"Do not speak ill of yourself. The warrior within hears-and is weakened."
-
The storm wasn't coming. It was already here.
The wind howled like a beast on the hunt, tearing through the lifeless expanses of snow. A boy-small, barely nine-lay face-up in the white void, limbs too numb to move, breath too faint to matter.
He'd tried to stand. He really had. But the frost had already claimed his legs then his arms… now, even his voice.
His scream had vanished into the storm, just like everything else.
Cold. Everything was cold. His skin had turned pale. His lips were frozen shut, and his heartbeat felt like it was slowing with every passing second. He couldn't even cry properly anymore-only two silent tears escaped, trailing down cheeks that were more ice than flesh.
"This is it, isn't it…? I'm really going to die here…"
He wanted to ask someone for help. He wanted someone to care. But… no one ever had.
Born to a woman who sold herself and abandoned him before even giving him a name-he had to name himself. Zach. That's what he called himself. Just… Zach. No last name. No home. No future.
He was only nine, but it felt like he'd lived a hundred years of pain.
"Am… I going… to die?"
His words stuttered like glass clinking against the wind. His voice was colder than the snow beneath him.
He didn't expect a reply.
But then-
"Do you really want that to be your last sentence, little warrior?"
His eyes snapped open-barely.
A figure stood nearby, dressed in a long white coat with a black star embroidered on the back. She had long, snow-white hair that covered her left eye, and the one visible-her right-was a shade of blue that seemed to pierce through the storm itself. Like the sky had given her one of its pieces.
She smiled.
Not mockingly. Not pitying. Just… kindly.
"The world's a sad place, isn't it? She said, flopping backwards onto the snow like it was the normal thing in the world. There were just a few meters between them.
She turned her head to look at him.
"What's your name, kid?
"Za… Zach…"
His voice cracked. His lips were stiff. But somehow, he got it out.
"Zach, huh? That's a cool name. I'm Emily. Emily Lionherzt." She gave a small wave like they were meeting at a park bench instead of a frozen graveyard. "So, Zach-what brings you to a place like this?
"I… I was running…"
"From who?"
"Scary… people…"
"I see." Emily sighed, lying still as snowflakes began to collect in her hair. "This world's pretty unfair, huh? But it's okay now. You're safe."
Zach didn't reply.
She blinked. "Zach?"
No answer. She sat up, snow sliding off her shoulders, and turned toward him his eyes were shut.
Too still.
"Not on my watch," she whispered. With practiced ease, she stood, stepped over to him his freezing body into her arms. His legs were half-buried in the snow. She pulled them free and held him close.
Then-she bent her knees.
The ground cracked beneath her.
And in the next instant, she shot into the sky like a bullet, the force of her leap leaving behind a crater.
To Emily, the air wasn't just breathable-it was walkable. She dashed through it with ease, as though gravity itself bowed to her command.
As the cold wind rushed past her and the boy's shallow breathing fluttered against her shoulder, she whispered:
"Sleep well, young king… For your throne awaits." "Do not speak ill of yourself. The warrior within hears-and is weakened."
-
The storm wasn't coming. It was already here.
The wind howled like a beast on the hunt, tearing through the lifeless expanses of snow. A boy-small, barely nine-lay face-up in the white void, limbs too numb to move, breath too faint to matter.
He'd tried to stand. He really had. But the frost had already claimed his legs then his arms… now, even his voice.
His scream had vanished into the storm, just like everything else.
Cold. Everything was cold. His skin had turned pale. His lips were frozen shut, and his heartbeat felt like it was slowing with every passing second. He couldn't even cry properly anymore-only two silent tears escaped, trailing down cheeks that were more ice than flesh.
"This is it, isn't it…? I'm really going to die here…"
He wanted to ask someone for help. He wanted someone to care. But… no one ever had.
Born to a woman who sold herself and abandoned him before even giving him a name-he had to name himself. Zach. That's what he called himself. Just… Zach. No last name. No home. No future.
He was only nine, but it felt like he'd lived a hundred years of pain.
"Am… I going… to die?"
His words stuttered like glass clinking against the wind. His voice was colder than the snow beneath him.
He didn't expect a reply.
But then-
"Do you really want that to be your last sentence, little warrior?"
His eyes snapped open-barely.
A figure stood nearby, dressed in a long white coat with a black star embroidered on the back. She had long, snow-white hair that covered her left eye, and the one visible-her right-was a shade of blue that seemed to pierce through the storm itself. Like the sky had given her one of its pieces.
She smiled.
Not mockingly. Not pitying. Just… kindly.
"The world's a sad place, isn't it? She said, flopping backwards onto the snow like it was the normal thing in the world. There were just a few meters between them.
She turned her head to look at him.
"What's your name, kid?
"Za… Zach…"
His voice cracked. His lips were stiff. But somehow, he got it out.
"Zach, huh? That's a cool name. I'm Emily. Emily Lionherzt." She gave a small wave like they were meeting at a park bench instead of a frozen graveyard. "So, Zach-what brings you to a place like this?
"I… I was running…"
"From who?"
"Scary… people…"
"I see." Emily sighed, lying still as snowflakes began to collect in her hair. "This world's pretty unfair, huh? But it's okay now. You're safe."
Zach didn't reply.
She blinked. "Zach?"
No answer. She sat up, snow sliding off her shoulders, and turned toward him his eyes were shut.
Too still.
"Not on my watch," she whispered. With practiced ease, she stood, stepped over to him his freezing body into her arms. His legs were half-buried in the snow. She pulled them free and held him close.
Then-she bent her knees.
The ground cracked beneath her.
And in the next instant, she shot into the sky like a bullet, the force of her leap leaving behind a crater.
To Emily, the air wasn't just breathable-it was walkable. She dashed through it with ease, as though gravity itself bowed to her command.
As the cold wind rushed past her and the boy's shallow breathing fluttered against her shoulder, she whispered:
"Sleep well, young king… For your throne awaits."