Winter in the Stern Territory was always peaceful in its own way.
Snow laid a thin white layer over the rooftops, and the air in the courtyard still held a trace of last night's warmth, just enough to make one believe the morning would be as ordinary as any other.
Ivy pushed the door open, letting in a sharp gust of cold wind that scattered the last ember in the hearth. Though she still had sleep lingering in her eyes and frost clinging to her hair, the urgency in her steps was unmistakable.
"Alaric, get up. Father is waiting." She tugged at the blanket corner by corner, like she was chasing a stubborn child out of bed.
Alaric buried his face deeper into the blanket, voice muffled as if he hadn't fully escaped his dreams.
"Five more minutes…"
"You can't wait five more minutes!" Ivy huffed. "You're going into the city with Father today."
"Can't you go instead?" Alaric muttered.
"Me? And who's going to clean the sheep pens then?" she snapped back.
"ALERIC! GET OUT. NOW!"
Their father's voice boomed from outside, a tone that permitted no argument. The moment it sounded, Alaric jerked upright and sprang out of bed faster than usual.
In the stable, Greywing let out a sharp neigh. The grey mare's coat shifted with the cold wind, the white patterns along her body gleaming like strokes of strength.
Outsiders said Greywing was difficult, wild and unsteady;but Alaric had always been able to calm her. Their understanding was instinctive, wordless.
Their father prepared the saddles in the courtyard, movements steady and practiced, though worry lined his face. Without looking up, he said:
"We're going to the capital today. Tax matters need to be settled. Watch closely, one day, you'll handle these things yourself."
Alaric nodded. He knew Father didn't mean for him to help; he meant for him to see.
To understand the world outside their land. Alaric didn't dislike the responsibility. He simply didn't express himself well. He preferred the wind on horseback to the rules of a hall.
When the group set off, snow cracked beneath the horses' hooves. Father led at the front, guards followed behind, and Alaric settled into Greywing's quiet rhythm. She wasn't a showy horse ,sensitive to the reins, responsive only to him. Whenever she grew restless, a warm touch of his hand steadied her.
The wind wasn't strong but sharp enough to numb their ears. Hills ahead were covered in pale snow, like endless white tiles laid across the land. Branches shifted lightly, dropping snowflakes that tapped softly against one another.
The guards whispered complaints about grain prices and scarce game, careful not to let Father hear too much. Alaric rode silently, eyes fixed on the road ahead. He didn't mind traveling, sometimes he even enjoyed it. But today, Father's back looked unusually heavy, pressing something tight inside him.
"Father… is it really that bad this year?" he asked quietly.
"Bad, but not the worst," Father replied without turning. "The worst is that the Empire does not care why."
The words made Alaric's heart skip.
A guard muttered, "Heard some territories up north were warned too. The tax men aren't listening to excuses."
Father's voice hardened. "All we can do is endure. The rest… we'll see when we meet them."
Alaric wanted to say more, but the tension in Father's shoulders made him swallow his words.
As they neared the capital, the air grew colder and harsher. The enormous gates looked lifeless under the snowlight, guards stiff beneath their armor. Alaric tensed instinctively, he never liked such places. Walls too high, too many attention, too noisy.
Inside the tax hall, officials were as cold as the stone walls. A clerk slammed documents onto the table.
"Stern's production has severely declined. Without improvement, the royal estate will reassign the land."
Father explained the frost, the failed harvest, the lack of labor. The official offered no sympathy, only a dismissive, "Let's hope so."
On the way back, Father grew even quieter, as if carrying a stone with no name. Alaric searched for something, anything to say. But then a burnt smell drifted on the wind.
A rising column of black smoke stained the horizon.
"In the direction of our land. " Father murmured.
Greywing halted, ears twitching. Alaric's grip tightened. Without waiting for instruction, he turned her toward home and kicked into a full gallop.
Wind slashed his face, snow blurred into a white veil. Father yelled after him, but the wind tore his voice apart. The guards struggled to keep up. Shadows stretched across the dying light; the sky wasn't red yet, but the smoke had already darkened the horizon.
"I'm going back for Ivy and Senn!" Alaric shouted.
From the treeline, shadows muttered:
"Let him go. We want the old man."
Greywing ran harder as they neared the territory.
The smell wasn't just smoke, it was scorched oil, burned wood. Roof tiles smoldered. Trees were reduced to ash.
Alaric leapt from the saddle before Greywing stopped. The ground felt fragile beneath his feet, like stepping on the remains of something once living.
Windows shattered. Doorframes charred. Furniture overturned. Someone had searched the house with precision.
No bodies.
No blood.
Worse than death, someone must had taken them.
In his siblings' room, he found a small cloth charm Ivy always stitched onto her sleeves. Dirty, creased, smelling faintly of pine resin. His hand trembled around it.
This wasn't random violence.
They were looking for someone.
They left only emptiness and silence.
Greywing neighed sharply, a warning.
Three figures darted from the ruins, blades drawn.
Alaric reacted on instinct. He swung to one side, reaching for his sword, but he misjudged the timing, Ashwing slipped, and he was thrown off her back.
Even mid-fall, he hooked a strap around one attacker's arm and slashed at the man's neck. It wasn't trained technique, just reflex, muscle memory from years of practice. They both hit the ground hard. Pain tore through his shoulder like something ripping open.
The second bandit rushed in, blade slicing across Alaric's left shoulder. Blood poured quickly.
Greywing intervened, her hindleg struck the third bandit, knocking him off balance. Just enough time.
Alaric stabbed the second man, then cut down the third.
Blood soaked into the snow. His shoulder burned, breath thin and tight.
He stood with difficulty, leaning on a half-burned beam. Greywing nudged him gently, almost human in her concern.
"I'm fine… thank you, Grey," he whispered.
In the central yard, he found Father's body.
Blood and wounds everywhere.
But Father still held his sword.
Alaric knelt beside him, touching the cold hand with trembling fingers.
No response.
The world went silent.
He didn't even have the strength to cry.
Snow landed softly on Father's forehead. Alaric brushed it away as if caring for someone asleep.
Footsteps approached through the snow.
A vanguard of northern knights arrived, frost clinging to their armor. The leading general stopped when he saw the faint ember of hope in Alaric's eyes.
"You're wounded," the general said quietly.
"I'm fine," Alaric whispered.
"We saw the smoke and rode ahead. The main forces are behind us."
The general kept a respectful distance. "Did you come here alone?"
"I… I thought they might still be here…" Alaric choked.
The general glanced at the cloth charm in his hand.
"We didn't find your siblings," he said softly.
Alaric's fingers tightened around the charm. That faint light flickered again.
"You can come with us to the capital. The kingdom will protect you, your bless....."
"No."
Alaric finally lifted his head.
Exhausted. Broken. But anchored by something unyielding.
"I'm going to find them."
The general accepted this with a slow nod. "We'll keep investigating. But If you choose to go, I won't stop you."
Alaric said nothing. He held Father's hand a little longer.
The general examined Father's sword, dried blood streaking the blade.
"He fought like a true warrior."
The bandit corpses told their own story.
"These weren't ordinary raiders," the general said. "Do you know if they had a grudge against your father?"
"…No."
The general didn't press. He covered Father's face with a cloth as snow fell harder.
Alaric gently arranged Father's hands over his chest.
His own shoulder throbbed violently, but he didn't rest.
Greywing approached, grounding him again.
He pressed the cloth charm to his chest.
"I will find them."
_____________________________________________
He found a cut rope, cleanly sliced.
Tracks in the snow, footprints and a long drag mark leading north.
A torn piece of cloth with faint blood.
Direction confirmed.
Signs intact.
They were alive.
The general sighed as Alaric mounted Ashwing.
"It won't be easy alone."
"I know."
"You could return with me. If you truly have the 'GODMARK' , the capital can protect you."
"My siblings need me."
"…Very well."
"May hope guide your path," the general said.
Alaric didn't look back.
He didn't have the strength to.
He rode into the night, a faint ember of light still burning in his eyes,weak, but stubborn.
He didn't look at Father's body again.
Not because he didn't care,
but because he couldn't bear to.
Snow muffled every sound as Greywing stepped beyond the territory's edge.
The air held no scent of home,only cold, smoke, and heavy silence.
Alaric steadied his breath.
Greywing picked up speed.
The path north grew deeper with snow, the wind colder.
He held the charm to his chest, his only direction.
Dusk bled crimson across the snow.
Ashwing slowed.
A faint trail
a shallow groove in the snow, torn grass inside, and another piece of cloth with light blood.
"Aivy… Senn…" he whispered.
His voice vanished into the snow.
They were alive.
They had to be.
He mounted Greywing again.
"Let's go."
Snow burst beneath her hooves as night swallowed the land.
Only one light remained,
the quiet, stubborn glow in Alaric's eyes.
Faint, restrained, but unbroken.
There is still hope .
— End of Chapter One —