Kiyokazu Lazar — POV
I stepped into the forest.
With every step that I took, the gate behind me disappeared further from view. The forest closed around me the way it always did. Quietly, without ceremony, and that quiet settled into me the same way it always had. Calm. Familiar. The kind of stillness I couldn't find anywhere else but here.
People in the village called this place dangerous. Especially Marco. Sarah's father had told me more than once that the forest was no place for someone my age. But I had walked these paths for months and never once seen anything that frightened me. In sixteen years of living in Liva village, the only creature this forest had ever produced that made me somehow uneasy was a crow.
I didn't know what they saw that I didn't. To me, this forest was just peaceful.
I followed the path toward the lake. the same one my father had shown me years ago, the same one I returned to whenever I came here. It was farther in, quiet in a way that even the rest of the forest wasn't.
"Dammit, it's colder than usual today," I muttered, pulling my scarf tighter.
Snowflakes drifted lazily from a clear sky. They don't call this country the Frozen Land for nothing. Snow falls here every day, even when the sky is open and pale and beautiful. Each flake that touched my skin melted immediately, like small ghosts fading on contact.
I had been walking for about ten minutes and nothing had stepped in front of me. Nothing had attacked me. Nothing had tried to kill me.
The rumors ran through my head anyway, the way they always did in these quiet moments.
Nivalis isn't a kind country. It doesn't forgive weakness, and it doesn't make exceptions for those who can't endure as well. A frozen land in the northwest of the continent called the Land of Snow by some, and The Frozen Land by others, and by those who oppose us, the Land of Death.
Everything here is buried under white.
I live closer to the center of the country, where the winters are less severe than in the far northwest. Up there, at the edge of the continent, the snow is heavier and the wind is crueler, and the mountains stretch endlessly. That's where the capital stands. Nivareth, the city that most people of Nivalis dream of reaching.
Surviving here is a miracle in itself. Many die from the cold. Others die from hunger beacuse the soil in the north is poor, the wildlife sparse, and farming is nearly impossible without access to better land. The people who manage agriculture are usually the ones living close to the border with Vallaria, the elven kingdom to the south. Their soil is rich, their nature alive, and Nivalis has been in good terms with them long enough that the trade keeps us from starving. My father once told me that Nivalis produces roughly thirty-seven percent of its own food. The rest comes from Vallaria. Without them, the population would collapse within a season.
But cold and hunger aren't the worst of it.
The monsters are the worst of it.
Frostbeasts. Death Spiders. Trolls. They have been killing people for over three hundred years. Most of them come from Kragmor Island, a landmass connected to Nivalis by a single crossing, the Kinuki Bridge. Unfortunately, that bridge isn't far from Liva Village.
An old man from the village told me once that he had seen a troll with his own eyes when he was young. Blue skin, fur covering its body, standing nearly three meters tall. Sharp teeth, tusks curving out from its lower jaw. Strength that no ordinary human could match. He said it took four men just to slow one down. And even then, the wounds closed almost instantly, the flesh knitting back together like nothing had happened. He had faced four of them once and barely managed to kill one.
I understand why people are afraid.
But do they really think the walls of their houses would save them if those things came this far south?
Living in Nivalis is gambling with your life every day. That's why most people have fled to the cities, and most to Nivareth. Inside those walls, they say, you don't fear death the way you do out here. Not from cold, not from hunger, not from claws in the night. But safety has a price, and people will pay almost anything for it. They would sacrifice almost anything.
Almost anyone.
That's the cruel reality of this world. And it won't change soon.
And yet someone will have to change it.
Those were my thoughts as I walked through the silent forest. No voices, no movement, nothing living in sight. Just my boots pressing into the snow and the occasional soft crack of a buried twig giving way beneath me.
The path split ahead again. Left toward the lake, right deeper into the forest.
I took the left.
The lake appeared through the trees before I reached it. I stepped to the edge and stood there.
The water was still and surrounded on every side by snow-laden evergreens, their pine needles heavy and white. Not a sound disturbed the air. The reflection of the pale sky in the surface looked lifeless, much like the way my own eyes looked back at me when I caught my reflection in it.
"But I will," I whispered, and let the words dissolve into the cold air.
I looked out at the endless green-white of the trees and the flat grey of the water, and for some reason a thought crossed my mind.
"Does the lake know my name?"
What a stupid question that is. Why would it? It's just water and stone. Nature doesn't care about names.
And yet the feeling persisted so much that I should introduce myself. That something deserved acknowledgment here, in the place I came to more often than anywhere else. So I did.
"My name is Lazar Kiyokazu. I'm sixteen years old, born on February 24th, 1830/8. One of the few young people left in Liva Village. It's nice to meet you."
No response. Of course no response. Just silence, exactly as expected.
Good thing there was no one around to hear that.
I exhaled and looked back at my reflection. The earring I had received that morning moved slightly as I tilted my head.
Then a sharp cry cut through the quiet.
CAA-CAW!
I looked up. A black bird circled once above me and flew east.
I sighed. A crow. Usually a bad sign, by any measure.
I should go home. But I didn't want to.
Meanwhile, somewhere else in the village…
"Thank you, Mom! It's beautiful. I really love it!" said a cheerful voice.
It was voice of Sarah Susago, seventeen years old girl, her long brown hair catching the light as she held a red necklace in her hands. Her turquoise eyes sparkled.
Her mother smiled warmly. "I'm glad you like it, dear."
From behind her, her father chuckled softly.
"I'm going to show it to Lazar!" Sarah said happily, already moving toward the front door.
But her parents' smiles faded, replaced by something more careful.
"Wait, Sarah—" her mother began.
Sarah turned back, puzzled. "What is it, Mom? What's wrong?"
Her mother hesitated, glancing at her husband.
Marco cleared his throat and stepped in. "What she means is… How should I say it. You've been spending quite a lot of time with Lazar lately. That's all." He leaned against the wall and let out a quiet laugh.
Sarah went still. She looked at her mother, then at her father, then back at her mother, her face going red by degrees. She started moving in place, words coming out in pieces.
"W-what's that supposed to mean, Father? It's not like there are many people my age in this village! Lazar's one of the few, it's only natural that we spend time together! I mean, he's even younger than me!"
She waved her hands defensively, stepped outside, and pulled the door shut behind her. Her cheeks were still pink.
Her parents exchanged a look. Maria turned to Marco with the particular expression she reserved for when he had said something he shouldn't have.
"You shouldn't have said it like that," she said. "Who knows what she'll think now?"
Marco scratched the back of his head. "I know, I know. I was wrong." He looked at the floor. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize to me, apologize to Sarah. It has nothing to do with me. You made her uncomfortable, so you fix it. Women don't appreciate being teased about those things."
"I don't remember you being like that."
"I'm not most women, Marco." She said it simply. "I can talk to anyone about anything. But not everyone is like me, especially not Sarah. You know how shy she can be."
Marco said nothing. Just a long sigh.
"Also," Maria continued, her voice softening, "as long as she's spending time with Kiyokazu's son, I don't think we have anything to worry about. Think about it, how often was she genuinely this happy before she met him?"
Marco considered that. "Not very often, I suppose."
"Exactly." She smiled. "Whenever she's sad or bored, she goes to see Lazar and she always comes back looking cheerful. As long as he has that effect on her, we have no reason to interfere, Marco."
He crossed the room and sat down on the sofa, leaning back slowly.
"Yeah. Maybe you're right."
"And don't forget to apologize to Sarah."
He nodded. "I won't."