The First Scripture 

 The Covenant of Winter
 From the Holy Scriptures of the White Stag, by Viktorie, First Prophet of the White Stag GOD. 



 I.
 Before the seas became ice, the world worshipped weak gods.
 They promised warmth, mercy, and tomorrow. They all died.
 Only the White Stag crossed the Last Blizzard without bowing. 
His antlers carried the weight of the endless winter, and His shadow became the law of the frozen earth.

 II.
 The White Stag speaks no words of love.
 He teaches hunger. He teaches wrath. 
 He teaches that survival is the only sacred truth. 
 The faithful shall not kneel—they shall hunt.

 III. 
 An altar shall be raised from the bones of the White Stag, crowned with His antlers, so His gaze forever watches the snow.
 Upon it rest the remains of the Hunt, for flesh returns to winter and bones become eternal witnesses.
 Nothing offered to the Stag is ever wasted.

 IV. 
 Blood is the covenant.
 Cold is the baptism. 
 The blizzard is the sermon. 
 The White Stag remembers every hunter who feeds winter and forgets every soul who hides from it.

V. 
 Let the world fear the coming of His footsteps.
 For where the White Stag walks, mercy freezes... and only the faithful remain...

 VI.
 The White Stag cursed the empty stomach before He cursed the empty heart.
 For hunger reveals truth, while comfort breeds liars. 
 The faithful do not fear flesh. 
 All flesh returns to winter, and winter chooses who shall become meat and who shall become hunter. 
 The altar must never stand barren. 
 Bones are the pillars of remembrance.
 Blood is the ink of devotion.
 Every offering laid beneath the antlers becomes part of the Eternal Hunt.

 "What winter claims shall never be returned."

 VII.
 When the blizzard falls silent, know that the White Stag is watching. 
 He counts the fearful before He counts the dead. 
 The prophet shall wear frost upon her hands and carry wrath where mercy once lived.
 Let no oath be broken beneath His antlers, for betrayal stains the snow darker than blood.
 Those who abandon the Hunt are not mourned. 
 Their names are scraped from bone.
 Their footsteps are swallowed by ice.
 Only those who endure the endless winter shall walk beside the White Stag when the last dawn freezes forever.