"55 days left…" by Duvencrune, Edgar O. Diary of the Long Night, 111th Edition

What happened to the Howling Night?

The Little Mouse's tiny paws barely made a sound against the snow-dusted cobblestones. The wind whispered, carrying the scent of brine and wood smoke.

The village had changed, yet it hadn't. The houses still stood, their bricks unmoved, their roofs still with snow.

Human modern hands had not reached this place even after all these winters. No electric wires cut across the sky, and no hum of machines disturbed the solemn hush.

Marie-Hex, the Little Mouse, recognised the same old streets—the same cold. And yet, something was different—something only she could feel.

She stepped forward, her small form stretching and shifting until a girl stood in the snow where the mouse had been. Her white hair shimmered in the moonlights, blending into the frost that clung to the world. Wrapped in a coat of soft fur, she moved with an eerie familiarity as if the town itself remembered her steps. And perhaps, in some way, it did.

Marie-Hex moved through the snow-dusted streets. Then, a flicker of movement caught her eye—a small crowd gathered in the town square. The scent of burning wood caught her attention.

She stopped, her red eyes narrowing as she took in the sight before her. A pyre stood in the centre, its base stacked high with logs, and a body lay lose tit, wrapped in cloth, ready to be consumed by the flames.

It wasn't always this way.

Twenty-two Winters ago, the people of this town would have taken their dead to the Meerio River, placing their remains in a boat before setting it alight, letting the water carry them beyond the horizon. A farewell that would end up tied to the Red Sea, to the cycle of water and sky. Now, the river is gone, and what remains is a dark, wild shore.

So now, they turned to fire.

They burned their dead not to send them off but to keep them from lingering as Nightmares belonging to the Long Night.

Marie-Hex barely saw the body wrapped in white linen, just a fleeting glance through the shifting crowd. The fabric clung tightly, a shroud that hid most of him from view, but not enough.

The flickering torchlight caught his face for a moment, and Marie-Hex stilled.

It was ironic how death stripped humans of their warmth, how it made them resemble the very creatures they feared or worshipped. His skin had faded to paleness, a cold, lifeless blue creeping beneath the surface. The soft glow of the flames deepened the purple tint of his lips.

He looked like a Menschen now. Ironic.

Marie-Hex's gaze drifted to Mrs. Sophia, standing motionless beside the pyre. She did not sob, did not wail. The pain was beyond sound now, beyond tears. It was in the way she stood—still, unshaken, yet visibly breaking, as if grief had settled into her bones and left her too numb to shatter.

The villagers lifted the boy's shrouded body onto the waiting wood. The pyre groaned under the weight, the dry logs shifting slightly beneath the corpse.

An archer stood at a distance, bow drawn, the flame-tipped arrow waiting.

Marie-Hex sighed. The world had changed, but some things remained stubbornly the same.

The archer finally loosed the arrow. Marie-Hex barely moved; she flicked her fingers, a small, almost careless gesture, and the arrow vanished.

No sound. No spark. No trace of its existence remained.

The archer frowned, shaking his bow as if it had betrayed him. Another arrow was drawn, the flame quivering at its tip. He lost it. Gone.

A murmur rippled through the crowd, unease creeping into their solemnity.

Another shot. Another disappearance.

The gathered villagers shifted, eyes darting toward the white-haired girl standing by the pyre.

Mrs. Sophia, for the first time that Night, stirred from her quiet grief, her tired eyes landing on the girl who had undone death's ritual with a mere flick of her finger.

"Witch!" —someone shouted.

The word lashed through the crowd like a whip. The villagers recoiled, their boots scraping against the frozen earth as they instinctively stepped back.

But one woman did not move.

Mrs. Sophia stood rooted in place, her hands trembling at her sides, though not with fear—no, this was something else.

Marie-Hex could see it. How the years had weighed down on her, how grief had settled into her skin like permanent ink. The deep lines around her mouth, the way her shoulders curled inward as if bracing against a burden too heavy to bear. She had aged faster than time should have allowed.

The girl in white stepped closer, undeterred by the villagers' retreat. The snow beneath her feet didn't crunch, didn't stir, as if the land itself refused to acknowledge her presence.

She reached out, her pale fingers wrapping gently around Mrs. Sophia's hand.

"I need to speak with him," Marie-Hex murmured.

Sophia inhaled, her lips parting as if to protest, to question, to deny. But in the end, she simply exhaled, her shoulders sagging. She nodded.

"Dreamer, my little Marie, he is dead," Mrs. Sophia moaned, her voice finally cracking as though saying them aloud made them more real, more final.

"He is to be reborn, I told you. Remember? But I need you and the others to step back now."

"Why?"

"Some people," Marie-Hex hesitated, her gaze landing toward the gathered villagers. "Some people don't like wolves."

At that, Sophia's hands slipped from the Little Mouse's grasp. She turned on the crowd. "Back off!"

The villagers hesitated, eyes darting between one another. Some shifted uncomfortably, others clutched their coats tighter around themselves.

"Sophia, we need to burn the body," an older man called out. "He could turn into one of them at any moment!"

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"Back off," she repeated, her voice shaking now, not with fear, but with tears. "Let the girl tell her goodbyes to my boy, you bunch of heartless simpletons. Everyone has their way with pain."

Then, with tear-streaked cheeks, she turned back to Marie-Hex with one simple nod.

The Spirit of the Dreamer stepped closer to the pyre, the fire casting long shadows across Echternach's still form. He lay motionless, wrapped in white linen, his face frozen in the eerie peace that death bestowed.

She tilted her head, studying him intently. Nothing.

With the tip of her index finger, she gave his cold cheek a gentle push. "Come on," she muttered as if coaxing a child from sleep. "That's enough. Wakey-wakey, now. We have a job to do."

Silence. No twitch, no flicker of movement.

"Echternach?" Marie-Hex let out a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes. Temptation tugged at her fingers—perhaps a wet willie or a slap would be more effective.

Leaning in, she pressed her fingertip against his cheek again, this time with more force, nudging insistently. "I mean it, Echternach. This is getting ridiculous. Howl, wake up!"

Still nothing.

Her patience frayed. She gave his cheek a more vigorous push, her frown deepening.

And then, finally, a voice—hoarse, groggy, and laced with irritation. "What are you doing?"

Marie-Hex folded her arms, the soft white fur of her coat barely shifting as she tilted her head at him. "It's time."

Echternach's nose scrunched, his brows knitting together as he exhaled. "Don't you see I'm dead?"

Marie-Hex smirked. "Yet you speak."

His mouth opened, then closed, his glare sharpening as if he wanted to argue but couldn't find the right words. "You woke me up!"

She didn't answer. She only held his gaze.

Echternach blinked. His chest rose and fell with shallow, controlled breaths as his fingers twitched against the linen wrapping his body. His hands curled slightly, testing sensation, grasping at the fabric as though proving to himself he could still move.

His throat bobbed, swallowing down the creeping unease clawing at his voice. "Why am I talking?"

Marie-Hex crouched beside him. "Because Spirits can't leave the living," she murmured, repeating the words once spoken to her by the Howling Night. "And your journey has not yet ended."

Echternach's lips pressed into a thin line. His breath, shallow at first, became steadier.

"It has begun," she added with a small smirk.

"Said who?"

"Actually, you did."

He exhaled through his nose, the air leaving his lungs in a short huff. A moment passed before he rolled his eyes, the movement so distinctly human that it almost broke the fragile stillness surrounding them.

"Very well," he muttered, shifting slightly as though stretching out a stiffness he hadn't realised he carried.

"Give me a moment," he sighed, bracing his hands against the wooden pyre beneath him. "Waking up from the dead is quite the ordeal."

The world held its breath. The Howling Night held time.

The murmurs of the onlookers, the crackling of the untouched pyre, the distant howl of the wind—all of it faded into silence. The snowflakes suspended mid-air, and the shadows cast by the oil lamps stood still.

Above them, the Third Moon began its slow ascent, its pale light stretching across the frozen town like a watchful eye.

Marie-Hex didn't move, her gaze locked onto Echternach as he parted his lips. The anticipation coiled tightly in her chest, her instincts bracing for what should come next—the howl, the snarl, the surge of fur and fangs tearing through the fragile remains of his human form.

But nothing of the sort happened.

Instead, a soft glow emerged from the boy's open mouth, faint at first, like the flicker of a candle caught between life and death. Then, the light pulsed, and from within him, a small, shimmering butterfly fluttered forward—a saat.

The butterfly hovered above his lips, its body pulsing with a golden luminescence that mirrored the Third Moon's eerie glow. Its wings shimmered with iridescent veins of silver and deep blue, shifting hues like water reflecting the night sky.

Echternach inhaled deeply, his body trembling slightly as though feeling the emptiness left behind by what had just taken flight.

Marie-Hex, for once, found herself at a loss for words.

Of all the things that could have emerged from the depths of his being, from the long slumber of a Spirit not yet finished with its tale—she had never expected something so quiet. So small. So fragile to belong to something so powerful, so mighty, and so dreadful.

And yet, she had never seen anything more dream-like.

Marie-Hex watched as the glowing butterfly flitted between the suspended snowflakes, its delicate wings catching the eerie light of the Third Moon. It moved, untouched, as if it belonged to neither life nor death.

Then, just as swiftly as it had appeared, it descended.

The instant its tiny legs met the snow, the earth swallowed it whole.

Gone.

No ripple, no trace, no whisper of its existence. One moment, it had been there—a glowing fragment of something ancient and powerful—and the next, it had simply vanished, devoured by the frozen ground as if it had never been.

Marie-Hex narrowed her red eyes, her ears twitching at the silence that followed. The world remained frozen around her, but her mind raced. Where had he gone? Where had the Howling Night slipped away to?

Cautiously, she crouched low, her fingers hovering just above the untouched snow. Her breath ghosted over the surface as she searched, tilting her head as if listening for something beyond the reach of human ears.

Nothing.

No lingering shimmer of magic, no telltale disturbance in the frost. Just endless white, stretching cold and indifferent beneath her fingertips.

Her nose wrinkled. "Well," she muttered, pressing a single finger into the snow. "That's bad, that's very bad."

Marie-Hex barely had time to react before a guttural growl erupted beneath the snow, the deep vibration sending a shiver through the frozen air. Before she could move, the ground beneath her trembled, and a forceful burst of wind and ice slammed into her, knocking her backwards.

She tumbled onto her back, the world spinning in a storm of snow and shadow. Flurries danced wildly around her, blinding her momentarily.

Through the chaotic swirl, a shape began to emerge.

A massive figure rose from the storm, shaking off the snow in cascading waves. The sheer size of it made the air feel heavy, as though the world had shrunk around its presence.

Marie-Hex blinked, her eyes narrowing through the frost-laden haze, and finally—finally—she saw it.

A direwolf.

Its towering form loomed over her, sleek black fur rippling like the night sky itself. But it wasn't just darkness that cloaked the beast—stars shimmered across its back, constellations twisting and reforming as if the entire cosmos had taken residence in its body.

The Third Moon's glow reflected in its deep, piercing eyes—ancient, knowing, and utterly unreadable.

The beast exhaled, a gust of warm breath misting into the frigid air, carrying the scent of something wild, something old.

The Howling Night let out a bark of laughter, his massive form shifting as he bounded around Marie-Hex like an overgrown pup. His paws thudded against the packed snow, and before she could react, his warm tongue swiped across her cheek.

"Stop it! Stop!" Marie-Hex squealed, pushing at his muzzle, half laughing, half irritated as the wolf continued his enthusiastic assault. "Howl! No, I'm not belly-rubbing you!"

The direwolf huffed, clearly disappointed, and plopped onto the snow with a dramatic thud. He sat up, his enormous head tilting, his glowing eyes fixed on her expectantly. "So?"

Marie-Hex blinked. "So what?"

The Howling Night's tail flicked, sending a dusting of snow into the air. "Where is my Master?"

Marie-Hex smirked, crossing her arms as she leaned back slightly. "Oh, your Master is a bun in the oven somewhere in Ormgrund," she teased.

The wolf blinked. His cosmic fur shimmered, a constellation shifting across his flank as he processed her words. Then, he let out an incredulous, "Seriously?" The Howling Night's ears twitched, his glowing eyes narrowing with mock suspicion. "Are you taking your revenge?"

Marie-Hex smirked, brushing stray snowflakes from her white fur coat. "A tiny bit," she admitted. "Petty for all the promised cheese I never saw."

The great wolf huffed, his breath curling in the frigid air like mist. "You are so..."

"Anyway, you'll find your Master in Ormgrund," she said casually as if she weren't speaking of fate itself. "District Fisherman, on the island called Maria-Se and—"

Before she could finish, the wolf was gone.

"You didn't let me finish about Xendrix—" she tried to shout after him, but the cold swallowed her voice. A gust of wind howled through the square, swirling the snow in his wake, and just like that, he had disappeared into the Long Night.

Marie-Hex exhaled sharply, crossing her arms as she muttered, "Did he forget? No… no, he wouldn't. Would he?"

The world around her snapped back into motion. The villagers gasped as if suddenly released from an unseen spell. Conversations resumed in hushed murmurs, cautious glances exchanged as though trying to piece together what had just happened.

Marie-Hex stood still, watching the first burning arrow cut through the sky. It struck the pyre, and flames roared to life, licking at the wood with a hunger that swallowed the boy's former shell in golden embers.

Marie-Hex pulled her coat tighter around her.

It was done.

Now, it was time to go home, back to her Master.

Marie-Hex returned to her old self and merged with the snow, ready to return home. She had been gone for a few days—no big deal. Nothing terrible could have possibly happened in her absence.

Absolutely nothing.

Everything was under control.

Right?

Her Master was waiting with delicious buttery cheese. And surely—surely—he hadn't managed to get himself into anything too terrifying while she was gone. Right?

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