Rúðólfr the Red-Nosed Reindeer

In the long shadows of Everwinter, where the northern lights hang like ghostly ribbons over frost-bitten forests, there was once a reindeer born with a strange and terrible mark. His name was Rúðólfr, known later to the mortal world as Rudolph. Unlike his kin, who prided themselves on sleek coats and proud antlers, Rúðólfr bore a strange, crimson glow upon his nose, casting eerie red light in the depths of winter night. The other reindeer regarded him with suspicion, believing him cursed. Mothers warned their fawns not to wander near him, lest they catch whatever strange spell clung to his hide.
Now, Rúðólfr knew nothing of what this red light meant, nor did he understand why he was shunned. He wandered alone, hiding his nose in shame beneath the snowdrifts, wandering deep into the forested glades, far from his herd. But every winter, the glow grew brighter, casting shadows that seemed to dance around him in strange shapes.
One midwinter night, when the cold was so fierce it cracked the stones, Rúðólfr ventured farther into the wild than ever before, hoping to find the source of his curse. As he crossed the icebound river, a great shadow fell across him. He looked up to see a figure standing alone among the frostbitten trees, cloaked in crimson robes that seemed woven from the twilight itself. It was the Red God, the Winter Guardian and judge of the cold months, his face as hard as frozen stone, his eyes like the cold fire of the northern lights.
“Rúðólfr,” the Red God intoned, his voice echoing through the woods like the groan of ancient ice. “Why do you wander so far from your kin on this night of darkness?”
The young reindeer, shivering, dared to meet the Red God’s gaze. “They fear me,” he answered, “for I bear a light that should not be. They say I am cursed.”
The Red God studied him, his cold, knowing eyes narrowing. “Perhaps you are cursed. But that which brings fear to others can bring great strength to those who know its true nature. Will you offer your light to me, Rúðólfr?”
Now, Rúðólfr was filled with awe and dread. “What would you ask of me, Lord?”
The Red God’s lips twisted into a shadow of a smile. “I have need of a guide through the longest winter nights. There are paths that only those who carry the blood of ancient fey can tread, and there are glows that can cut through the deepest shadows. Serve me, and I shall lift the weight of your curse. Reject me, and you will be forever bound to wander these woods alone.”
Fear gnawed at Rúðólfr’s heart, yet he bowed his head in reverence. “I will serve you, if it will give me purpose in this light I bear.”
With that, the Red God touched Rúðólfr’s nose, and the crimson light flared so brightly that it cast the entire forest in a blood-red glow. Shadows danced wildly, and from that night forth, Rúðólfr was bound to the Red God’s service. He became the Lord’s watchful messenger, carrying his eerie light to the edges of the mortal world, guiding lost souls to the fey lands or luring those who strayed too far into the freezing grasp of Everwinter.
And as for the tales told to children on cold winter nights, they remember Rúðólfr still, though they know him by a gentler name, not knowing the truth. In the land of Everwinter, the Red God’s servant is seen from afar, his red glow cutting through the night—a reminder of the price of purpose and the strange bargains struck in the depths of winter.