"I wanted to live a normal life, but my family brought me pain—the kind that doesn't bleed, but festers."
I saw seven hundred commoners and lesser noble boys and men. Listening to the pitiless Lord Commander. Listening to the vassal of the beast who brought the pain that clawed my heart.
The man's gaze was sharp, but suddenly it drifted—it became distant, unfocused, as though he was staring past me and into something long gone.
"It was a wide snowfield," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "It stretched in every direction… farther than the eye could follow.
And there was nothing—only the white snow and only hopelessness.
You could walk for hours and never feel closer to anything. The world just kept swallowing you whole."
His voice grew rough. "The air burned… each breath felt like fire in your chest. And in the snow, you could see them—swords.
All kinds of swords—long, short, broken. There were thousands, maybe more. Buried in the white like gravestones.
They said those were the blades of the ones who wanted to rebel against the wall that protected us."
His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. He traced his other hand over his chest slowly. Through the crowd, I saw a faint scar on his chest.
One that went from his shoulder down to his abdomen. 'Scary,' that was my first thought after I saw it. 'Was it a human? A Death Knight? Or maybe even a Dullahan? The cut left a deep wound, so it's most probably a Dullahan.'
"A great man whom I met there said something which stuck with me ever since." He continued, but his gaze was still locked onto me.
"All men are not created equal—he said once, and it was the moment I realized that cruel fact." He stopped again and paced the platform slowly.
The Lord Commander was far from weak. For a man of his stature to carry a scar like that on his chest and the way he just spoke, could only mean one thing—he had faced either a Patriarch or one of their Vice Patriarchs.
"Unlucky. It wasn't a Death Knight or a Dullahan, it was a human." I muttered, a bitter smile tugged at my lips. 'Humans could be monsters too… sometimes worse than the real ones.' I began to picture the place he spoke of, cold and endless in my mind.
I could almost see it—the snowfield and him standing all alone, surrounded by dozens of swords. I could also feel it, the cold which came with the air I inhaled.
Memories of the snowfield resurface in my mind. I had visited the snowfield which the Lord Commander mentioned, also known as the Winter Grave of Swords
And there was only one man I knew who would say that. The one they called the Shield of the Empire—my father.
My hands trembled, though I wasn't sure if it was from the cold…or from remembering what he did to me when I failed to awaken my veins.
But then the Lord Commander stopped pacing and prepared to speak once more.
"The nobles said we were weak…that the meek should serve them, that our backs were made to bend beneath their boots.
They called us lesser men, beasts of burden who were fit only to build their thrones."
He paused as he looked at the crowd gathered in front of him, and then at me. Even in this crowd, he could pinpoint my location; after all, I was his squire. 'Though I have yet to be knighted.'
"But they are wrong. The weak are not born, they are made. Starved, broken, beaten—and those who live through it are not weak anymore.
I have no noble blood, no fancy armor covering my skin. I was not raised in high palaces, and I did not sleep on silk beds. I have nothing, and because I have nothing, I will lose nothing when I die.
They think power is their birthright. But I have learned the truth—power is hunger. Power is pain endured, which is turned to will.
So if you scar less children think life will be easy here, then you're wrong." He paused once again, and a chuckle escaped his mouth.
"Only those who truly do not break under pressure will survive. The rest of you could go die for I cared.
I have spent the last forty years here, and I know that when winter is coming, we best be prepared for what it brings."
His voice thundered and pierced through every man present here, but not me.
'But I was no commoner, though; I was the youngest son of the Emberfells—the protectors of the Empire. I was raised in high palaces, I rode horses through meadows, I slept on silk beds, for it all to be taken away when I couldn't awaken my veins.'
I looked around me, the commoners and the lesser nobles made faces unbecoming of men. They were cowards, but soon they will get polished into loyal subjects of the Dragon's Watch.
But in that process, I know just how many would not survive because I, too, barely survived it four years ago.
*****
"Why were you late?" The Lord Commander's voice was calm but sharp as ever.
"I wasn't feeling well," I said.
Because I had a hole in my chest, you senile old man.
He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Orpheus, I don't want you here any longer than you need to be. Just pray your veins awaken soon. You've suffered enough these past four years."
He went through a pile of papers and pulled out a sealed envelope. "Your father wanted me to make you a ranger. Said danger might awaken your veins, but I refused." He paused. "This came for you, from your brother."
I took the letter, and my eyes flickered between the seal and Ser Rorik Holt—Lord Commander of the Dragon's Watch, Western Wall. My hand hesitated, expecting another cruel jest…and another reminder that I didn't belong.
But when I saw the name on the seal, my chest tightened.
'Sorry for not sending more letters. The Eastern Front's been busy. Just wanted to let you know I miss you and hope you return soon. Stay safe, little brother.'
That was all what the letter contained. It was simple, clumsy, and yet wholly sincere, and for a moment, it almost felt like the world wasn't against me.
I slouched back in the corner chair as Ser Rorik buried himself in paperwork, the room was quiet except for the scratching of his quill. I didn't mind waiting, as being his squire meant I'd done worse.
Then the door burst open. A guard stumbled in, breathless as if something had occurred.
"The rangers are back! Elder Kane…he's missing. He saved the others, but…he was still alive when they last saw him."
My stomach dropped. Elder Kane was my uncle. One of the few who'd never looked at me with disgust.
The wound in my chest pulsed. Once. Twice, then a few more times. The whispers returned, though faint but clearer this time, words curled around my thoughts like a snake.
Blood ran from my nose and dropped on the letter in my hands. But I couldn't care less about some blood. I clenched my fists and looked at Ser Rorik.
"I'm joining the rangers," I said, my voice low and steady. "I'm finding him myself."