Mia Snow pressed her hand flat against a tree, her fingers brushing the cold bark through her gloves. Her boots sank deep into the freshly fallen snow, packed tight like a sheet of ice. She exhaled, a faint mist trailing her breath. Around her, the small woods stood silent, the trees cloaked in ice, like a frozen tundra. Wrapping her woolen coat tighter, she moved forward, each step crunching through the quiet.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
The woods soon opened up to a clearing, revealing a small village in the distance. No more than a hundred souls lived within, its border marked by a short, thick wooden fence—more to ward off prowling animals than people. She sighed softly, her light blue eyes catching a glint of sunlight through the clouds.
Stretching her arms to her sides like wings, she balanced herself as she crossed the thick snow, step by careful step. Smoke curled lazily from the chimneys in the distance, but she felt no longing for warmth. Oddly, the cold had never bothered her as it did others.
Something peculiar caught her eye: a man stood at the village entrance, gazing absently into it. It wasn't his appearance alone that seemed strange — no one ever visited their village.
He seemed unaware of her watchful eyes. Of moderate stature with a fit but lean build, he brushed his hand over the hilt of a sheathed dagger, then closed his eyes, as though the weapon spoke to him. He wore a woolen jacket and pants, and a mask partly obscured his face. His hair was short and dark, unkempt.
Mia's curiosity sparked. "Hmm..." she murmured, tucking her hands behind her back as she shifted her route to approach him from behind. The path, recently cleared of snow, felt firm beneath her boots as she sauntered closer.
"Dammit, Sebastian," the man muttered under his breath, not realizing she was close enough to hear. His voice was moderately deep, and from her shorter height of 5'3", he appeared tall.
"Sebastian?" Mia asked, causing him to startle and spin around.
His breathing slowed as he saw her, a girl about his age, perhaps nineteen winters. "Uh...do...do you need something?"
Mia shook her head, studying him, her gaze lingering on his clothing. "No, I'm just curious." She spoke simply, then held out her hand. "I'm Mia."
"Lucas..." He furrowed his brow slightly but shook her hand, his grip firm through a glove. His eyes moved over her features: her short, almost white-blonde hair, her light blue eyes as cold and clear as ice, and an expression devoid of any clear emotion. "Sorry. You just startled me a bit."
"Yeah. I do that sometimes." She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing in faint amusement. "What are you doing here in Blueriver?"
His gaze drifted back toward the town, taking in the modest homes, built with stone supports and thin wooden walls — it was clearly not a wealthy place.
"I've been traveling for a few days. Needed somewhere to rest during the snowstorm."
Mia stifled a smile. "You mean...the one that just stopped?" She pointed upward, where only a light snow was now falling.
"Like I said...it took me a few days." He shrugged, pulling down his mask. She raised an eyebrow; despite her initial impression, he was moderately attractive. His hard eyes and smooth features hinted at youth, but his neck bore various scratches that suggested a rough past.
"Well, Lucas," Mia mused, "that's not a common name around here."
He nodded thoughtfully. "I'm not from Ellgrick. I grew up further south, around Yokonland. Haven't been there in years, but yeah — it's not an Ellgrickian name."
She tilted her head, scrutinizing his appearance. "You don't look Yokonlandic," she remarked, holding her hand to his face, comparing their skin tones. Both were pale, though Lucas had a light tan. Like toast, she thought, amused.
"My parents fled to Yokonland from Heladon before I was born," he explained.
Mia's curiosity flickered. "And where are they now?"
Lucas's expression tightened, and he swallowed hard, hesitating. But before he could answer, Mia held up her hand. "Never mind. If you're looking for a place to stay, the tavern has rooms. They're hardly ever used — mostly it's filled with drunks."
"Thanks, but I'll sleep in the stalls."
"Why? Have a thing for horses?" She asked.
Lucas quickly shook his head, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. "No coins to rent a room. And I doubt they'll be kind enough to let me sleep in the dining room."
Mia made a straight face. "Mrs. Carlson's the barkeep. She's a nice old lady, but not to outsiders. They usually bring trouble, so I don't blame her."
"Neither do I," Lucas replied, nodding. "It's smart to think that way."
"Yeah..." Mia agreed softly, her gaze flicking to his dagger. "Though, you seem quite harmless."
Lucas moved his coat to cover the sheath, concealing the weapon. "I am. So, no need to worry."
"I never do." She gave him a light pat on the arm as she walked past. "Come on."
He hesitated, watching her. "To the stables?" Reluctantly, he caught up and walked beside her.
"No...my father's the town blacksmith." She spun around to face him, sauntering backward with her arms crossed. "He'll be able to help you." Mia offered a playful, if slightly insincere, smile.
Weird girl, Lucas thought, though he couldn't say he minded. There was something refreshing about her, and as she turned to walk forward again, he found himself watching her. Her woolen coat, a soft gray, fit her well, and her short, chin-length blonde hair gave her a unique, pretty look. But as they stepped through the village gates, he pushed those thoughts aside. He shouldn't be thinking about that. Couldn't.
The path underfoot was dirt, similar to the one leading into town, well-maintained but narrow, and cleared of snow each morning. Despite the dry air, the scent of fresh bread wafted from a nearby shop. Warm food, he thought, his stomach twisting with longing. It had been a while since he'd had a hot meal.
Very few faces were around. Those who passed by looked either young or elderly — the others were likely hard at work, tending animals or hunting. He found himself wondering why Mia wasn't with them.
Up ahead, the rhythmic clashing of metal grew louder, each slam more frequent than the last. Lucas's gaze landed on a blacksmith's shop — open on all sides but sheltered by a sturdy roof. In the back stood a man a little shorter than him but significantly broader, with graying blonde hair. His eyes were sharp, and his jawline was strong and defined, surprisingly so.
Mia sighed as she watched her father, "He's friendly..." she reassured Lucas, though her voice was tentative. Tilting her head slightly, she added, "I promise." She hesitated, biting her lip. "Since my mother left some winters ago...he spends most of his time here."
Lucas was surprised at her openness but softened his gaze as he looked down at her. "He's probably lost..." he murmured, swallowing. Mia's face remained impassive, though her cheeks were flushed, more from the cold than emotion. "Thank you," he added.
She responded with only a brief, neutral nod. Lucas took a deep breath and stepped forward to the blacksmith's front counter, unsure how to make his presence known. He hesitated, casting a glance back at Mia, who sighed and joined him. She tapped on the counter firmly. "Dad." When he didn't respond, she raised her voice. "John!"
At the sound of his name, John's shoulders straightened, and he turned slowly. His face was damp with sweat, despite the cold, and he held a heavy, dented mallet in one hand. Lucas's eyes trailed down to the anvil before him, connecting the dots.
"Ah...Mia! And..." John's gaze settled on Lucas, one eyebrow arched in question. "Who's this?"
"He calls himself Lucas," Mia replied, her tone casual. "Says he's just passing through to rest, but I don't believe it." She shrugged, as if what she'd said held little significance.
Lucas laughed nervously, a familiar reaction to uncomfortable situations. "No—no, I mean... I'm looking for someone. But I need to rest here for the night, just to regain some energy."
John looked between the two of them before leaning in, his eyes studying Lucas closely. He smelled strongly of sweat and metal, a scent of hard labor. "Well, Mia, a man doesn't have to share his business with strangers," he said, leaning back with a thoughtful look. Lucas let out a quiet sigh. "But still, always be wary," John added, his tone stern. "It's important."
"I agree, sir," Lucas interjected. "I just need a place to stay, and I've got no money for the tavern. Then I'll be on my way."
John paused, scratching his beard thoughtfully. "How old are you, son?"
"Ninete—no, twenty. It's hard to keep track," Lucas admitted, then added, "...but when fall ends, I know I'm a year older."
John raised an eyebrow, glancing between Lucas and Mia. "My daughter's nineteen," he mused, pausing in contemplation before letting his hand fall heavily onto the wooden counter. "Alright. We have a spare room. It used to be my brother's, back when he lived here."
"Thank you," Lucas said, extending a gloved hand, which John shook firmly.
They continued talking for a bit, though the conversation drifted into pleasantries and small talk — nothing of much importance. After ten minutes or so, John asked Mia to lead Lucas to their home. She gave a simple, impassive nod and complied.
Inwardly, Lucas found it surprising how welcoming they were. For all their talk about being wary of strangers, they certainly weren't unfriendly. Or perhaps he just had one of those faces — trustworthy enough, or so he hoped.
To Lucas's surprise, John's home was larger than he'd expected — a two-story structure, wider than many of the other buildings. Its architecture suggested it was older, with a more basic, practical design compared to the slightly curved, humbler houses around it.
Mia pranced up the stairs with a light hum, swinging the door open. Before stepping inside, she wiped the snow from her boots, then nodded at Lucas to do the same. He followed suit, not wanting to be rude.
"You can leave them there," Mia said, pointing to a small table, where she placed her own boots. Now barefoot, she moved further into the house. The entryway opened into a narrow hallway, but the space was surprisingly decorated. Paintings lined the walls, and plants hung from hooks, though they looked like they were barely surviving the cold. A long, worn carpet stretched down the hall. One painting, in particular, caught his eye.
"Who's that?" he asked, slipping off his thick, sturdy boots and placing them beside Mia's.
She glanced at the painting, which showed a man with his hand raised toward the sky, palm open to the sun. "Oh, that's Mulonin," Mia said, tilting her head slightly.
"Mulonin..." He repeated the name, testing it on his tongue. "Like, the god?"
"Mhm," she nodded. "My father's quite religious, as are many in this village. What about you?"
"Well..." Lucas hesitated. "In Yokonland and Heladon, they believe in a different religion... but overall? I'm not really sure, honestly."
Mia listened, nodding but seeming a bit uninterested. "It's stupid," she said bluntly, then continued more thoughtfully, "I mean, why believe in some god or goddess? Just live how you want to live."
He looked away, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "It's more about hope... Believing in something gives people comfort, I guess. Gives you something to hold onto. And after death... there's the belief you'll go somewhere better, maybe even see those you lost along the way."
"Well, I create my own hope," Mia replied softly. "But yes, I understand. My mother was the same way before she left." Her gaze was briefly distant. Without another word, Mia turned and continued briskly down the hallway.
Lucas sighed and trailed after her. The house smelled faintly of dust, something he hadn't thought possible in the cold, and a faintly acrid smell of melted wax lingered beneath. The candles lining the walls did little to lift the dimness; many burned weakly, their wax pooling at the bases in a way that resembled thick paint.
Mia stopped at the door at the end of the hall. Its faded brown wood looked as though it hadn't been opened in years, and the long, whining creak it made when she pushed it open seemed to confirm that. She lingered in the doorway, her gaze fixed on the bed. She remembered her uncle lying there, so many years ago. It had been a long time since he'd left the village.
"Mia?" Lucas's voice pulled her from her thoughts.
She didn't respond, only stepped aside to let him enter. The air was stale, and the paint had yellowed on walls that were once white. A thick layer of dust covered the sparse furnishings: a bed, a chair and table, and a small wardrobe. A single, modest mirror hung on the wall.
"Your father said this used to be... his brother's room?" Lucas asked, glancing at her hesitantly.
She tilted her head. "This home's been here since the town's founding, some decades ago — even before my father was born. It's been passed down through the family, but... yes."
"What happened to him?"
Mia shrugged. "He left a long time ago. Wanted to live in Ellgrick's capital instead of a small town on its edge."
"It doesn't seem like you care."
She blinked. "I don't." Then, eager to change the subject, she placed a hand on the hilt of his dagger and drew it from its sheath. The blade screeched against the metal as it came free., a jarring sound that cut through the room's stillness
"Mia—!" Lucas's hand shot out, but she took a step back, bumping against the bedpost.
"Hmm..." She tilted her head, her eyes widening briefly in surprise before she quickly masked her expression. Curious, she thought, examining the blade. It was curved at a precise angle, and in the center, cyan text was engraved along the metal. She began to mouth the letters, but Lucas swiftly reclaimed the dagger from her hands. "Hey..."
"It's not a toy, Mia."
She rolled her eyes. "...and I'm not a child. Just curious." Mia smiled innocently.
He held her gaze for a moment, then sighed, sliding the dagger back into its sheath. "It's my business and mine alone." His words flew sterner than he meant, almost commanding, and immediately softened his demeanor. This goddamn girl, he thought.
"You're no fun, but somehow interesting," she mused.
"How so?" he replied, raising an eyebrow.
Mia shrugged with a playful grin. "Just are. Being all mysterious," she added, stretching her words in an exaggerated voice.
Lucas sighed again, though he hated to admit he was mildly amused. Still, some things were best kept secret, and he wasn't trying to be mysterious. It was simply better this way — or at least, that's what he told himself.
"So, you're doing all this out of..." He searched for the right word, "...curiosity?"
She nodded eagerly.
Lucas looked away, then back at her. "Alright, fine. If it'll satisfy you." He paused before adding, "I'm looking for my brother."
"Your brother?" She raised an eyebrow, amused. "Here in Blueriver? Yeah... I don't think so."
"No..." He groaned, rubbing his forehead. "We got separated about half a year ago. Blueriver just happened to be along the route I took."
She frowned, genuinely puzzled. "Blueriver's... miles from any other towns or villages. How was it on your 'route'?"
"Uh..." His hand drifted to the hilt of his dagger. "It just was."
Her gaze lingered on his hand, still gripping the weapon, as though it might hold the answer he refused to give. For now, she'd let it slide but couldn't shake the feeling there was more to his story, "Fine...well. It's getting dark. I suspect you're leaving tomorrow?" He nodded, which caused Mia to bite her bottom lip, "My father prepares dinner early. Have some before you leave."
"Yeah—uh... yeah, of course."
Mia gave a final nod and walked past him, her hand on the doorknob. "Bye," was all she said before closing the door, leaving Lucas alone in the old room.
The space felt almost eerie, yet he knew he was safer here than out in the cold. Squinting, he peered through the small, grime-coated window on the right wall. Frost blurred the glass, but he could just make out the setting sun. With weary eyes and aching muscles, he decided it was time to rest.
Lucas unbuttoned his woolen coat, draping it over the table, then removed his leggings, leaving himself in a long tunic. Stepping over to the mirror, he wiped away the dust with his forearm and stared at his reflection, seeing himself clearly for the first time in what felt like years. He brought a hand to his face. It's been a long time, he thought.
With a quick sigh, he moved to the bed, slipping his dagger behind the pillow before lying down restlessly. He slid a hand under the pillow, gripping the dagger. Go south. A voice echoed in his mind, as if the dagger itself were speaking. Go south, it repeated. And as he drifted toward sleep, the thought lingered, filling his mind.15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡq9BKLXBzYf
