PROLOGUE
THE STRANGER

　
TWO DAYS AGO　
　

　　OUT OF THE HAZE OF the blizzard came the Stranger, a man who stood five feet and nine inches tall and was no later than thirty-five with skin as cold as the temperature of the air around him. His breaths came in clouds that blew back into his face from the bitter wind that cut into his exposed skin like daggers. His eyes were red rimmed, yet they sparkled with the kind of determination and excitement that only a corrupt soul could even begin to comprehend, and his stubbled chin and flushed cheeks were coated with ice. He was weary, wretched, and in pain, but his expression suggested nothing of the sort. No, he could walk on forever.

　　Pausing, feet planted firmly in the snow, the Stranger glanced over his shoulder. His blue eyes narrowed as he stared into the haze, where he could make out the shadow of a ship making its way across the ice cold waters. There were no sails to give any sort of identification as to where it came from, for this was not your average ship nor did it carry your average passengers.

　　Deep within the unlit corridors of the grim ship that had skeletons littering the hallways and cobwebs strung across ceilings and walls and furniture, and stunk heavily of blood and death, there lived creatures that mankind believed to be a myth. Cruel, merciless, inhuman creatures that survived on that of blood.

　　The Stranger tore his gaze from the ship when movement caught his eye.

　　Closer, right there at the edge of the shoreline, the rope which kept his rowboat in place had given out, slipping free from the stake he had stabbed into the heavy heaps of snow when he came ashore. It was gone now, having been caught by the currents and dragged away from shore. He smiled as he watched the rowboat float away, for he would not be needing it again.

　　The Stranger turned away and began his journey on foot, trekking through the snow and ice, his determination evident with each step he took. With gloved hands, he pulled the fur coat tighter around his body, zipping it up beneath his chin and drawing the hood over his head so that it kept him warm from the bitter cold winds. But there was little that could protect him from a storm like this.

　　His body heat melted the snow that coated his exposed face, only to freeze over again, turning into ice against his flesh, stubble and along his eyelashes and brows. It pinched his skin awkwardly, but he kept on. Once or twice he had stumbled to his knees, exhaustion tugging at his muscles, begging him for a break. But he would get up, clothing wet with snow, an unintentional camouflage, and keep walking, the determination thick in his bones.

　　As he walked, the Stranger knew there was no need to hide. Not in this storm. It was the first storm of the season, and he knew that no one would be outside in it. No one would see him. It was the perfect plan. And when the plan was a success and Master fed, he would be rewarded with eternal life.

　　He drew a map from the pocket of his coat and reached for the compass that hung loosely around his neck and was buried in the lining of fur along the front of his coat near the zipper. A low grunt fell from his chapped lips. It wouldn't be long now. He would get his reward soon enough, and that thought alone made his excitement burn brighter. Tucking the map away, the Stranger walked on.

　　An hour later he made it to an incline. The Stranger was struggling now, legs numb from both the weather and the long journey he made on foot. He wobbled with each step, breaths coming as sharp rasps in his dry throat. He craved the warmth of a fire, the heat of a room of which he could take shelter, and the comfort of a blanket. He craved the taste of food and something to drink to soothe his dry throat. But despite needing all of these things, he needed more than anything to succeed. Master would feast upon him himself if he did not fulfill his duty to them all. He didn't want that.

　　He made it to the top of the incline a few moments later. Ahead of him, far across the landscape of snow and ice, he could make out lights shining like a beacon in the hazy blizzard. He dug out a pair of compact binoculars from his coat pocket and lifted them to his face.

　　There were several dozen low buildings, all but buried in the snow, hardly even noticeable from such a distance. Oil drilling derricks ringed the outpost as though to mark the edge of town, tall masts topped with red flashing lights stood away from the settlement to the north and south, and dozens of poles stood tall against the snow with power cords suspended levely.

　　Lights burned in many of the buildings and on illuminated signs, and his heart lighted at the thought of being so close to town. He could already feel the warmth of shelter against his skin. The thought alone of food and water and the warmth of a room washed away all his exhaustion, filling him with newfound adrenaline. It was silly to think that way, though, for when all of this was over, he needn't ever worry about being cold again. The very last thing he would crave when his Master turned him was to feel warm again.

　　"Barrow," the Stranger remarked, lowering the binoculars with a twinkle in his icy stare.

　　And then he grinned.

a/n: the stranger needed to be locked up somewhere, just saying 🥴