Prologue

&*£" before events start...

The north wind howled along the slopes of the mountains, blowing over the tops of coniferous trees, flying with a roaring pressure over the rocky hills. At the source of the river lay a piece of crimson fabric, unnatural for nature, inconspicuously located at the foot of the river, between the roots of an already old half-decayed oak. Mysterious ball; it stirred a little, after which it trembled, and miniature arms of a baby protruded from the opened fabric, which in the same minute were blown by a ruthless gust of wind. By the circumstances of fate, living out his short and devastated life without the knowledge of maternal affection and fatherly laughter, the baby's small trembling hands reaching for the sky were covered with stabbing cold, and with intolerable pain, powerless to at least do something, he was left on the frozen ground, surrounded by bending darkness a night like an abyss. The unshakable night, ready to take the life of a defenceless child, was broken by the glimmer of a torch from the depths of the gloomy forest.

The red-hot heat of coals and a burnt stick, chaotically swinging from side to side like demons jumping out of a snuffbox, illuminated the features of the trees. Under the howling draft of the wind, the fire swayed like the velvet cape of a mysterious stranger, slowly and absolutely silently passing by the tall cedars that surround these lands everywhere. Huge winter boots dug into the thick layer of snow, like some kind of warning of an approaching snow storm, prompted the mysterious wanderer to speed up his passage at the foot of Mount Everman, the huge peak of which pierced the sky and was hidden under a layer of clouds, radiating some inconvenience and fear of lurking malice at the top; accompanying a stranger with a kind of chilling gaze.

A slightly oscillating sword on a tramp's belt cast flashes from a torch holding in his hands along the nearest field of snow. Coincidentally, orange rays flashed on a tiny ball of fabric at the base of the tree, causing a slight twitch in the child. A blood-curdling screech and cracking of teeth from the nearest cliff of the mountain tore the wanderer from his place, provoking him with increasing speed and with a strong grip on the flint and rush towards the rustle. running as fast as he could, like a skilful snow leopard, he maneuverer between the trees, getting closer and closer to the old oak. In a matter of seconds, the traveller threw the torch at the tree, stuck perfectly into it under the rotting hollow, with the heat of the flame expelled the darkness surrounding the river bank. Inhuman speed made a graceful dash in front of the new-born, he unsheathed a pointed saber, and in a matter of a moment locked it back into the scabbard. Four creatures fell to the ground like decapitated carcasses. Without even having time to cry out a single scream of pain, Blood gushed from their bodies onto the snow-white ground, flooding the entire shore and quickly flowing down the slope, mixing with the crystal clear water of the stream flowing past.

While the dead carcasses were slowly evaporating, as if burning from the spot where the wanderer made a neatly cut. He stood nonchalantly, bowing slightly in front of the new-born baby, gazing at him intently. Silently looking at a small child, partially frozen in place, he protected him from the taiga blizzard, blowing without compromise into the cape of a tall and perfectly built man. The Stranger decided to sit down and pick up the child, who was already freezing to death with crackling skin on his hands and fingertips, slowly peeling off his hands, exposing open pieces of flesh and bones, already without any strength to resist or to cry all the time. That the little baby had the strength to reach out to the wanderer's leather jacket and try to squeeze him closer and closer, releasing a single drop of tears from the hellish pain that the tramp with slightly trembling hands, as if not believing what he was seeing; wiped a tiny drop from the boy's cheek. In an attempt to fight for his short life that had just begun, the child, with his bloody hands, pulled the pendant hanging above his head.

A hanging pendant of a spherical shape with patterns carved into it swayed slightly from behind the arms of a child - it is fun on a rope dressed around the neck of a man. Pitch-black pants and a large number of belts with all kinds of flasks and knives were tightly worn on the body of the wanderer. Everything that could be needed to survive in such harsh lands, but what stood out most was the dark steel katana made by skilled craftsmen, with an oak handle wrapped in black cloth with a magpie-shaped menuki.

Raising the child in his arms, straightening up, the wanderer covered the baby with his cape. As if by a miracle, pointing his hand towards the torch, it flared up with even greater force with a golden-red flame, breaking out of the hollow, the torch flying back into the tramp's hand. Bringing the tinderbox to the little child, the tramp began to hum a cradle in a heavy but gracefully beautiful voice; the little hands of the boy at the same moment began to be covered with thin threads of fire, healing the wounded hands of the child, while in the very fire of the torch one could see the silhouettes of little men dancing and leading a round dance. Fascinated by this passing, the little baby fell into a sleep filled with warmth and joy, while the wanderer resumed his journey through the depths of the winter void.