Activity Introduction

[Prof. Sindor Aloyarc]

You wake in the new year to a sky thick with white. Pillowy flakes drifting slow and the world outside your window glowing in the early light.

The Beastkeepers’ Lodge looks alive beneath its crust of frost. Chimneys puffing, lanterns flickering. Rows of icicles chiming their frozen songs into the wind.

Inhaling deeply, you pick up the scent of warm porridge from downstairs.

It’s your first winter here.

The Lodge sits at the edge of the Northland Wastes, a place where maps grow hazy and compasses refuse to point. You came here bundled in more scarves than sense, eager to begin your apprenticeship under Orla the Keeper, the most renowned Beastkeeper in a hundred years. You expected lectures, perhaps, or lessons in herbcraft and habitat, but certainly not this.

Because outside, above the sweeping snowfields and the frost-tipped trees, the sky has begun to shimmer with ribbons of dazzling color. The Aurora Path.

It should be beautiful. It is beautiful! …But something is wrong.

The lights don’t dance as they should. They flicker and stutter, fading in and out like a candle fighting the breeze. And with every dimming wave, the Lodge itself seems to hold its breath, listening for a sound that doesn’t come.

You hurry downstairs, nearly colliding with a snow hare who gives you a sharp look before vanishing under a bench. The main hall crackles with quiet urgency. Apprentices rush about with scrolls, charts, and steaming mugs, while Orla stands at the great window, her cloak drawn close around her shoulders. She’s tall and silver-haired, with eyes bright as moonlight on ice.

“You feel it too,” she says softly when you approach. “The Path is breaking.”

You glance up at the largest window. Beyond it, the aurora’s colors twist, unraveling like threads pulled loose from a tapestry.

“What does it mean?” you ask.

“It means the Migration began too late. And without guidance.” Orla turns, her voice low but steady. “Every century, when the Aurora Path shines true, the great Snowbeasts begin their journey to the Heart of Winter as the sun is reborn on the solstice. They follow the light across tundra and mountain, guided by the rhythm of the world itself. But if the Path falters…”

Her gaze hardens. “They’ll lose their way.”

You’ve read about the Migration in old books, how entire herds of frost elk cross the frozen plains and glacier turtles the size of cottages plod south to meet them. How the aurora wolves weave new stars with each step of their paws. It’s a sacred rhythm, the pulse of winter itself.

If it fails… the balance of the season could unravel.

Orla reaches into her cloak and draws out a small crystal sphere, faintly glowing from within. A map of light blooms inside it, swirls of blue and silver tracing out paths through forests and over mountains. “The Beasts have scattered,” she says. “They’ve lost the call. I can no longer reach them all at once.”

She sets the sphere into your hands. It hums gently, as though recognizing you.

“You will go,” Orla continues, “and find them. The frost elk, the owlcats, the wolves, the yeti—all of them. You must remind them who they are and guide them back to the Path within three days of the new moon.”

“Me?” you sputter. “But I’ve only just begun training! I haven’t even—”

Her expression softens, though her tone does not. “The world doesn’t wait for readiness. It waits for heart. And yours burns bright enough to see through the storm.”

You’re not sure if that’s comforting or terrifying.

Orla steps closer, resting a gloved hand on your shoulder. “Take Finn with you,” she says, nodding toward the window.

You follow her gaze and spot a small, foxlike creature perched on the sill. His fur flickers between white and pale blue, his tail tipped in starlight. He grins, showing too many teeth.

“Don’t worry,” he says cheerfully. “I’ve only been eaten by a frost giant once.”
You blink. “…Once?”

Finn’s toothy smile widens. “Twice if you count the dream.”

Orla hides a smirk. “He knows the northern paths. He’ll get you where you need to go.” Then, more quietly, “Be swift, and be kind. The beasts are frightened. They don’t understand why their sky is breaking.”

Outside, the snow deepens as wind howls through the pines. The Aurora Path shivers before dimming almost to nothing.
You step out into the cold, the map-sphere glowing in your palm, Finn bounding ahead through the drifts. Somewhere far off, a sound echoes across the frozen wilds. A low, resonant call, like the singing of the earth itself.

The Great Migration has begun. And this winter, its fate rests with you.