Duskfire Glacier roakshore

the glacier stretched wide and cold beneath faust’s steady steps. the wind carried the scent of snow and stone, familiar now—his kingdom. darukaal.
but today, his eyes sought something else. someone else.
@Ivarr.
his younger brother had found him after all these years. their blood tied them, but time had carved distance between their lives. and yet, here they were—reunited on this harsh, frozen land.
faust moved with purpose, head low, eyes sharp. he traced his brother’s scent along the ice-crusted ridges, past the lake where the thaw had begun to tease at the edges.
there was a weight in his chest, one he hadn’t acknowledged before—relief, perhaps. that fenris was here, that he had survived.
but it was tangled with the ever-present need to protect.
he would not lose his brother now. not to the cold. not to the hunger of this land.
the wind howled softly as faust pressed onward.
fenris, he called, voice gruff, carried across the snow.

the wind battered the ridge. the ice groaned beneath its weight, shifting in slow, imperceptible movements. fenris sat upon the cliffside, unmoving, crimson eyes fixed upon the glacier’s vast and frozen expanse.

this land was faust’s. theirs.

darukaal.

he had yet to call it home, yet to let the word settle in his chest and take root. but he was here. he had followed the trail, and now there was nowhere else to go.

the wind carried a voice. firm. familiar.

brother, fenris said, turning to meet him. he studied faust, the way he carried himself now—stronger, heavier. it brought a smile to fenris' lips.

the familiar shape, now grown, hardened by time and distance.
fenris, he greeted, voice low, carrying the weight of their shared blood and history.
he came to stand beside him, broad shoulder brushing against his brother’s as they both looked out over the glacier. the view was harsh, unforgiving. but it was theirs.
you’ve settled in, faust observed, though it was more a statement than a question. his gaze softened—just slightly. good. this place... it’s different. but it’s strong. it’ll shape us into something better.
a pause, his breath visible in the cold air.
i’m glad you’re here. the words were simple, but honest. from faust, that was everything.

the weight of his brother’s shoulder pressed against his own—solid, real. a presence he had not known since they were boys.

his eyes did not leave the expanse before them. ice and stone, endless and brutal. this land would take the weak and break them. but them? they were not weak.

i’ve settled, he allowed, though the word felt foreign on his tongue. he had not yet let himself believe it. he gives his coat a faint shake, while breath curls white into the air.

the quiet fallen between them is only filled by the wind’s low howl.

then—

i am glad to be here. simple, honest. a rare thing. but it was truth. he inhales: i am glad to be at your side.

do you want to hunt? faust’s voice broke through the stillness, rough but laced with familiarity. he shifted closer to fenris, their hulking frames casting twin shadows upon the snow.
his eyes glimmered with the subtle warmth that only blood could ignite—though it was buried beneath layers of frost and steel.
the herds have moved along the flats, he nodded toward the distance, where the wind carried faint traces of musk and hoof. good game. strong prey.
a challenge, but also an offering. this was their way—brothers bonded through the pursuit, through the blood spilled upon snow.
we'll take something down together.

his blood stirred.

good, he said finally, rolling his shoulders, shaking loose the stillness from his limbs. a hunt was always welcome. needed. there were few things more true than the chase, the kill.

he turned to faust then, meeting his brother’s gaze. his own glimmered dark beneath the sky, a slow ember behind iron.

let's run, then.

and with that, he moved—leapt from the ridge, paws finding the ice with effortless grace, already casting ahead.

his own paws hit the ground a breath after fenris’, the crack of ice beneath him lost to the rush of wind. his limbs stretched, powerful and sure, carrying him into the white expanse.
he cast ahead, sharp eyes scanning the frozen wilds, reading the land as he had since they were boys. a trail—faint, but fresh.
east, he called, voice cutting through the frost-laced air. something moved through here not long ago.
his pace did not falter, and he knew fenris would keep stride. they had done this a thousand times before, brothers bound by blood and the hunt.
let’s take it down together.

fenris veered without question, falling in beside his brother. the trail was fresh—hoofprints half-buried in snow, the sharp tang of musk lingering in the frost. prey, close and moving.

his pace quickened, heart pounding with something fierce, something familiar. he had hunted beside faust as a boy, had matched his brother’s stride through forests and tundra alike. now they hunted again, men grown, teeth bared for the kill.

his breath curled thick against the cold. his crimson eyes flicked to faust, then back to the land stretching wide before them.

they would run it down. break it. take it.

this was their way.

the scent was thick now, the musk of the beast curling through the cold, the promise of blood hot in his veins.
fenris ran beside him, the way they had always done—boys, then men, forged in the same fire, sharpened by the same hunger. the trail ahead twisted, the prints veering toward the treeline, and faust bared his teeth in something like satisfaction.
we'll push it toward the cliffs, he murmured, barely sparing his brother a glance. cut off its retreat. no mistakes.
his muscles coiled, his focus narrowing. soon, it would break from the brush, and when it did—
stay close.
not a warning. a promise.

up to you what they are hunting

ahead, the brush trembled. a shape within, broad and dark.

elk.

a bull, its flanks damp with exertion, nostrils flaring white in the cold. a strong beast, but not strong enough. its prints dug deep in the snow—fatigue setting in.

soon, it would break.

close, fenris rumbled, breath curling.

faust did not slow, his pace relentless, measured, his breath coming steady as he veered to the side, pushing the bull toward its fate.
drive it forward, he murmured, voice low but firm, meant only for fenris. the elk was tiring, its strides uneven, its desperation thick in the air. but desperation did not grant mercy—it only made the kill inevitable.
his brother would cut it off. faust knew this, trusted this, as he always had. their hunts had been like this since they were young—fluid, instinctual, lethal.
his muscles coiled as he prepared for the final strike, his voice carrying between them.
make it quick.
there would be no escape. only the cliffs, and them.