A heavy fog filled the air as pelting rain soaked the land. No, fog was the wrong word. It was something darker—a sinister mist. Yes, that was more accurate.
Along a narrow dirt path, surrounded by nothing and leading nowhere, a single thing strode forward with measured, deliberate steps.
Aside from the patter of raindrops on half-frozen grass and thickening mud, there was no sound. Only the footprints slowly forming behind it.
The figure seemed to walk without purpose. But could such a being ever truly move without one?
Each bony foot sank into the mud, leaving prints that slowly formed around the small bones before the next step pulled them free. Draped in a tattered black hooded robe that dragged through the mire, the skeletal figure soon heard something beyond the rain.
The wails and cries of a child.
Its voice pierced the bitter veil of mist, reaching the figure's non-existent ears. With each step, the cries grew louder until their source became clear, and the figure stopped.
Before it stood a single tree, young and leafless in the winter cold. Its mahogany trunk and branches looked even bleaker beneath the storm, but the sight at its base was far worse.
A man lay on the ground, while a woman rested against the trunk.
Their bodies made that clear enough. Both the man and woman were missing their heads. The woman sat with her back against the tree, knees drawn to her chest, cradling a crying child in her frozen, blood-coated arms. Until the end, her only goal had been to protect the child. The man lay a short distance in front of her, face down, his feet pointed towards the woman. In his severed hands were a shield and sword, both broken beyond repair. Until the end, he had protected those he cared for.
Unlike the rest of the plains, the grass around the tree was not frozen. It was stained crimson, the blood mixing with rain from the heavens. The bodies appeared fresh, though the attack had happened some time ago.
The figure simply stood, watching.
Beneath the hood of its tattered robe, there was no face—no head at all—yet it seemed to stare deeply at the scene.
It was so gruesome and monstrous that only men who had abandoned all feeling could call it art.
The child's cries continued.
No older than six months, the child still fought to survive. Its lips were violet, its frozen hands trembled, and its eyes squeezed shut against the pain. The longer it cried, the rougher and weaker its voice became.
"Hmm…"
The figure released a low hum.
It had no vocal cords, yet a voice still emerged from it.
The sound carried neither pity nor disgust. Only boredom.
Boredom, before such a sight?
The figure stepped closer and examined the man on the ground.
His body was ruined, more like a rag shredded against sandpaper than flesh. Brutal cuts split his armour, blood seeping through the gaps. One leg was missing below the knee—ripped away rather than severed.
His right hand still clutched the broken sword, as though the corpse had refused to let go even when only a strand of muscle held it in place. A few metres away, his severed left arm gripped the cracked shield just as tightly.
The figure raised its right arm, and from the robe's sleeve emerged a skeletal hand.
At some silent command, the mist gathered above its white bones, forming an open scroll.
The hand lowered the scroll towards the man's body, and the figure spoke.
"...Judgement"
The scroll, woven from mist, slowly began to fill with writing. A dark, colourless haze gathered into a single word: "Winter."
The figure remained still, quietly accepting the answer.
"Reasoning."
It spoke again, softer this time.
The mist shifted, gently correcting the words until only two remained: "Article. Death."
"I see… because he took a life. Is that correct?"
A quiet "Yes" appeared, and the matter was settled.
The figure then turned towards the woman. Compared with the man, her body had suffered less.
Though deep wounds marked her body, only her head was missing.
Once more, the figure lowered the scroll towards the body and spoke.
"...Judgement."
Again, the mist formed the same word: "Winter."
"Reasoning?"
The writing gathered into two words, then came to rest.
"She betrayed… her own. I understand…"
The figure turned to the child, now reduced to faint whimpers. The frost and rain had drained what little strength remained, leaving it barely able to cry. Its tears vanished into the downpour.
The rain at least served one purpose: it washed the mother's blood from the child's skin.
"I cannot judge you… not until you pass."
The child answered with another weak breath.
"Understood. I will remain until it is over."
The figure crouched before the corpse, leaned in, and lifted the child with its hard, sharpened bones.
It drew the child into its arms and wrapped part of its tattered robe around the small body.
It would not save the child. At most, it would delay the cold for a moment.
It looked down with eyes that did not exist.
Even near death, the boy retained a fragile beauty. A thin layer of silver hair covered his head, and his white eyes, pale as the surrounding mist, still held a dim trace of life.
"Unfair, perhaps… to end here, like this… born to such complicated, caring parents. Tell me… do you resent it?"
The baby did not answer, and the figure had not expected it to. Instead, the child gripped the tattered robe with small, swollen hands.
"Even now… you still fight…"
The figure continued to watch.
Then the moment came.
The child's hands loosened. His breathing stopped. His eyes closed, and his heartbeat faded.
The figure no longer held a living child, but a body beginning to cool.
It raised its left hand and pointed one sharp finger at the child's forehead.
"...Judgement."
The fingertip began to darken.
The figure paused, then spoke again.
"Reasoning?"
Several flashes appeared, showing the child, the woman, and another man who was not the one lying on the ground.
"He is… Surely… such a reason cannot be accepted. It was beyond his control."
More flashes appeared, revealing further images to the figure.
"Are you… blaming these deaths… on him? Were we not the—"
A few more flashes interrupted it.
"This is… unjust. He is only an infant. To place such a bla—"
Before the figure could finish, another bright flash stopped it.
"I… understand…"
The flashes ceased.
Several seconds passed before the figure spoke again.
"Noir."
A black raven appeared from nowhere and landed on the figure's shoulder. Its feathers were impossibly dark, and each beat of its wings shed a black liquid that evaporated at once.
"Deliver... the man... and woman."
The raven flew to the man's corpse and pecked through his armour and skin, opening a small hole in his back.
A small black orb rose from the wound and hovered briefly before the raven seized and swallowed it. Then it did the same to the woman, pecking into her chest.
The raven returned to the figure's right shoulder and cawed once as it looked down at the child.
After a long pause, the figure answered.
"No… not the child…"
The raven cawed again.
"It… would be... unjust…"
The figure rose to its full height, the child held carefully in its arms.
It lifted its left hand once more. This time, a red scroll appeared in its grasp. Without warning, black flames consumed it, and its ashes drifted down onto the blood-soaked grass.
Several seconds passed in silence.
Then, from the mist to the figure's left, an elk emerged.
Yet it was no ordinary animal.
The creature was majestic in every sense. Its snow-white fur glistened despite the storm. Its antlers rose like copper branches, adorned with golden leaves and silver flowers like roses. Its eyes shone ocean blue, matching the luminous prints it left with each step. Wherever its hooves touched the ground, a rose bloomed.
It approached the figure with quiet grace.
"Grom. This is unexpected. You never call. Has something happened?"
"I… require… a favour… Enet."
Their voices could not have been more different.
The elk's voice was angelic—soft, soothing, and gentle, like a mother singing a lullaby. The figure's voice, by contrast, sounded synthetic and beastlike, harsh and toneless beneath a heavy growl.
"A favour? That is rare. How can I help?"
The figure lifted the tiny corpse and held it out to the elk.
"Please... bring him... back."
The elk's eyes widened slightly, then settled back into calm.
"Grom... you understand what you are asking of me, yes?"
"...Yes..."
"And you already know my answer?"
"...Yes..."
A brief silence passed.
"And still, you will ask again?"
"..."
Before answering, the figure knelt and raised the child above its head.
"Yes..."
Enet was bewildered. The being before her was meant to be both her equal and her opposite—one of the few entities in the world incapable of feeling or caring for mortal lives. They existed only to obey. And yet...
Enet looked down, but saw only the top of the figure's hood.
"Tell me, Grom... why are you doing this?"
"I... want to give him... a chance..."
"A chance? At what?"
"Living..."
Enet released a slow, disbelieving sigh.
"Why this child? Of all the souls you have judged and delivered—men, women, children, beasts, and all who walk this world—why him?"
Silence settled between them before Grom finally answered.
"This child... will go... to Black Winter..."
Enet's eyes widened. For the first time, true shock broke through her calm.
"B-but he is only—"
"Six months... old."
"Then there must be a mistake."
The figure tilted its hood towards her. Had it possessed eyes, they would have met Enet's directly.
"This was... the judgement... He gave."
Enet staggered back a fraction before recovering. Whether from shock or revulsion, even she could not say.
Warm breath left her nostrils and drifted over the corpse still held aloft.
"Grom..."
Her voice grew grave. What Grom asked of her would defy every law they served, betray all they stood for, and challenge the one to whom they belonged.
"I cannot reincarnate someone who has not been cleared by Him. You know that, yes?"
"...Yes..."
"And you understand the consequences? We could be erased from existence for even considering this."
"...Yes..."
"And still, you would ask—"
Before Enet could finish, Grom answered.
"...Yes..."
A longer silence followed, mingling with the rain and drifting mist.
"Fine."
Grom and the raven looked up at Enet in apparent surprise. Though his headless form could show no expression, the suddenness of his movement made his reaction clear.
"You... will help... me?"
Though it should have been nearly impossible, surprise crept into Grom's voice.
"Yes."
"...Why?"
Enet tilted her head slightly.
"Why ask that? I said I would help. You do not need to know more than that."
Grom was taken aback, though his form could not show it.
Still, he understood Enet's choice. That was why he had summoned her. She was the only one capable of granting his request, and perhaps the only being who might sympathise. Her past may have played a part as well, but Grom did not linger on the thought.
"Thank you—"
This time, Enet interrupted him.
"On three conditions."
"Name... them..."
Enet stepped forward.
"First, you must never see this child again. Second, when he dies, you will not deliver him."
Grom waited for the final condition.
"Third, you must name him."
Grom raised his head again in surprise.
"But... that means..."
"Exactly what you think."
"You... would curse me... like that?"
Enet lowered her head until her gaze met the darkness within his hood.
"You, of all beings, understand this: nothing in this world comes without consequence."
Grom lowered his head as if considering her words, but only for a moment. Then he lifted it again.
"As... you wish..."
Once Grom agreed to her terms, Enet raised her head towards the child. She drew a deep breath, then gently touched her snout to his body.
Like a miracle—or perhaps magic—the child returned to life. His cries and whimpers rose again, breaking through the sound of the rain.
The black raven lifted from Grom's shoulder and landed on his arm near the child. Seeing it so close, the boy reached for its claw as if trying to grasp a new toy.
Grom stood again, then noticed something strange about the child.
"His... eyes... and hair... have changed colour."
The boy's eyes now shone a vivid gold, bright with life, while his once-thin silver hair had turned as black as the raven's feathers.
Enet explained.
"I am afraid it is a side effect. Neither of us can control it."
Grom gave a slight nod.
"Blanc."
Like the raven before it, a white dove appeared from nowhere. Its feathers glowed softly, like a firefly in the midnight sky.
Grom tore another strip from his robe and wrapped the child securely, taking care not to hurt him. Then he offered the child to the dove.
The dove gripped the robe in its white beak, lifting the child into the air. Grom summoned another scroll in his left hand, and a quill appeared in his right.
He wrote for a few seconds, then rolled up the scroll and tucked it deep within the robe beside the child.
"Blanc... find the child... a family that needs him. Hide until He creates a new world... and when the time is right... deliver him."
Without another sound, the dove took flight and vanished into the thickening mist.
Grom and Enet watched it disappear. Then Enet stepped closer.
"So? What did you name the boy?"
A long silence passed before the hooded figure finally answered.
"Cur... his name... is Cur."