The wind howled through the trees, carrying with it a biting chill that seemed to crawl beneath the skin. The further Thorkell and his hunting party pressed into the woods, the more the air grew dense with a strange cold that clung to their breaths and stiffened their limbs. It was unnatural, this sudden drop in temperature, as if winter itself had awakened early in these woods.

  Throkell crouched behind a thick trunk, motionting for his party to halt. His breath came out in soft clouds, and the mountain frost began coating his boots. The tracks they had been following, once smeared with blood, had disappeared, swallowed by a thick blanket of frost.

  Erik, crouched beside him, gave Thorkell a wary glance. “Something is right, Thorkell,” he whispered. “No storm could roll in this fast, to freeze the woods in seemingly seconds.”

  Thorkell nodded, his fingers tightening around the grip of his bow. His instincts were screaming at him–something was wrong. It wasn’t just the cold. It was the silence, the way the trees groaned under the weight of the growing ice that hadn’t been there moments before. And then there was the faint sound. A distant crunch, like the grinding of bones under a predator's jaws.

  “We’re not alone,” Thorkelll muttered, peering ahead into the clearing just beyond the treeline. His pulse quickened as his eyes caught sight of distant movements.

  There, in the center of the clearing, the carcass of their elusive stag laid torn to shreds, it’s massive antlers were bloodied and shattered. But it wasn’t the dead beast that made Thorkells heart seize with terror. Towering over the fallen stag was something far more fearsome.

  A giant.

  The creature was unlike anything Thorkell had ever seen–easily three times the height of any man, its skin pale blue like ice, cracked and scarred in places where frost clung to it. Its massive hands tipped with jagged claws, held a large chunk of the elk’s flesh. The abomination peered around revealing its hideous face to Thorkell. Large teeth shot from its mouth, its eyes shone of a bright blue shade. The hide from the elk still rested on its lips as it slowly chewed through more of the stag's meat. The giant's hair was long but tangled, matching the white and gray of the mountains.

  The frost giant's breath came out in plumes, freezing the air before it, and each exhale seemed to spread the growing cold. As it fed, the sounds of bones cracking beneath its grip sent a shiver through Thorkells spine.

  Thorkell glanced at his men, signaling them to move slowly. “Take the hog, retreat,” he whispered. The hunting party, their eyes wide with fear, began to drag their fallen boar, moving as quietly as they could while keeping their eyes on the giant.

  Thorkell placed his hand on Erik’s shoulder and whispered “Should I not join you before your return, alert my father. The winter may come early, we must prepare the kingdom.”

  Erik wanted to insist on Thorkell returning with them, but he saw the determination in his eye. He feared that any words against his actions would only lead to fueling that fire inside him. Erik whispered “Yes, my lord.” as he slowly walked away joining the rest of the hunting party.

  As Thorkell watched his part leave his sight, a torrent of thoughts rushed through his mind, crashing over him like waves of icy water.

  “What are you doing? Why stay behind? I am going to die.”

  The thought echoed through his mind, louder with each passing second. His heart raced as it was trying to escape his chest. His grip on his bow grew tighter, feeling the rough wood dig into his palm. His eyes flicked back to the giant, still tearing his way through the carcass of the stag. The abomination was still oblivious to the retreating hunting party. The sound of bones crunching under the creature’s massive hands made his blood run colder than the frost that surrounded him.

  “What am I doing here?” Thorkell thought, his breath coming in shaky bursts. “I should be running with the others, but–”

  Something kept him rooted in place. Something far deeper than the fear he felt. It was more than duty. It was the nagging thought that if he ran now, if he left without knowing what this creature was, he would never forgive himself. This was far more than the hunt now–it was a test of his strength, his resolve, and most importantly his leadership.

  “If I turn back now, I’ll never stop being just Hamund’s son.”

  The voice in his head was clear, steadying his resolve as he crouched behind the tree. His eyes were locked on the frost giant. He had no illusions about the danger he was in. The sheer size of the giant could crush him in an instant. He had no plan, no reinforcements, just his bow, a few arrows, and the faint hope that he could make it through.

  “I have to understand it. I have to see what it wants, what it is doing. I must make sure my men, no my kingdom is safe.”

  His muscles tensed as he inched forward, trying to get a better look at the creature without drawing attention to himself. The cold bit deeper into his skin, but his mind was too focused to care. He felt the weight of every breath, every small sound his body made as he crept closer.

  “This is madness,” he thought, but the madness is what drove him.

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  Thorkell crouched low, barely daring to breathe as he watched the giant. It tore into the stag with a relentless hunger, each bite reducing the once majestic creature to little more than scraps. The sheer power behind each movement was mesmerizing– and terrifying.

  “I should be running” he thought again, yet something rooted him there, compelling him to understand the threat of this beast.

  Carefully, he notched an arrow, his fingers trembling slightly from the cold and the pressure. He took a breath, steadying himself as he stared at the beast. He raised his bow, envisioning the arrows path, he knew whatever happened next had to work, this beast could not roam the kingdom's lands unchecked.

  Thorkell held his breath, his eyes still fixed on the frozen beast in front of him. Its icy blue skin faded purple from the blood of the stag he was devouring. He drew back his bowstring, the arrow’s tip pointed at a small gap between its icy armor and the exposed veins around its neck. He let the cold, sharp air fill his lungs as he slowed his pulse, focusing on that one vulnerable spot, hoping the shot might somehow penetrate the creature's thick hide.

  In one smooth movement, he released his bowstring.

  The arrow cut through the air, whistling as it flew towards its target. But just as it was about to make contact, the giant shifted, sensing the incoming attack. The arrow struck, but it only grazed the creatures neck, embedding itself in a patch of frozen flesh. A few shards of ice fell to the ground, and the giant slowly turned, searching for the source of the arrow.

  Thorkells stomach dropped. He had been spotted.

  The frost giant straightened, its towering form casting a shadow over Thorkell. With a slow, deliberate movement, it turned, fully facing him, an unsettling grin stretched across its bloodied face. The creatures icy blue eyes locked onto Thorkell, as it took a step forward, each step it took caused the ground to shake under him. The chill in the air intensified, sending a new wave of frost creeping across the forest floor.

  Thorkell let out an audible gulp, quickly notching another arrow. “Aim for the eye,” he thought, tightening his grip. “If i can just blind it, i have a chance”

  Before he could release, the giant let out a disorienting roar, it sounded like an avalanche breaking free, filling the forest as it ricocheted across the trees. It took another step forward, its massive hand reaching out, its fingers were tipped with icy claws that gleamed like blades.

  Thorkell backed away, heart pounding, knowing he was outmatched yet unwilling to turn back. As Thorkell watched the beast, his mind racing in devastation, he thought of the stories of the old world. Stories of gods killing these beasts, he tried desperately to remember how. He quickly turned, racing through the forest looking for anything that could assist him. He found a dry patch of the forest, untouched by the beast's winter's curse.

  As he rummaged through the foliage, he found dry scraps of dead wood and leaves sitting next to remnants of an old campfire, most likely left by members of the scouting party. An idea began to form in his mind. He quickly gathered the dry wood, his hands shaking from the cold adrenaline coursing through him. He wasn’t sure if his plan would work, but he was running low on options.

  The stories of old mentioned fire–a force of nature itself, uncaring and brutal but fair in its destructive path. Frost giants were said to fear the flames. Throkell hoped this was more than just a child's tale told to him with some undermining lesson he never took the time to learn. He quickly pierced together a bundle of leaves and wood, creating a makeshift torch. He struck his flint, trying to focus on igniting a spark as the giant's thunderous footsteps approached.

  The spark caught, and a small flame began to grow, illuminating Thorkell’s face with a warm, flickering light. He thrust the flame into the air, allowing the fire to breathe and build. He held the flame high, turning back to face the giant. The creature paused, eyeing the flame warily, its expression twisted with a mix of anger and fear.

  Throkell ripped a piece of cloth off of his sleeve, wrapping it tightly around the tip of his arrow just under the head of the arrow, leaving the sharp point still exposed. The growing hope irradiated through him like the fire of the torch as he ignited the cloth. He notched the arrow, drawing the bowstring back and aiming for the giant's eye.

  The fire crackled as it clung to the cloth, casting flickering shadows across Thorkells face. He steadied his breath, locking his gaze onto the giants glinting, frostbitten eye. He drew the bowstring back as far as it could reach, feeling the strain in his shoulders and arms as he held steady. The shot had to be perfect.

  The giant, sensing the flicker of light, twisted his head and let out a guttural growl, exposing rows of jagged, yellowed and bloody teeth. Thorkell’s heart hammered as the creature's icy eyes bore down on him, but he held his ground, refusing to falter.

  In that heartbeat of stillness, Thorkell released the arrow.

  The fiery missile streaked through the air, a small, determined blaze blaze in the cold black of the growing night. It flew true, striking the giant in its right eye. The creature howled, a sound like shattering ice, as it staggered back, clutching its face. Thick, dark ichor dripped from the wound, sizzling against the flames' heat. The forest seemed to shake with its agony as it swiped blindly, cracking tree trunks like twigs in its wrath.

  Thorkell picked up his torch, seizing the moment as the beast fell to its back. He jumped onto the beast, staring into its petrified eye, he rammed the torch through its cornea burning a hole to the frozen skull.

  The frost giant let out one last roar, its remaining eye wild with pain and fury. It thrashed on the ground, clawing at the dirt as Thorkell clung to its chest, narrowly avoiding its massive arms as they swung blindly. With every writhing movement, shards of ice splintered from the creature's body, falling around Thorkell like frozen rain.

  The fire from his torch burned deeper into the giant's eye socket, melting through layers of frostbitten flesh and bone. Blackened fumes rose from the wound, mingling with the scent of scorched hair and charred flesh. Finally, with a shuddering and stuttered groan, the giant's thrashing slowed. Its massive limbs fell limp, and the eerie blue light in its eyes faded to nothing. Thorkell felt its final breath– a chilling exhale that froze the torches handle–before silence settled over the forest once more.

  Thorkell climbed off the lifeless beast, his breath heaving, both exhilarated and stunned by what he had just accomplished. Around him, the frost began to retreat, the cold loosening its grip on the forest floor. He looked down at the monstrous form, his pulse still pounding with the echo of battle. He had done it; he had stood alone against the giant and prevailed.

  He was no longer just Throkell son of Hamund, he was now Thorkell slayer of myth.