Note:
Moments marked with arrows descend into the past—short, sharpened cuts in time, revealed the way an anime flashes memories across the screen. They do not show everything... only what refuses to stay buried.
FOREWORD:
Welcome to The Broken North.
This world does not speak loudly. Nothing here rushes. Nothing announces itself. Everything simply exists, waiting in the cold.
In these lands, stories do not begin with declarations.
No omens. No promises. Only the calm weight of winter settling around the living and the dead alike.
At the center of it stands a boy named Veros.
This is the North—unbroken, unmoved, untouched by expectation.
And this is where the story takes its first breath:
Gray light spread across the land, settling over every surface it touched.
A black fortress rose from the snow-covered ground, its walls sharp and cold against the pale field below. Snow rested along the ledges and corners of the stone.
In front of the fortress, an army filled the field.
Warriors stood in long, ordered rows, their gray-white fur mantles draped over gray helmets and metal breastplates dusted with snow. The muted colors blended with the landscape.
High on the fortress wall, one figure stood apart.
A black uniform, clean and plain.
Two warriors in full gear stood beside him.
Below, the formation remained still.
The figure in the black uniform lifted his hand.
Every warrior raised their head.
Their attention locked on him instantly.
His voice carried across the open ground.
"This world favors only those who reach for it."
"So we will take what stands before us. Village by village. Land by land."
"Nothing will remain untouched. We advance, and everything in our path will fall."
A short pause followed, his tone unchanged.
"We march for our land. We march for war."
"War is our peace."
The silence broke at once.
A deep roar surged from the assembled warriors, rolling across the field and striking against the walls of the fortress.
The man in the black uniform lowered his hand slightly, letting the echo of the roar fade across the field. When the noise settled, he spoke again.
"Then we begin."
"Our march starts now. The lands around us asked for peace."
His gaze moved across the formation.
"They received it. But we will not stand idle."
"We move for our god. The other kingdoms have no will to resist. No strength to hold their ground."
A faint pause followed.
"We do. And we carry it because our god has given it to us."
"So we take what lies ahead."
"The lands. The borders. The kingdoms."
"Move."
The formation shifted at once.
Rows of warriors turned in perfect unison.
Armor pressed against armor as the mass of soldiers began to march, their boots sinking into the layered white with each step.
Waves rolled against a shoreline, slow and rhythmic, leaving foam across the sand. Houses stood close together along the water, their wooden walls bright where the sunlight touched them. Nets hung from posts, drying in the open air, and small boats rested near the docks with ropes tied neatly along the beams.
Children crossed near the beach. Fishermen gathered at the pier, baskets beside them, their clothes marked with traces of the sea.
Seagulls circled overhead.
Two boys walked along the path that led from the forest toward the village.
The boy carrying the larger bundle of wood wore a light tunic with brown gradients, a brown-black fur mantle across his back, black gloves marked with thin resin stains, and dark sturdy boots. His hair was black and slightly wavy, falling near his eyes, and the eyes beneath were green.
The second boy held a smaller stack of wood in both arms.
He wore a plain gray tunic, a short fur mantle, coarse trousers, and worn boots with loose stitching along the sides. His hair was white and uneven, and his eyes were dark and sharply shaped.
"You're walking slowly today," the boy with the heavier load said.
"That's only because you took all the straight logs and left me these bent ones," the white-haired boy replied with a small grin.
"Trying to make my day harder, Veros?"
Veros shifted the wood on his shoulder.
"If choosing decent wood counts as sabotage, then yes."
The white-haired boy raised one of his crooked logs a little.
"And now I'm stuck carrying these."
Veros looked at him.
"You wouldn't be stuck if you woke up before me, Kazuro."
Kazuro gave a quiet breath that edged into a laugh.
"If I wake earlier, you'll start earlier too. It never changes."
Veros looked toward the village roofs.
"At least the extra coin is worth it."
Kazuro nodded lightly.
"It always is."
Veros and Kazuro stepped into the small open area near the village stalls.
A merchant stood behind a counter, sorting a few coils of rope.
He had short dark-blond hair, light brown skin, and narrow blue eyes. His clothes were simple: a brown vest over a linen shirt and worn trousers.
"You two are early today," the merchant said as they approached with the wood.
Kazuro shifted his stack slightly.
"That's because Veros decided to walk like an old man."
Veros looked at him with a flat expression.
"You kept stopping to check every log you picked up."
The merchant examined the bundles.
"Good condition. I'll take all of it."
He counted out a set of coins, placed them on a folded cloth, and pushed it toward them.
"Fair payment," Veros said as he collected the coins.
Veros tucked his share away.
"I'm heading home. My parents said they'd have food ready."
Kazuro raised a hand slightly.
"Enjoy it. I should get back too before my mother starts asking questions."
"See you tomorrow."
Veros had only a few houses left to pass before reaching his own.
Then a sound broke through the quiet rhythm of the village.
A deep, heavy pounding.
One beat.
Then another.
Then several, overlapping and growing in force.
Around him, people began to slow their steps.
A woman near a doorway looked over her shoulder.
A fisherman set down the basket in his hands.
Shapes emerged at the far edge of the village road—figures moving in formation.
Their silhouettes sharpened as they approached: warriors wearing gray-white fur mantles, gray helmets, and metal breastplates.
A man beside Veros spoke under his breath.
"They're here… they came… but why for us?"
"Everyone inside! Go!" a woman shouted from somewhere near the market stalls.
Doors opened.
Shutters slammed shut.
The calm rhythm of the village broke apart in seconds.
Behind Veros, a door swung open.
A man stepped out onto the small wooden porch.
His skin was unusually pale, almost colorless.
Long, pitch-black hair fell straight down the sides of his face.
His eyes, white with a faint yellow tint, held a imperceptible glow.
"Veros!" the man called,
"Veros, come here. Get inside, now."
Veros stepped into the house, and his father closed the door behind him.
The noise from outside dulled, replaced by the stillness inside the small room.
His mother stood near the table.
She had long black hair that fell over her shoulders, the same shade as Veros'.
Her eyes were green, matching his as well.
She wore a simple tunic and a light mantle, her hands resting tensely against the wood of the table.
"Mother… Father… What's happening out there?"
His father moved closer.
"Those are warriors," he said quietly. "And they've come for our village."
Veros felt his throat tighten.
"Why? Why would they come here? What's going on?"
"I don't know why," his father answered.
"But we need to stay inside. We stay quiet, and we wait. We hide until we understand what they want."
His mother placed a hand near her chest.
"We'll be safe here for the moment. Just stay close to us."
Veros turned toward his father again.
"But… Father, you were a warrior in the Hundred-Year War. Why aren't you defending the village? Why aren't you fighting?"
"The men outside. They fought in that war as well. All of them. They are many. Far more than I could ever face alone. I wouldn't stand a chance. We have to hide."
A scream cut through the street outside, sharp enough to shake the wooden walls.
The door burst open.
A warrior stepped inside, his boots striking the floor heavily.
Gray-white fur mantle.
Metal breastplate marked with dents.
A thick gray beard.
Cold blue eyes beneath a helmet, his sword already drawn.
His gaze locked on the three figures inside.
"So this house too," he said.
"There's no need to struggle. Your lives are already claimed."
He took a step forward.
Veros couldn't move.
His father stepped in front of him without hesitation.
"You won't touch my family," he said.
"Turn around and leave."
The warrior's expression didn't change.
He shifted his sword slightly.
"You stand alone. And you think that's enough?"
"I don't care if it's enough," Veros' father answered.
"I'm still here."
The warrior lunged, blade sweeping downward.
Veros' father dropped low in the same instant, slipping under the swing.
He drove his shoulder into the warrior's chest with all his force.
The impact sent the armored man crashing into the wooden wall behind him.
Dust shook loose from the beams.
Veros' father turned immediately.
"Veros. You and your mother—come with me. We're leaving. Now."
Veros' father pulled them through the back door.
Cold air hit their faces the moment they stepped outside.
Blood streaked the dirt road in uneven lines, some still fresh enough to glisten.
A villager lay half inside the doorway of the nearest house, his body twisted, a dark pool spreading beneath him.
A warrior stood over him, wiping his blade against the man's tunic before stepping over the body as if it were nothing.
Further down, two more villagers were forced to their knees.
The warriors behind them didn't shout, didn't warn—
they simply swung.
The first head dropped forward, blood painting the ground in a thick arc.
The second villager's arms trembled as he tried to crawl away, but a boot slammed into his back, pinning him flat.
Another cut, another burst of red, and he stopped moving.
Veros stumbled as they ran, his shoes slipping slightly on a slick patch of red that smeared across the ground.
His father gripped his arm tighter and pulled him between two storage huts, where more bodies lay crumpled.
Some had fallen face-first into the dirt, red spreading beneath them; others lay on their sides, arms still stretched toward the direction they had tried to escape.
As they turned a corner, Veros' mother flinched at the sight of a blood-smeared wall.
The open edge of the village appeared ahead.
Beyond it, the wooden pier stretched into the water.
Blood had reached even here.
"Keep going. We reach the pier. Don't stop."
The wooden boards stretched over the shallow water, held up by uneven posts.
At the very end, tied loosely to a single rope, floated a small boat.
Its sides were worn, and the wood creaked each time a wave lifted it.
Veros' father released his arm.
"Veros. Get on."
Veros stared at the tiny boat, then at his father.
"What about you? What about Mother? And Kazuro—where is he? Why are we leaving them?"
"There is no space for all of us," his father said.
"You go. Only you."
Veros shook his head.
"No. I'm not leaving everyone behind. I can't. Kazuro is still out there, and the others—someone has to help them."
He took a step back toward the burning sounds behind them.
His father caught his shoulder and pulled him hard.
"Veros. Listen to me. You get on that boat. Now. You survive. That is what matters."
Veros tried to break free, but his father pushed him back with more force.
"Our lives are not important. Yours is."
Veros' eyes moved to his mother.
She stood slightly behind his father, tears streaking down her cheeks.
"Go. We'll stay. You have to live."
Veros shook his head again, but before he could speak, his father pushed him.
His footing slipped on the edge of the pier, and he landed against the side of the small vessel.
His father stepped closer, reaching beneath his own tunic.
Something shifted beneath the cloth.
He pulled out a sheathed sword.
The black hilt caught the faint light, its silver engravings glinting along the grip.
The guard was dark and smooth, and the sheath itself was simple.
"This is yours," his father said.
"Keep it with you. Don't lose it. Don't tell anyone where it came from."
His father placed the weapon gently in his hands.
"You take this. And then you go."
Veros' voice cracked.
"I don't want to leave you. I don't want to leave anyone."
Before Veros could step off the boat, his father pressed both hands against the vessel's edge and pushed hard.
The rope slipped free, and the small boat drifted away from the pier.
"Do not follow us," his father said.
"And do not come back. Live, Veros. That is all we ask."
The distance widened.
Veros reached out, tears slipping down his face.
"I'm leaving them… I'm leaving everyone…"
The current carried him further from the pier as the village burned behind him and the shouts of warriors rolled across the shore.
The boat drifted farther into the open water. The pier was already shrinking behind him, swallowed by smoke and fire.
He pressed both hands against the wooden edge and screamed at the empty horizon.
"WHY—WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?!"
"How did it all turn into THIS?! How can everything end in one single moment?!"
"No warning… nothing… NOTHING!"
He slammed his hand against the side of the boat.
"Why—why did it have to be like this?!"
He looked down at the sword in his hands. The black hilt shivered slightly as the boat rocked.
"And this… why did he give me THIS?!"
"Why?! What is this supposed to mean?!"
He wiped the tears with the back of his hand, but they kept falling.
"Why would he push me away…? Why wouldn't we run together? Why didn't we fight? Why didn't they even TRY?!"
He leaned forward, shouting so hard his throat burned.
"Why am I the one who has to leave?! Why am I the one they chose?! Why only me?!"
"I'll come back!"
"I'll come back no matter what! They're not dead— they're NOT! I know they're still alive! I'll find them! I'll find both of them!"
"And those warriors"
His teeth clenched.
"I won't forget what they did. I'll face all of them. I'll become strong enough to stand against them."
"I'm going to return! I SWEAR IT! I'll get my parents back— I'll get EVERYTHING back!"
The boat drifted farther into the open water.
The cold crept deeper into his skin. His lips parted slowly.
"I… feel tired…"
His eyes drooped.
His body sagged.
The world blurred at the edges.
Then everything went black.
A harsh jolt dragged him back.
His eyes snapped open to a sudden, violent sway beneath him. The boat pitched upward, then slammed down.
Dark clouds churned overhead. A sharp flash tore across the sky.
Lightning split the horizon.
"What—?!"
Rain hammered down stinging his skin. Another flash. A bolt of lightning slammed into the ocean ahead, exploding water upward in a white pillar.
Huge waves lifted themselves from the sea, towering above him, curling at their peaks like gray mountains ready to fall.
The boat lurched violently.
Veros clung to the wood, knuckles white, breath ragged.
"So… this is what's next?! This too?!"
The sea snarled in response, throwing another wave over the boat. Water crashed against his face, cold enough to sting his eyes.
"I'm not dying here!"
"I'm not dying! I won't!"
The next wave rose higher than the boat, a dark wall of water.
The impact sent the boat skidding sideways. Wood cracked. Splinters tore free. Veros' body lifted —thrown backward.
His back slammed against the rear boards.
The world flickered.
His fingers loosened.
A final crack of thunder tore through the sky.
Darkness dragged him under again.
When his eyes opened, everything was still.
The boat no longer moved.
Cold air pressed against his skin. The sky was pale, washed-out gray. Frost clung to the edges of the vessel.
Veros lay half inside the boat, half on a hard, frozen surface.
A stone shoreline stretched out beside him covered in a sheet of ice.
The boat had run aground, wedged between two rough stones.