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Handguns rested in open crates. Ornamental carvings marked every one

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of them. Runs letters I couldn't read, Lines and circles

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scratched into the stalks and barrels. Several of the bullets

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were laid out across the table under the window, their

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surfaces glinting like silver or some other precious metal. Dream

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catchers hung in the corners. Animal schools rested on ledges,

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each of the forehead marked with the red wax or ink.

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I packed away from the table and sank into a

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low chair near the stove, trying to catch my breath.

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My chest st ached. I leaned forward, resting my arms

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on my knees. Then I heard the stairs creaking outside.

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I immediately thought of that thing. My first thought was

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that it had tracked me down, and now I had

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nowhere to actually go. I raced toward the wall for

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one of Ezekiel's guns when the door opened behind me

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and Ezekiel stepped inside. His coat was dusted in snow,

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his gloves were off. He shut the door and looked

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over at me with no surprise. I looked at him, dumbfounded,

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my hands resting on one of the rifles still attached

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to the wall. Ah Yah, Ezekiel, you won't believe me,

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but you saw it, he asked. I opened my mouth,

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trying to explain, but he cut me off before I

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could finish. Was it injured? I nodded, Good, means the

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trap worked, he responded, after a brief silence. Well, he said,

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at last, since he already saw it. He turned and

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met my eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched in

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what might have been a grimace. It can't be helped. Now.

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He walked across the room with the slow certainty of

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a man who knew where every board creaked. He moved

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past the stove, past the table with a bullet, and

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stopped in front of a tall shelf near the corner.

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His hands hovered momentarily, then landed on a thick, water

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warped book, bound in leather and marked in strange faded lettering.

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He pulled it free, thumbed through the pages, and found

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what he was looking for. I am sorry, though, he said,

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locking up. I hadn't let one slip in in over

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a decade. Maybe I am getting old. The pages made

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a dry sound as he turned them. It's smart, Azekil, muttered,

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eyes scanning the page, real smart. See. Some people think

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it's three creatures sewn together. Somethink it's one thing splitting

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apart into three. He turned the book toward me. The

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illustration on the page looked too exact to be guesswork antlers,

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human faces, claws from something simian or bare like. Its

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body was sketched mid motion. He looked at the page,

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then back at me. You're lucky it was wounded, would

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have killed you otherwise. He snapped the book shot and

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slid it under his arm. Then he crossed to another shelf.

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His hands moved quickly, this time grabbing a flat, circular

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object wrapped in cloth. He unwrapped it and held it

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out to me. And looked like a mirror, but the

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surface was darker than glass, more reflective than metal. The

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edges were edgeless cymbals, and the reflection it gave back

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felt delayed. Take it, he said. I didn't move. He

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held it closer. You're coming with me. You know where

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it was last. I need you to take me there.

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I stared at the mirror, then at him. You think

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I want company. I'd rather do this alone. One man

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would have trouble taking it down. Two You should make

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it manageable. He let go of the object. I caught it,

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cradled the weight of it in both hands. You're part

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of this now, whether you want to be or not.

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After that, Ezekiel briefly explained the plan to me. I

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was to be a distraction, since I held its scent

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and it saw me as its prey. I was to

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point the mirror toward it, leaving it frozen just long

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enough for Ezekiel to take it out. Ezekiel put his

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coat back on and grabbed a large tool where looked

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to be a crossbow from the wall and motion for

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me to move in front of him. I obeyed. The

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snow had slowed, though only slightly, by the time we

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set out, the wind still bit through the treetops, and

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the sky hung low above us, dull and thick, but

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it wasn't a full white out anymore. We moved downhill,

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cutting through what was left of my trail. Ezekiel walked

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with purpose, one hand gripped his crossbow, the other steadying

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himself along exposed trunks and roots. He didn't speak much

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except a nod when we hit the rain he recognized

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from my descriptions. I stayed in front of him, scanning

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every branch, every path of snow that looked uneven. I

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wasn't sure if the thing had kept moving after it

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attacked me. I wasn't even sure it could bleed out.

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That was the problem. I didn't know anything about what

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it was or how we were going to take it out.

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We found the place after thirty minutes of trudging. It

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wasn't far from the tower. I'd run further than I

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realized during the panic. The snow in the clearing was

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broken and stained, Dark veins crisscrossing through it in wild spirals.

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Ezekiel moved to the center, crouched down, and studded the ground.

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He shifted the snow gently brushing away the surface to

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expose the soil beneath. I keet, thinking about whether I

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could actually do this, whether I'd freeze if it showed

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up again, whether he'd see it in my face. He

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looked over his shoulder at me. Keep your eyes open.

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It hit us without warning. One second we were standing

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in silence, and the next the trees exploded into motion.

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Snow burst upward as a massive form barreled out from

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the gully to our right. Ezekiel spun, raising his weapon,

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but the thing was faster. It slammed into him before

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he could aim. The crossbow flew from his grip and

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skid it into the trees. Ezekiel hit the ground hard.

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I froze for a moment. The creature loomed over him.

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It shake wwarping in place where muscle met hide, one

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shoulder twitching as if it had too many limbs packed

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into too little space. Its breathing was aggressive. It was angry,

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hiss jaws stretched open as it stared at Ezekiel. Its

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eyes were set wide across his head, mismatched in shape

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and size. Ezekiel tried to reach for something at his belt,

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but the beast slammed its elbow across his chest. I

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heard something crack. I ran toward them and kicked hard

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into the thing's exposed flank. My boot landed near the

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wound i'd seen earlier. The creature shrieked and stumbled sideways.

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I fell back and grabbed Ezekiel by the arm, but

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he was too heavy to move. His legs didn't respond.

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His mouth opened, but no sound came out. His hand

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finally twitched and pointed towards the crosspo The creature's body

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shifted as it rose, bones stretched, furst slowed off in clumps,

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revealing muscle underneath that pulsed visibly. It looked at me,

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then at Ezekiel. It growled a low noise that vibrated

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in my chest. Move his ekil managed the painful shout.

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I packed up, raised the mirror and held it in

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both hands. I had forgotten I still had it until then.

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The creature looked directly into it and stopped moving. Its

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head tilted, its limbs slackened. The snarl faded from its face.

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For a moment, it simply stood there, frozen. I lowered

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the mirror and dove with the crossbow, my hand wrapped

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around the grip fingers clumsy with adrenaline, I turned back

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toward it and brought the weapon up. I hadn't fired

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one in years. The trigger felt unfamiliar, the bolt was

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already loaded. I aimed, then hesitated. I only had one chance,

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and if I missed, it blinked and the spell broke.

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The creature launched forward again, this time angling toward Ezekiel.

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His hands went up weakly to defend himself. I quickly

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inhaled and pulled the trigger. The bolt sank deep into

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the creature's ribs. As it twisted mid motion. It shrieked

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a horrible noise that shifted in pitch halfway through, as

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if several voices were laid beneath it. Its body staggered,

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then shimmered. The edges of it began to thin, stretching

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outward like smoke caught in a reverse wind. It disappeared.

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The clearing was silent again. I looked over as Egil

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was slumped against the trunk, his coat soaked through with blood.

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He gave a dry horse chuckle and shook his head

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not bad. He coughed. It was at that moment that

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I wondered if e Egil would ever need help, again

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after all, he was getting old.