Country

1217-08-02

As I attempt to get up, I notice the snow pouring down relentlessly, almost suffocating us. I glance back at Gold. She's shivering, huddled close to her baby, who looks sickly. The cold isn't good for them.

"Can you get up?" I ask her, but she only shivers in response.

In this condition, she'll die, I think grimly.

I look around. There's nothing in sight on the docks. The snow is erasing every trace of us being here, even though we've been here only moments. It's a relentless storm, falling and falling, turning my hair white with its weight.

The bags of fish that had been free of snow are now almost buried. I could make it to the end of the dock, maybe find help for myself. But no—I refuse to leave them here to die.

Grabbing one of the fish bags, I dump out the contents. The dead fish flop into the snow, their scales dull in the cold light. I hand the empty bag to Gold.

"It'll have to do," I tell her.

Gold's hair is now dusted with snow, like everything else in this unforgiving country. How does anyone survive in conditions like these?

CREAK.

I freeze as the sound of footsteps approaches. Peering down the dock, I see a group of three people, each clad in heavy leather coats. They carry an air of authority, and even from here, I notice the glint of silver.

The man in the center is tall and imposing, with a silver headband and piercing brown eyes that seem to regard us with disdain.

The snow slows as they come closer, and though the temperature is still frigid, it feels more tolerable.

"Who are you?" I yell, leaping to my feet.

The group draws nearer, and their details sharpen in the storm's dim light. They're guards—or at least, they seem like it. I tense, ready to defend myself, even without my spear.

The man in the middle stands out. His presence is commanding, his gaze cold. A sword hangs at his side, gleaming like it's made of pure ice—a reflection of the frozen tundra around us.

To his right is a middle-aged man with heavy, red eyes. He looks worn, a blue cloth covering his right eye. His sword, barely held together, seems moments away from breaking.

To the left is a woman with the same uniform, her dead gray eyes as lifeless as a fish's.

If only I had my spear, I think, bracing myself for whatever comes next.

The group stops a short distance away, watching me as though waiting to see what I'll do. Will I resist? Or should I go willingly?

"Can you save her?" I ask, glancing back at Gold.

Whoosh!

The man in the middle moves toward me with terrifying speed, his sword slicing through the air as he attacks. I leap back, grabbing one of the fish bags and hurling it at him. The fish splatter onto the snow, leaving streaks of blood that freeze almost instantly.

He smiles—a cruel, confident expression—before landing a punch that sends me flying off the dock. I crash onto the frozen lake below, gasping from the impact. The man jumps down after me, driving his sword toward my chest.

Instinctively, I grab the blade with my bare hands.

The sword feels like the embodiment of cold itself. The moment my palms touch it, a biting frost spreads across my skin. It burns, as if the cold is eating into my flesh. Yet I hold on, my grip tightening even as the man presses harder and harder, trying to overpower me.

Suddenly, he stops.

"Is that enough, Leader?" the middle-aged man asks, his voice steady but authoritative.

"That'll be all," the man replies, pulling back. He steps off me, his silver hair catching in the wind as the snow begins to fall again. Without another word, he walks away, his figure disappearing toward the snow-covered city.

I lie there, my breath coming in sharp, painful gasps. The cold air stings my lungs, and my hands are numb from the icy sword. I manage to crawl back to the dock, where the woman from the group is now examining Gold.

"Can you pick her up?" she asks, turning to me.

"I guess... but what's going on?" I ask, confused and still reeling from the fight.

"Follow me," she says, starting toward the city without waiting for my response.

The man who fought me returns briefly, gathering the fish scattered across the snow. He retrieves not only those from the dock but also the ones that had been cut during the scuffle. Despite the relentless snow piling up, he digs through it methodically, leaving no fish behind.

I look down at my hands. They're covered in tiny cuts, the skin a blackish blue..

I picked up Gold. She's still shivering. Her baby is crying loudly. Gold sat in the snow, tears frozen on her cheek.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, brushing the snow off her shoulders and holding her close.

She lets out a faint sigh, trying to warm herself. "Thank... you," she says, her voice barely audible.

The baby keeps crying, her tiny body cradled in Gold's trembling hands. She's smaller than most babies I've seen, with pale skin like her mother's and brown hair that seems to be turning silver at the ends.

I glance back at the group ahead. The snow keeps falling, relentless and unending, as I follow the woman toward the unknown.

The woman waits at the edge of the dock as I catch up, then leads me into the town. The entire place is blanketed in snow, the relentless storm coating everything in thick, white layers.

There are Sixty buildings here, most of them small. The roofs sag under the weight of the snow. At the far end of the main street stands a giant hall, the only building not buried in snow.

The hall is impressive, its massive wooden door adorned with intricate carvings. A few people perch on ladders, brushing snow from the structure with large brooms, ensuring it remains pristine. In contrast, another building nearby, almost completely hidden under the snow, emits a foul stench. Its decay is obvious even from a distance, and I instinctively wrinkle my nose as we pass.

In the center of the town is a large pit, where people are sparring. Their movements are sharp and precise, and they wield weapons that seem to be crafted from pure ice. The weapons catch the pale light, glinting as if alive. Despite the cold, the pit is filled with activity, the sounds of clashing weapons and shouted commands echoing through the town.

The woman walks toward the main hall, and I follow.

"So, what's your name?" I ask.

The woman gives me a solemn look before replying. "The people here call me Books." She enters the hall, leaving me with more questions than answers.

Inside, the hall is unlike anything I've seen. It's warm and immaculate, a stark contrast to the rest of the snow-laden town. The structure is sturdy.

Around the fire people gathered. They sit in clusters, sharing stories, laughing, and tending to one another. Their silver hair catches the firelight, giving them an almost ethereal appearance. Despite the harsh environment outside, they seem content—even happy. I wonder if my hair will turn the same dull silver.

The warmth of the fire washes over me. I gently place Gold near the fire, helping her settle in as her baby continues to cry softly in her arms. Slowly, the shivering subsides, and she begins to relax .

Leader approaches me, his piercing red eyes scanning me briefly before turning his gaze to Gold and her daughter. They lie by the fire, absorbing its warmth, their fragile forms finally at ease.

"We need to talk," the leader says, his voice gruff.

I nod in agreement.

We walk over to a table away from the others, the chatter of the people around us fading into the background. It's silent for a moment, and the leader doesn't say anything. His silver hair glimmers in the firelight, but it's me who speaks first.

"Why is it so cold here? It's frigid."

A small smile forms on his face. "You get used to it eventually," he says.

I frown, still shivering. "I dont think I'll ever get used to this… ice."

He laughs lightly. "You'll have your first fight tomorrow."

I raise an eyebrow. "Fight?Tomorrow? What do you mean by that?"

"You're here to fight," he says simply. 

I try to hide my unease. "What else can I ask?"

He pauses, then nods. "One more question."

"Why do you all have silver hair?" I ask, curious.

The leader looks at me, his expression unreadable. "It's like the cold gets into you. Once you have silver hair, you gain immunity to the cold."

 "Is that true?"

Before he can answer, Books walks by and laughs softly. "No."

Just then, a man with the same silver hair and green eyes walks over to the table. 

"Less," the leader says, his voice sharp. "Bring him to his cell."

The man nods and motions for me to follow.

I turn back to the leader. "And why do you all go by these strange nicknames?"

"They're who we are now."

I nervously trail behind Less as he leads me to one of the houses. Unlike the main hall, this place doesn't have a fire, but it's insulated enough to keep the cold at bay, and I can sleep without worrying about freezing.

As Less leaves, I notice the door isn't locked.

I glance at him, confused. "Why aren't there any guards? I thought this was a prison."

"This is Eleanor," Less says coldly, "Marano cares too much about its guards to send them here."

I frown, still not understanding. "I thought Eleanor was a country with its own guards."

"Eleanor is no country," Less replies. "It's just cold."