Winter Isn't Coming, It Is Here!!!

EL RITCH

The conversation had ended, and dusk had descended upon the little hut and its peculiar inhabitants. Outside, the snow began to fall in soft, gentle flakes, blanketing the forest in quiet serenity. The witch, conjured an open kitchen before the barricade. A circle of animals, entranced by her spell, stood docile and unbothered in the clearing. Among them, suckling pigs rooted at the frozen earth, unaware of their fate.

Zana, ever practical, seized the opportunity. She yanked one of the dull swords from the rope where it hung and hurled it with practiced force. The blade sang as it cut through the cold air, impaling two pigs in one swift strike. They toppled to the ground, lifeless and still. 

The witch, standing nearby, clicked her tongue in disapproval but said nothing. 

Preparations for the meal began in earnest. Zana and Flower worked in tandem, skinning and gutting the pigs, their breath clouding the air in frosty puffs. They had pulled up a thick leather tarp to shield their furnace and workspace from the swirling snow. The witch retreated inside, muttering to herself as she swept and tidied her cluttered home. 

El Ritch sat alone beneath the shed's overhang, watching the snow accumulate in the clearing. The chill seeped through his clothes despite the warmth of the leather coat wrapped around his shoulders. His gaze lingered on the barricade, on the faint orange glow of the firelight spilling out onto the snow. 

The witch emerged, her gown swaying lightly as she moved to sit beside him. She folded her hands in her lap, her sharp eyes fixed on the barricade ahead. "Are you missing them?" she asked after a long silence. 

El Ritch didn't hesitate. "Yes." 

The witch shook her head slowly, as if she found his answer unsurprising yet disappointing. "It'll be some time before you see them again," she said. Her voice was steady, unfeeling. "Five months of winter lie ahead of you. You're fortunate; the first and cruelest month has passed. But the cold dead awaits you here in the north, boy. And when spring comes, the beasts will rise from their slumber, angry and hungry. It would be nine months over before you finally see your guardians." 

She fell quiet for a time, her breath mingling with the frosty air. El Ritch stayed silent as well, unsure if her words were meant to console or warn him. He stared at the ground, his small hands clenched into fists against the cold. 

"Do you want to become strong?" The witch's voice broke the silence. She turned to him at last, her gaze sharp and cold, like the edge of a blade. The torch fire gave it a strong shade.

El Ritch felt his heart tighten, the ache within it growing unbearable. Strong. Yes, he wanted to be strong. Not the kind of strength that survived by clinging to others but the strength to stand beside them. To be something more than a burden to Aldric and Adeline. Yet, even as he longed for it, he could not fully understand why their acceptance mattered so much to him. His emotions were a tangle he could not unravel. 

"Yes," he said at last, his voice quiet but resolute. He raised his head to meet the witch's gaze. "I want to be strong enough to stay with them." 

The witch chuckled at her own question, her voice laced with amusement as she turned to the boy. "Did they use spells or incantations on you, boy? What enchantments have they cast to chain your heart to theirs, knowing what they are and the danger they bring?" Her tone was light, teasing, but there was a sharpness beneath it, a curiosity that pierced deeper than her words revealed.

El Ritch, however, wasn't certain how to answer. Her question mirrored one he had often asked himself in the quiet moments between his longing and his doubts. Why did he yearn so deeply for Aldric and Adeline, these hunters who seemed to belong to a world so far removed from his own?

His memories of the life before them were a foggy void. He could not recall the village he had come from, nor what had brought him to his current state. Most of the time, his emotions felt like whispers in a language he could not understand—distant, indistinct, and cold. The only feeling he recognized was the sinking hollowness that filled his chest, making his limbs heavy and his breath shallow.

When Adeline smiled at him or Aldric ruffled his hair, he felt something warm. Not just fleeting warmth, but something that curled in his stomach and stayed, filling the hollowness inside him. It was fleeting but so powerful that it gave him clarity. That feeling—of comfort, of safety—was why he wanted to return to them.

"I feel safe with them," El Ritch said at last, looking up at the witch with a faint, genuine smile. His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed the aching vulnerability of a child searching for home. "Even though they're hunters, and I know I'll only slow them down, I still want to be with them. They make me feel like I belong somewhere. Like... I have a home."

The witch regarded him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she shrugged, turning her gaze back to the barricade. "A strange little thing, you are," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. "But who am I to judge?"

The scent of roasted meat and spices began to fill the air, rich and savory. El Ritch's stomach growled audibly, earning a smirk from the witch. She didn't comment, but the faintest glimmer of amusement flickered in her eyes.

"Then you'd rather be a Hunter?" she asked suddenly, her tone more serious this time.

El Ritch hesitated, glancing down at his hands. "I... I don't know," he admitted. "I haven't thought about it. I'm not sure."

"Then~" Flower's voice rang out, playful and brimming with mischief as she approached, wiping her hands on her trousers. "Why don't you try to experiment? Find out what suits you best!"

El Ritch tilted his head, confused. "Experiment?"

The witch sighed, shaking her head as if Flower's suggestion was too ridiculous to entertain. But Flower wasn't deterred. She leaned closer to El Ritch, a toothy grin splitting her face. "Yeah! You can practice both ways and see for yourself. Try being a Kni-" She immediately corrected herself, "-Hunter. Try being a Wizard. Then decide what you want to be."

Zana leaned back, her arms crossed as she watched the exchange between Flower and the witch, a curious tilt to her brow. "You recommend he try being a Hunter or a Wizard," she said, her voice sharp with interest, "but not a Conjurer? Why's that, then?"

Flower answered simply, without hesitation. "Yes."

The witch, however, leaned forward, her sharp grin cutting across her face like a blade. "A Wizard or a Witch is nothing more than a collection of knowledge, a repository of the arcane. Our ways are meant to be learned, to be theorized, to be passed from one to another. Any soul with the will to study can become one of us. But a Conjurer? Oh, they require more than simple wit or will. They demand a wisdom that runs deeper than words, a mastery of their chosen element or craft that cannot be taught, only felt."

Flower nodded in agreement, her expression unusually solemn as she added, "It's not something you can fake or grow into. You either have it, or you don't."

Zana raised a brow, her interest waning as the conversation turned esoteric. "Well, that's all fascinating," she muttered, waving a hand dismissively. "But who gives a shit? Dinner's ready."

With a flourish, she presented the table, laden with food. The suckling pigs had been roasted to perfection, their skins golden and crisp, their flesh glistening with juices. Fruits and vegetables had been arranged around them, their vibrant colors creating a feast for the eyes as much as for the stomach.

The witch's eyes narrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line as she gestured toward the vegetables. "Are those mine?" she asked, her voice sharp with accusation. "From my garden?"

Zana pointed an accusing finger at Flower without hesitation. "Her idea. I had no hand in it."

Flower shrugged, utterly unrepentant. "They were just sitting there," she said with a grin.

The witch pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a long, exasperated sigh. "You are a plague upon this earth," she muttered. "I'll curse you after you eat."

Despite her grumbling, the feast began in earnest. The meat was tender and flavorful, its juices mingling with the charred sweetness of the roasted vegetables. El Ritch ate with a hunger he hadn't realized he carried, savoring every bite.

Unbeknownst to him, the others had deliberately left the choicest morsels for him, their own portions smaller and plainer.

It was in the quiet moments between bites that El Ritch spoke, his voice small but firm. "…I'll try it."

Flower looked up sharply, her eyes lighting with excitement. "Hunter or Wizard?" she asked eagerly.

El Ritch smiled, his expression open and genuine. "Both."

ZANA ARNOLD

In the witch's warm shed that she had conjured up for them, in such dread of the winter, they laid there, El Ritch already asleep. "Why are you excited that the boy will learn something? He is Aldric's boy at the end, isn't he?" Zana asked in silent whisper looking at the torch burning in the middle of the makeshift-hut. It was a never-ending torch.

"That is why, it is fun." Flower answered in a playful glee.

Even though Zana couldn't see her face, she could immediately visualize her toothy grin, "To see him crawl to the pathetic end of this life in this world he thinks is real and let Aldric die a bit inside is the best pain I can conjure up." Flower's chuckle in the whispering tone almost sounded like a whistle. Zana's face twitched in disgust as she remembered: they are not friends, temporary allies at best. "You better don't mess it up for me, Zana. Or-" It was genuine threat as Zana felt the creep, "I'll kill you."

"I pray for your fortune." Zana mocked, "S-Sure-" Flower's words escaped, her teeth clicking. The witch had cursed her of not feelin any warmth of the clothes, shelter or even the woolen blankets throughout the night and she was shivering for that.