Veros pushed his hands against the frozen stone and slowly lifted himself upright.
"This… wasn't a dream," he whispered. "It really happened… all of it."
The wind brushed past him, carrying the faint smell of salt and ice.
A weak exhale left him.
"It's real… everything… it was all real."
He lowered his head.
→ His father's hand shoving him back.
→ Kazuro's voice behind him on the village path.
→ The warrior's blade falling on the villager's neck.
→ His mother's last look before the rope slipped free.
→ The flames rising over the rooftops.
Then his jaw tightened.
He lifted his head.
"N. I'm not stopping here. I'm not giving up. I'm going to find them. I'll find my parents… wherever they are."
His fingers curled around the black-hilted sword at his side.
"And I'll make them pay for what they did. All of them."
Veros turned toward the stone ridge.
He climbed until he reached the top.
The land opened in front of him.
A vast field of snow stretched out to the horizon.
Beyond it, a dense forest of dark needle trees rose, each branch heavy under the weight of frost.
"How am I supposed to survive this…? I've never seen anything this cold… never lived in anything like this…"
"How… am I supposed to find them?"
"Where do I even start…?"
He pressed a hand to his chest, gripping the fabric of his tunic.
"There has to be a way. There has to."
"I just need a ship… a real one. Something that can survive a storm like that."
"I barely lived through that with a tiny boat… I can't cross the sea again unless I have something bigger. Something strong."
His steps slowed.
"But I don't have anything. No coins. No food. No place to go."
He stared at the snow stretching endlessly before him.
"I need to earn coins… somehow… enough to buy a ship."
"But… how am I supposed to do that… if I don't even know whether I can survive this place?"
His knees buckled.
"Why…?"
"Why is all of this happening?!"
He bent forward until his forehead pressed against the frozen ground.
"What am I supposed to do?! How am I supposed to survive alone?! How am I supposed to reach them?!"
The words spilled out between choked breaths.
"Why did everything change like this?! Why now?! WHY?!"
"WHY DOES IT HAVE TO BE LIKE THIS?!"
He pushed himself halfway up, then fell back again.
"WHY DOES EVERYTHING KEEP FALLING APART?!"
He turned onto his back, breath loud and ragged.
Then he curled forward again, fingers digging into the snow, throwing handfuls of it aside with shaking arms.
"I CAN'T DO THIS ALONE!"
"I CAN'T— I CAN'T—!"
He slammed his fist into the ground, snow bursting upward. "No… I have to do this."
He pushed himself up.
"I have to… for them."
"For my family… for my friends. I have to keep moving."
"I made a promise… and I'm going to keep it."
"I'll find them. I'll survive this place. I'll do whatever it takes."
He rose from the snow, unsteady at first, then standing straight.
"I'm not stopping here."
Then he walked.
Days blurred into one another.
Veros walked until his legs stopped responding, then forced himself forward again. Snow clung to his boots, to his clothes, to his hair.
Eventually, walking turned into dragging his feet.
Dragging turned into stumbling.
Stumbling turned into falling.
He pushed himself up each time—until he couldn't.
His knees hit the snow, and he crawled forward.
Hours passed.
Then—far in the distance—something shifted in the endless white.
A shape.
Small.
Steady.
Standing against the snow.
A house.
Hope pushed him forward.
He crawled the last stretch. When he finally reached the wooden steps, he lifted a shaking hand and knocked against the door.
The door creaked open.
An elderly woman stood inside the frame. Her gray hair fell in a loose braid over her shoulder, streaked with white. Wrinkles lined her face, deep and unmoving, and her pale blue eyes narrowed slightly as she looked down at him. She wore a thick wool cloak, patched in several places, and a heavy knitted scarf wrapped tightly around her neck.
"Boy… who are you? What happened to you?"
"I'm… a traveler. Please… I just need food. Anything. I need to survive."
Her expression hardened a little, her fingers tightening around the doorframe.
"I don't give to dangerous strangers," she said. "Not here."
Veros coughed once. He shook his head quickly.
"I'm not dangerous," he said.
"I'm not here to hurt anyone. I just… I just need help. Please."
The woman watched him for a long moment.
Finally, her shoulders eased.
"…Get up, boy. Come inside before the cold finishes you."
She reached down and took his arm.
"Easy… easy," she murmured. "Come now."
Veros leaned against her support as she guided him through the doorway—warmth brushing his frozen skin for the first time in days.
It smelled of burning wood and dried herbs. A single table stood near the center of the room, its surface worn smooth by years of use. Candles flickered along the shelves.
A stone fireplace glowed.
The elderly woman guided Veros toward a chair at the table.
"Sit down, child. Before your legs give out again."
The woman set a cup of warm water in front of him.
He took it with both hands, fingers barely steady enough to hold it.
After a moment, she asked, "Now… tell me. What is a boy your age doing out here alone? Why are you wandering in the snow like this?"
"I'm… traveling. For different reasons. And I don't know where I am. Not at all. My boat was caught in a storm… and when I woke up, I was here. I have no idea what this place is. Or where the next village might be."
The old woman's expression softened. She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders as she sat across from him.
"You poor thing," she murmured. "Stumbling into Fjordhelm like that… no wonder you look lost."
Veros blinked.
"Fjordhelm… I've never heard that name. Are we… still in Erandoria?"
"Erandoria? Oh, sweetheart. Erandoria is far west of here. Fjordhelm is a completely different kingdom."
Veros glanced at her.
"But… then how…?"
"That little boat of yours must have carried you across the entire sea between Erandoria and Fjordhelm. A miracle you survived at all."
Veros let out a breath.
"…I guess I really am lucky."
"Well," she continued, adjusting the scarf around her neck, "if you plan on surviving now that you're here—listen carefully. One day's march west of this house, you'll find a village. A proper one. There you can get supplies, food, maybe even a place to stay the night. Tell me, child… are you starving?"
Veros inhaled softly.
"…Yes. I haven't eaten in days."
"Oh heavens—well then, that settles it. I'll make you something warm right away."
She pushed herself up from the chair.
"I don't often have company… but it's nice, for once."
Veros looked up at her.
"You… don't often get visitors? But why? Why do you live all the way out here alone?"
The woman paused near a small counter where bundles of herbs hung from the beam above. She reached for a pot, setting it near the edge of the fireplace.
"Well…" she began, "my husband and I moved out here many years ago. He was a woodcutter. Strong as an ox, stubborn as a mountain, always swinging that axe of his. But he passed away some time ago."
She stirred the pot slowly with a wooden spoon.
"So it's just me now."
Veros lowered his eyes in respect.
"I'm… sorry," he said quietly.
She waved her hand.
"No need for that, dear. Life moves the way it moves."
She added grains and dried vegetables into the pot, the smell filling the room.
"And besides, I may live alone, but I'm not forgotten. The villagers come by every week. They bring food, wood, whatever I need. They're good people. That's why I can stay here. I'm never truly starving."
Veros nodded.
"Thank you… for helping me," he said. "I don't know what would've happened if I hadn't found this place."
The old woman turned back to the pot, stirring it with careful, patient movements.
"You're welcome, child. Now rest your hands and warm yourself. You'll eat soon."
"Boy," she said gently, "earlier you mentioned… 'other reasons' for traveling."
She turned a little closer, her expression curious but soft.
"What reasons are those, if I may ask?"
Veros' grip tightened slightly on the cup.
"I'm… not answering that."
She nodded once, slowly.
"Very well. That makes it harder to help you, but… I'll respect your choice."
Veros stayed silent for a moment.
"Do you…"
He hesitated, then pushed the words out.
"Do you know of any warriors who wear gray helmets? And fur mantles—gray and white?"
The woman froze.
Her hand stopped mid-movement above the pot.
"Oh, child…" she whispered. "Please don't tell me… You're talking about soldiers from Finnlago. They are a war nation. Fierce. Harsh. Their armies sweep through lands without warning. People fear them for a reason. Are they… the reason you're out here?"
Veros didn't think.
He snapped.
"DON'T ASK ME THAT!"
His shout hit the walls like a sudden strike.
"JUST—JUST SHUT UP ABOUT IT!"
The woman flinched, her shoulders drawing together as she instinctively stepped back.
Veros' eyes widened the moment he saw her reaction.
"I—… I'm sorry," he blurted out quickly.
"I didn't mean to shout. I don't know what's happening to me. Not lately."
"It's all right, boy. It's all right. You must have seen much."
Veros' chest tightened again.
"I—"
He forced himself to stop, jaw clenching as he swallowed the outburst.
"…these last days were hard for me. That's all."
"I understand."
She turned back to the fireplace, lifting the pot with both hands. A thick, steaming stew inside bubbled gently—made from barley, dried vegetables, and a bit of preserved meat softened by the heat.
"Here," she said. "Eat while it's hot."
Veros took the bowl with both hands.
He didn't rush, but every spoonful felt like it rebuilt something inside him.
When he finally set the empty bowl down, his breathing had steadied.
"…Thank you," he muttered.
"What's… the best way to earn coins here? I need money. I need to know where I am. I need to move."
"Well. If you have an axe, you can cut wood. The village buys chopped firewood every week. A strong stack can get you a handful of coins."
"I don't have an axe."
"I see… well then, you can use my husband's. It's old, but still sharp."
She pointed toward a wooden rack near the door where a weathered axe rested.
"You can take it—but you must return it to me afterward. It's the last thing I have of him."
Veros nodded solemnly.
"I'll bring it back. I promise."
"Good. Cut enough wood, take it to the village west of here, and they'll pay you in proper coins. With enough saved… you can plan whatever comes next."
Veros pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. His body still felt weak.
"Thank you… for everything. I'll start cutting wood now. I need to earn coins as soon as I can."
"I understand, child. Do what you must. Every tree around this house is yours to cut—no one will mind. Take what you need. Work as long as you wish."
Veros bowed his head slightly.
"…Thank you."
"Good luck out there," she added. "And be careful. The cold can be cruel."
Veros stepped toward the corner where the axe rested, leaning against the wall. The wooden handle was worn smooth from years of use. He lifted it with both hands.
He looked back at the old woman one last time.
"I'll bring it back. I promise."
"I'll be waiting."
Veros pushed the door open, and stepped outside.
He tightened his grip on the axe and walked into the snow.
The trees stood still and dark. He set the axe down beside a thick log and knelt beside it for a moment, letting the cold air settle in his lungs.
Before he lifted the axe, something inside him tightened.
He closed his eyes.
→ Sunlight flickering through the leaves back home.
→ Kazuro laughing beside him as they carried bundles of wood.
→ His mother calling them in for food.
→ His father checking the logs, nodding silently.
The warmth of those memories clashed with the freezing wind around him.
He opened his eyes slowly.
A single tear slipped down his cheek.
"…It's unbelievable," he whispered. "What the world can take from you."
The blade hovered over the first log.
His breath shook.
His shoulders shook.
He forced them to steady.
The axe came down.
THUD.
The impact rang through the wood, echoed up the handle, and exploded in his ears.
He clenched his teeth, swallowing the rising panic.
He lifted the axe again.
And brought it down.
THUD.
The ringing grew louder, but he kept cutting.
When the final log split apart, Veros let the axe fall to his side. He gathered the cut pieces, stacking them carefully before lifting the heavy bundle onto his shoulder.
He walked back toward the small house. The door opened before he reached it.
"You're finished already?" she asked, surprised.
Veros lowered the bundle beside the doorway. Then he handed her the axe with both hands.
"Thank you," he said. "I'll bring the wood to the village now."
"You've done well, boy. When you reach the village, tell them I sent you. Say the old widow by the eastern woods sent her helper."
She winked lightly.
"They'll give you a better price for your work."
She stepped back inside the doorway.
"Travel safe."
Veros lifted the bundle of wood onto his shoulder again.
He took one last look at the woman—at the house that had kept him alive for another day.
"Goodbye."
"Goodbye, child."
He turned and walked into the cold white.