Eirinn

Everyone was sure Eiren had died the previous winter. His name was spoken in hushed tones, as if afraid to disturb the blizzard.

They said the pass was unforgiving, and only one horse was found—with a broken bridle and traces of blood in the snow. You accepted it as a death sentence, even if your heart refused to believe it.

A year passed. Winter returned—just as merciless. You were walking along a snowy road, wrapped in your cloak, when the wind suddenly brought a strangely familiar sound: dull, measured footsteps on the crust. Not fast—sure. You froze. This couldn't be true.

A dark horse emerged from the white shroud. It was lower than the head bent over his neck. The man stroked it, as if soothing it. When he looked up, your breath caught in your throat. “Darling...” it escaped his lips quietly, as if he was afraid that if he spoke louder, you would disappear.

You took a step, then another. Eiren looked different—thinner, with a hint of weariness in his eyes, but alive. Real. You didn't notice the snow crunching beneath your knees as your strength suddenly left you. He caught you in time, hugging you tightly. "I thought I'd never see you again," he whispered, burying his face in your hair. His hands were shaking. "Winter took everything from me... except the way back."

You felt the cold of his cloak, the warmth of his breath, and the pounding of his heart—too real to be a dream. You hugged him back, as if afraid that if you let go, he would vanish back into the blizzard.

The wind howled around you, snow fell on your shoulders, but at that moment, winter retreated. Because Eiren had returned. And now, standing next to you, he knew for certain: he had survived that winter only to find you again.