Chapter One: The Hunger Year

The Heath had never known a year so cruel.

Winter came early, sweeping in from the northern cliffs with an iron grip. The frost set deep, killing the roots of the moorgrass and sealing the marshes in ice. By midseason, the burrows lay empty of food, and the great blackbirds circling above were not the usual messengers of autumn—but the harbingers of death. Nothing grew, nothing moved, and nothing lived long.

The fox dens stood silent, their kits starved before their first snowfall. The once-proud badgers, rulers of the western thickets, abandoned their tunnels to forage desperately in enemy territory. The Hollow Parliament, the ruling council of the Heath’s creatures, dissolved into squabbling and theft. The great owl Ormund, who once spoke of unity, was found stiff and frozen beneath his perch, his wings wrapped around his last, uneaten meal.

And then came the true horror.

The wolves returned.

Not the noble hunters of the old ways, but ragged specters of starvation. Once, they had ignored the Heath, content with the deep woods beyond the eastern hills. But hunger had driven them mad. They came as ghosts in the night—silent, relentless, driven by a need beyond reason. The Heath Dwellers fought them with all they had, but desperation left no victors. Even the cunning foxes and the thorn-clad hedgehogs were no match for the hunger-mad beasts. The wolves took what they wanted, leaving only bloodstains and shattered dens in their wake.

When spring should have come, it did not. The land remained frozen. Snow melted into mud, then froze again in unnatural patterns. Something was wrong.

And then, on the bleakest day of the bleakest year, they arrived.

Chapter Two: The Bargain of the Blue Wizards

They came with no warning. No sound of hooves, no sight of banners. Just three figures seated upon the moor, cloaked in blue, waiting.

They did not move for hours. The wind howled over them, but they did not shiver. The sun set, but they did not build a fire. They simply sat, unmoving, hands folded over scrolls of fine parchment.

The first to approach them was an old hare—Marl, once a swift and proud courier, now little more than bones wrapped in fur. His ribs showed through his pelt, his eyes dull with starvation. Desperation drove him forward, not courage.

The middle wizard, wrapped in dark sapphire robes, regarded him with amusement. "Are you cold, traveler?" he asked, his voice like silk spun over steel.

Marl opened his mouth to speak, but the wizard continued.

"Are you hungry?"

At that, the hare fell to his knees. His breath came in short gasps. "Please," he whispered. "Please."

The wizard smiled. From within his sleeve, he produced a parchment scroll, unfurling it with a single flick. The paper shimmered unnaturally, its ink shifting like oil upon water.

"Sign," he said, "and you will want for nothing."

Marl hesitated—but only for a moment. What choice did he have? His bones ached, his belly was empty, and the promise of relief hung before him like fruit upon a high branch.

With shaking paws, he marked the paper with a quill of deep blue ink.

And the moment he did, the Heath Games began.

Chapter Three: The Games Begin

By dusk, dozens had signed. Rabbits, mice, foxes, even the proud badgers. Each, lured by the same whispered promise—warmth, food, and safety. None of them noticed the way the three wizards exchanged amused glances.

None of them saw the hunters watching from the hills.

They came in the night—silent, swift, merciless. **Hulking figures Dark shapes, clad in stitched leather and matted furs, moving with the silence of specters. Faces half-hidden behind scarves and soot-stained cloth, eyes cold as river stones. Their weapons were not the gleaming blades of noble warriors, but the cruel tools of butchers and trappers—gutting knives, serrated hunting bows, steel-jawed snares hidden beneath the heather.

They stalked through the night, shadows against the bramble, stepping with practiced ease over frozen roots and brittle grass. No word passed between them. They had done this before.

And the first to fall was Marl.

He barely had time to scream.

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