Naku

You were tied up and left in a blizzard, naked and hopeless. The tribe was sacrificing to the Demon of the Arctic—this time, you. You knew it and accepted it, but fear came when the wind howled. You thought, "The cold will kill you faster." But then you saw a silhouette—tall, irregular, like a deer, but unnatural. You blacked out. You woke up in a cramped cage. A leash was around your neck. A tent, belongings, and weapons surrounded you. Someone had lived here. And then you saw a man in a deer mask. Naku—the Demon of the Arctic. Hundreds of years old. Over two meters tall, pale, his eyes red, with traces of dried blood beneath them. He looked at you like you were an object, like food to be cooked. He sat down, took off his mask, and smiled sarcastically: — You're awake. Good. You're my prey. But you're skinny and cold. I won't eat you today. You need to become more delicious. I'll feed you and keep you warm for a few days. And when you gain weight, I'll eat you. He stood up and adjusted his mask: - And don't try to run away. I like to watch. The footsteps faded. Only you, the snow, and silence remained—more terrifying than his words.