Snow had been falling since morning.
The road had nearly disappeared beneath the snow. Wind moved lightly across the fields, lifting loose powder before letting it settle again.
Behind the inn, Moss's cottage stayed closed. No one stepped out into the garden rows, though a thin line of smoke rose steadily from the chimney.
Inside, the cold lingered near the door.
Travellers gathered in the warmth of the main hall, boots drying beside the hearth while damp cloaks hung along the wall. Low conversation drifted between the tables as bowls and cups passed from hand to hand.
Near the window, the butterfly traveller sat quietly.
A few small butterflies drifted in the warm air around her shoulders.
Several travellers leaned closer as she spoke.
"Choose only one path for now," she said gently. "Too many directions will tire you."
Someone murmured in agreement.
Another voice asked something quietly.
The traveller tilted her head slightly.
"I heard your daughter is the pillar," she said. "You should trust her more."
The small group fell silent for a moment before soft voices rose again around the table.
At the hearth, Boro stood near the kitchen counter, clutching a wooden bowl in both hands.
"T-today's breakfast…" he said carefully. "L-lavender dumplings."
A few travellers exchanged uncertain glances.
One of them leaned forward first.
"Lavender?"
Boro nodded quickly.
"Yes… s-soft dough… a-and a little honey…"
The traveller took a bite.
His eyebrows lifted.
Another hand reached for a dumpling.
Soon several bowls passed between the tables.
"I stayed here before," someone said from near the hearth. "Half a year ago, I think."
He looked toward the kitchen.
"The food's much better now."
Boro blinked, then lowered his head with a small, shy smile before hurrying back toward the counter.
Ruan stood beside the hearth, stirring a large pot that hung over the fire.
Steam rose steadily as he worked.
Without looking up, he lifted a small bowl beside him and dropped a herring into the simmering broth.
The room carried the quiet sounds of eating and the slow crackle of the hearth.
***
By midday the hall had grown warmer.
Boro moved carefully between the tables with two wooden bowls balanced in his hands.
"P-please be careful… it's hot…"
He set them down one at a time before retreating toward the kitchen again, shoulders lifting slightly whenever someone thanked him.
Near the hearth, Ruan lowered the ladle back into the pot. Steam rose steadily from the broth as the herring simmered beneath the surface.
He wiped his hands on a cloth.
The lantern outside had gone out again.
It had already happened once that morning, though the oil had been half full.
Ruan crossed the hall and opened the door.
Cold air slipped inside before the door closed behind him.
Outside, the snowfall had thickened.
The road had nearly disappeared beneath the growing white. The lantern stood beside the path as it always did, its glass dark against the pale afternoon.
Ruan brushed a thin line of snow from the top of the frame and lifted the lantern from its hook.
The wick looked intact.
The oil remained inside.
He tilted the glass slightly to check the frame.
For a moment, the flame returned on its own.
The wick caught with a soft flicker.
Ruan paused.
Somewhere beyond the garden, a bell sounded.
Soft.
Then again.
A sudden shift in the snow came from behind him.
Ruan turned.
A dark shape lunged forward from the drifting white.
The movement was fast, but Ruan's hand lifted before the strike reached him.
His palm caught the figure's arm.
A short twist.
The attacker lifted from the ground and slid across the snow before landing several steps away. The soft drift broke the fall, scattering loose powder across the field.
For a moment neither of them moved.
Then the figure pushed himself upright. Something metal shifted softly against his cloak.
The mask had come loose in the fall. It lay half-buried in the snow beside him.
Ruan set the lantern carefully back on its hook.
The flame wavered once.
Then steadied.
The wind did not move.
"I thought…" the man said quietly.
He brushed snow from his sleeve as he straightened.
"…the creature was there."
Ruan adjusted the lantern slightly until the light settled evenly within the frame.
"The lantern needed adjustment."
The man studied him for a moment.
"I can feel it around here," he said.
Ruan glanced toward the inn.
Through the window he could see the faint movement of travellers still gathered near the hearth.
"You're strong for just an innkeeper." the man said.
Ruan stepped past him.
"Clumsy for a Soul Catcher."
He continued toward the door and pushed it open. Warm air closed around him as he stepped inside.
Outside, the man remained standing in the snow.
After a moment, he bent and lifted the fallen mask from the ground.
***
Wind moved along the road in slow breaths, pressing loose drifts against the fence and the base of the lantern post. The fields beyond the inn had nearly vanished beneath the falling white.
Inside, the hall had begun to quiet.
One by one, travellers finished their meals and returned upstairs. Boots thudded softly along the stairwell before fading into the corridor above.
Near the entrance, melted snow had gathered in a thin line along the floorboards.
At the counter, another traveller waited.
"A bottle of wine," the man said.
Ruan reached beneath the counter and set a dark glass bottle on the wood.
The traveller placed a few coins beside it, took the bottle, and headed for the stairs. His steps faded slowly along the upper corridor.
For a while the inn settled into quiet again.
Near the window, the butterfly traveller remained seated.
A small bowl rested beside her hand. She lifted a piece of fruit slowly, her fingers brushing the rim before finding it.
Several butterflies drifted lazily around the table, their wings moving in the warm air rising from the hearth.
Behind the counter, Boro gathered a small tray.
"M-Master," he said, glancing toward the back door. "I'll bring food to Moss."
Ruan nodded.
Boro placed a covered bowl and a cup of tea onto the tray before carefully pushing open the back door.
Cold air slipped briefly into the kitchen before the door closed behind him.
The hall grew quieter.
Only the fire moved now, the soft crackle of wood beneath the kettle.
The butterfly traveller spoke without turning her head.
"Aren't you curious?"
Ruan stood behind the counter, checking the wine bottles one by one.
"Doesn't that drain you?" he asked.
She lifted her cup and finished the last of her tea.
"I like people."
A faint smile touched her lips.
"More than you think."
She set the cup down and rose from the bench.
The butterflies lifted with her, circling once above the counter.
She walked slowly toward the counter.
From within her cloak, she took a card and set it on the wood. It slid slightly across the grain.
"A gift," she said.
Ruan glanced down.
The card showed a figure suspended upside down from a wooden beam.
The Hanged Man.
The traveller placed the room key beside the card.
"The storm arrives," she said.
She turned toward the door.
The butterflies lifted from the counter and drifted ahead of her, their wings brushing softly through the lamplight.
She followed them across the hall.
At the doorway she paused.
"The road is patient."
She stepped into the snow.
The door closed behind her.
For a moment, only the fire moved.
***
Night settled early beneath the storm.
Upstairs, a small lamp burned in Ruan's room near the stairwell. Frost edged the window as wind pressed softly against the glass.
On the wooden table beside the bed lay a card beneath the lamplight.
Ruan sat quietly beside the table.
The flame wavered as a stronger gust passed over the roof.
Outside, the lantern beside the road glowed faintly through the thickening snow.
Somewhere beyond the forest, a bell rang.
The sound barely carried through the storm.
A low howl followed, quickly swallowed by the wind.