Still Kicking

It was Spring.

Flowers blossomed under the thickets, and all sorts of wildlife emerged out of their hiding.

A dazzling forest encompassed all of his directions, trees seeming to have been painted by an artist and birds singing high praise to the heavens. In the distance, the Sun peered over the mountains' crest, its warm light bidding goodbye to the world.

It was peaceful. Too peaceful, in fact…

'What is this… feeling?' He clenched painfully at his chest, struggling to think clearly.

Despite the dazzling scenery, the pain didn't go away. Instead, it only worsened, creeping up and down his limbs, like millions of ants crawling underneath his skin.

Paralyzed - the world had him within its warm embrace, yet he could tell that something was off.

So there he sat, still, for what felt like minutes but could be mere seconds. It took the final rays of sunlight to hide behind the mountains for him to finally realize:

'It isn't Spring.'

Instantly, like a cigarette thrown down a keg of oil, the forest burned to ashes, naught left behind but their bare bones. Where wildlife once graced the green fields - now only snow was to be seen.

It swallowed everything.

The skies, the land, him - all of it turned bleak, frozen. The harsh cold, the numbing on his legs, the fading consciousness; all resurfaced from the deepest depths of his mind.

'Am I dead?'

Was this hell? He wanted to ask but was too afraid to receive an answer. Thankfully, his question didn't go ignored for once. Like a whisper, yet also an ever drumming beat of sound, came the simple response: 'No.'

He almost threw up.

A thousand voices one moment, and then a single one another. A whisper that felt like running your fingertips over a velvet blanket or drinking water after wandering the desert.

It was just too much for his ears to process.

Dark spots covered the edges of his vision, unconsciousness clawing at his fading mind. But he didn't pass out yet - no, he couldn't, for a matter of fact.

Something - someone - was calling for his attention… there, in the distance, far into the raging blizzard.

It was then that he saw her.

A woman, cloaked in thin golden robes, stared at him from afar. Her hair blended in with the snow, and her skin shone in the blank landscape with its distinctive grey color.

His eyes locked with hers, unable to turn away, and the blizzard fell into the background.

One moment her lips were moving, and then the next… there was nothing but her. The smell of roses, the sound of a running river, the warmth of a fading sun…

It engulfed him like a rising tide.

"Child…" He could see it then, the rise and fall of entire civilizations, the birth of mountain chains, the spread of wildlife, "Search for your name."

Dusk and Dawn locked into an eternal waltz.

"Then, where the Sun is last seen by Ysgramor's city… find me."

He woke up.

*

*

*

"Slow down, kid." A curt voice sounded from his right, immediately shaking him awake.

A rough mattress stretched out from under him, probably made for adults judging by its size. The room, on the other hand, was relatively small and cramped.

Various herbs and condiments hung in old and dusty shelves everywhere he looked, and the only source of light was a cold and meek figment of sunlight that peeked through a small window.

"Don't want you to pass out on me." The female voice said again to his right, eliciting his attention.

The moment he landed his eyes on her, though, he almost did a double-take.

Muscles threatened to spill out of her arms, and her taut posture oozed with confidence. Coupled with her silky blond hair and glowing amber eyes, she'd undoubtedly catch everyone's attention - contrary to Petunia, his aunt, who looked bland despite all her efforts.

"Who are- where am I?" He stammered.

She simply raised an eyebrow, considering what to say, before settling on a single word, "Winterhold."

"And who-"

She sighed before interrupting him, "Look, I understand you have a lot of questions. But you may want to take things slowly, kid. First, why don't you tell me your name instead? We can start from there."

"..." Absolute silence.

"… So?" She frowned.

He shrugged, "Don't have one."

If frowns could frown, then this was the living proof.

"… What were you doing in the middle of the road then? How did you get there?"

"I got lost." He shrugged again, too tired to try and find an answer. Truthfully, he was just as lost as she was.

"I see…" She didn't look very convinced, "Well… I suppose the sooner the bandage is ripped open, the better."

That got him slightly out of the loop - what was she talking about?

A flash of hesitation crossed her face then - yet it was quickly replaced with her usual cold and stern bearing.

"I'm sorry, kid. I did my best to heal you." She scooted closer to his bed, "But there was nothing more that could be done."

With one fast motion - like ripping open a bandage, she pulled aside his blankets.

"Ah…" He replied.

Perhaps, the sight should have wrought a stronger reaction out of him - tears, shouts, panic, anything really.

A wooden harness adorned his knees, and two simple stumps of wood were locked onto the harnesses' axis - allowing for a bit of mobility when bending the knees.

He didn't come out unscathed from walking barefooted onto frostbiting snow.

Lyslenne was already on the tip of her heels to try and comfort the nameless kid - something she wasn't known for being very good at - but the boy didn't shed even a single tear.

After all, here he stood: alive, despite it all. Even though he crossed inhumane lengths in the middle of a snowstorm with nothing but his malnourished and skinny body.

If any of those survival shows Dudley often watched on the TV had even a modicum of credibility, then that meant he was supposed to be dead. No human should survive under such temperatures… and for such extended periods of time.

'Freak!' His aunt Petunia would call him.

Perhaps she wasn't lying for once.

Perhaps, indeed, he was different, and that's without saying anything about the sudden appearance in the frozen landscape.

'Could I… do it again? What more can I do?'

That question opened an entire wormhole of other such questions - one that he had no hopes of ever closing again. The seed has been planted, and now it could only spread and grow further.

The new state of his legs seemed almost trivial in comparison. Gone was the fear of living with the Dursleys. Gone was the fear of never fitting in - that of always being a freak.

If this was what it meant to be a freak... then he wasn't ever going to try and be normal again.

He had said it once before, but perhaps he should reiterate to avoid any confusion: if he was to die, then it better be standing up, whether he still had entire legs or not.

It was impossible to contain the incoming smile. It nearly split the boy's head into two, a tinge of madness coloring his pale cheeks. The rush of adrenaline that coursed through his veins was like nothing he's ever felt before.

'I'm alive!' Screamed a voice in his head like a broken record.

There was a drum - a thrum of power - oscillating in a hypnotic sway from his very bones. He basked in its aura like a cat would under the sunlight.

"Thank you… and don't worry," Came the reply after a moment of silence, "I'm happy to still be alive and kicking."

Somehow, it felt fitting for the moment.

Lyslenne begged to differ - right now, she was contemplating whether or not to beat the brat back to half an inch of his life.

That'd teach him to read the room better.