Winter came early to Grey Hollow.
Cold wind swept through the narrow streets, carrying dust and brittle leaves across the frozen ground. Thin smoke curled from the chimneys of small wooden houses, but it did little to warm the village.
Food was scarce.
Work was harder.
Life was unforgiving.
---
Inside the small storage house at the edge of the village, the knight sat quietly beside the bed.
A weak fire flickered in the stone hearth, its fragile light barely pushing back the creeping cold. Shadows stretched across the walls like long fingers, trembling with every gust of wind outside.
In his arms rested the child.
Arin.
Weeks had passed since they arrived in Grey Hollow.
Weeks of hiding.
Weeks of silence.
Weeks of survival.
The knight looked down at the boy.
Arin had grown slightly stronger.
His tiny hands moved more often.
His eyes followed movement carefully.
Always watching.
Always learning.
But one thing had not changed.
The absence of mana.
The knight had checked many times.
Carefully.
Secretly.
Each time, the result was the same.
Nothing.
No energy.
No magic.
No power.
Only a fragile life that depended entirely on him.
---
A soft knock echoed against the wooden door.
The knight's hand moved instantly to the hilt of his sword.
His body tensed.
Alert.
Ready.
"Relax," a familiar voice called from outside.
"It's only me."
The knight exhaled slowly and opened the door.
The elderly woman from the village stood there, wrapped in a thick wool cloak. Her breath formed pale clouds in the freezing air.
In her hands, she carried a small cloth bundle.
"You and the boy need to eat," she said bluntly.
The knight hesitated.
Pride flickered briefly in his chest.
But hunger — and responsibility — were stronger.
"Thank you," he replied quietly.
She stepped inside without waiting for permission and placed the bundle on the wooden table.
Inside were simple supplies.
A loaf of bread.
A strip of dried meat.
A handful of root vegetables.
Not much.
But enough to survive another day.
The knight bowed his head respectfully.
"You have already given us more than we deserve."
The woman waved her hand dismissively.
"Nonsense," she said.
"No child should go hungry."
Her gaze shifted toward Arin.
The boy stared back at her calmly.
Silent.
Curious.
Watching.
She studied him for a long moment.
Then spoke softly.
"There is something strange about this child."
The knight's heart skipped.
His grip tightened slightly.
"What do you mean?" he asked carefully.
The woman frowned.
"I cannot explain it," she said.
"But he watches the world like an old man."
Silence filled the room.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
The knight forced a small smile.
"He is just observant," he replied.
The woman did not look convinced.
But she said nothing more.
Instead, she turned toward the door.
"Winter will be harsh this year," she warned.
Her voice carried quiet certainty.
"You must prepare."
Then she left.
The door closed behind her with a soft creak.
The room grew still again.
---
The knight sat down slowly.
His gaze drifted toward the small pile of food on the table.
Then toward the child.
Guilt crept into his chest.
He had once commanded soldiers.
Protected kings.
Led battles.
Now—
He struggled to feed a baby.
The wind howled outside.
Cold.
Relentless.
Unforgiving.
---
Hours passed.
Night deepened.
The fire burned low.
The room grew colder.
The knight wrapped Arin tightly in blankets, tucking them carefully around his small body.
Snow began to fall outside.
Soft at first.
Then heavier.
Thicker.
The world slowly turned white.
---
Suddenly—
A faint sound escaped the child.
Not crying.
Not laughter.
A small, strained movement.
The knight leaned closer instantly.
Concern tightened his chest.
Arin's tiny body trembled.
His breathing grew uneven.
Faster.
Shallower.
Fear struck the knight like lightning.
"Are you cold?" he whispered.
He reached forward and gently touched the boy's forehead.
Warm.
Too warm.
His hand froze.
Panic surged through him.
"Fever," he muttered.
The word felt heavy.
Dangerous.
Deadly.
The fire was weak.
The supplies were low.
And the village healer lived on the far side of the frozen fields — nearly an hour's walk in daylight.
Tonight—
The storm had only just begun.
---
The wind roared against the walls.
Snow slammed against the wooden door.
The temperature dropped rapidly.
The knight stood at once.
His movements sharp.
Decisive.
He wrapped the child securely in layers of cloth and pulled his cloak tightly around them both.
Every second mattered now.
Every breath mattered.
He grabbed the small lantern from the table.
The flame flickered violently in the cold air.
---
Outside—
The village had vanished beneath the storm.
Snow fell in thick, blinding sheets.
Wind howled through the streets like a wounded beast.
Doors were shut.
Windows dark.
No one dared to walk outside.
Except him.
The knight stepped into the freezing night, holding the child tightly against his chest.
Fear burned inside him.
Not fear of enemies.
Not fear of battle.
Fear of losing the one life he had sworn to protect.
He pushed forward into the storm.
Step by step.
Against the wind.
Against the cold.
Against fate itself.
---
Far away—
Deep inside a hidden fortress of black stone—
A hooded messenger knelt before a circle of shadowed figures.
The chamber was vast.
Silent.
Deadly.
His voice trembled slightly as he spoke.
"We have found traces of the child."
The air grew colder.
Still.
Dangerous.
One of the figures leaned forward from the darkness.
His voice was calm.
Sharp.
Certain.
"Send hunters to the northern villages."
---
Snow continued to fall over Grey Hollow.
Quiet.
Beautiful.
Merciless.
And the hunt had begun.