Prologue - Part 01
Bell Chimes.
The hearty and familiar sound echoed through the small radius of the olden town, stopped by the ever lasting gush of snowy wind that frosted the village with its cold. Yet, the times it settled brought about the hidden fragrances of smoked ham and juicy turkey, often topped with the seasonings of spices and assorted fruit, garnished with, well, garnish.
Wolven boots with thick soles trampled across the white blanket as mischievous screams could be heard alongside the bells, hands thrown up in the air as the two young boys ran through the frost, enjoying how their faces would melt the falling snowflakes that met their skin. One turned to the other.
“So where’d you think they hid it this year?” The brunette chuckled, his smile showing the missing tooth that had probably been knocked off during some school kid scuffle.
“…Dunno. You’d think they would’ve stopped leaving their sled out here for us to steal.” The blond smiled, evidently more calm then his excitable partner.
“Heh, maybe they actually want us to have fun! Who knows? They might really just want to give us some toy.”
“You think?”
“Nah…they wouldn’t scold us every year after we’ve returned it if they did.”
“Maybe it’s because you keep damaging it every year.” A tight slap to the back followed.
“C’mon it can’t just be my fault!”
“Totally is.” The blond sighed as he rubbed his bruised back.
The duo continued onwards, their footprints tainting the snow as they drew a path showing where they had searched, where they had stopped to look and the places they ignored, knowing to never bother from their short years of sled-hunting experience. The woods were large, with dead trees that grew beautiful multi-coloured leaves, but for now, they remained bald and empty as the magnificent patterns on their wooden spines showed through the snow. Occasionally a few stumps would be spotted, with their edges still chipped from the rough handling of metal blades by muscular workmen. The blonde stopped to stare at one.
“Hey slowpoke, what’s…” The brunette, who had gone a few steps further turned around, only to realise what had caught his friend’s attention.
A wave of a bushy tail and the critter was gone, leaving a few uncollected acorns scattered around the stump.
“I thought animals hibernated during this time?” He chimed, scratching his ash brown hair.
“Not all of them.” The blond shifted, “Hope it finds enough in this weather.”
“Man…it sucked if they had to go through winter all year round, think that’d ever happen if the Earth got whacked up enough by…what was that? Glo…Glowing Warmer?”
“Global Warming.” The blond corrected, “Unlikely, it’ll still take a few decades at the least for it to become that bad.”
“Haa…I hate it when you go all smarty on me.”
The blond smiled to himself as he continued, it was only a few steps after that the brunette’s eyes widened as he exclaimed.
“Hey…you…you know where it IS don’t you!”
It was less of a question and more of a statement. The blond turned back and smiled as he kicked over what seemed to be a pile of snow, revealing part of a wooden leg.
“How did you…?” The brunette gasped, his jaw hung.
“Observation.” The blond shrugged, “They always leave it for a few days so the snow covers their tracks, so I did some pre-searching. Well…not that it’s needed since the storm wasn’t so bad this year.”
“Hmph.” The brunette pouted, his hands tucked deeply into his pockets before he pulled them out again to help his friend uncover the rest of the sled. “Well…at least we found it!”
“That makes it my win again, for the third year in a row out of four.”
“Hey now, if I hadn’t discovered it the first time, we wouldn’t have had this tradition.”
“Yeah yeah, your win’s the biggest.”
The brunette flashed his odd yet bright smile again.
“Of course!”
——————————————————————————————————————————--
A waft sifted its way through the air, finding the quickest path into the olfactory senses of its soon-to-be victims, leading them to the humble bakery that hid in a cosy corner of the fifth street. The village isn’t a big one, yet it was big enough to house around ten streets in total, each having it’s own pros and cons. The fifth’s had a huge lead with just that one bakery. Fresh loaves poured out of the oven daily, with the warm heat still kept safely within its soft yet crusted walls. A huge line extended from the counter, with every individual waiting to be served while holding on to their own trays, of which their treasures were stacked upon. Pink and blue oven gloves, decorated with experience and time, skilfully handled and packed each and every loaf into their bags and back to their new owners.
“Thank you for your patronage! Please do come again!”
A sweet voice, and no doubt that could be the second reason why so many people had gathered in this small shop. Soft brown locks that were tucked into the warm confides of the scarf around her neck, with loose strands hanging loosely, but not too messily, onto her shoulders. Her fringe, that had grown far too long, was neatly tucked behind her left ear, covering most of her left eye. Yet, the one eye that could be seen clearly shone like a marble, fully polished and never losing its vibrant peach colour. Her delicate young hands carefully counting coins before returning extras, while her voice, sweet as the pies they make, sang out heartfelt thanks and gratitude to every customer.
Rice was the closest living being one could describe as an angel. Not the kind of glorified ones that sparkled with glamorous effects, but a humble one that made people feel at ease with simple, yet warm, gestures.
“Ah sir, please wait! You forgot your change!”
“Oh oh…I’m sorry. Thank you so much miss, what a kind person you are.”
“It’s not a problem at all. I wish you a good day.”
Perhaps the old gentleman in the top hat had left his coins there on purpose, wanting to hear the young maiden call out to him. It wouldn’t have been a surprise, nor a first, that was for sure.
“Rice! It’s time to clean-up! Oh dear…there’s still such a long queue.”
“Don’t worry about it mom! You can go ahead and change the sign, I’ll handle the rest of the customers!” Rice smiled, immediately turning back to the next person in line, carefully looking through their trays before giving them a sum.
Rice’s mother gave a relieved sigh and an endearing look in her daughter’s direction before heading towards the door, promptly turning the wooden block hanging against the doorknob that said “Open” to “Closed”. She could hear a few sighs as those who were still outside waiting for a chance to go in started to walk away. Wiping her sweat, she smiled. Such business was good for them, yet at the same time, it only meant that they could not operate too late.
As Rice waved goodbye to the last of the customers, a young man of good build came walking out of the kitchen holding a huge pot.
“Thanks for working hard today as usual Rice.” He spoke.
“It’s not a problem Pa!” Rice smiled before her attention was drawn to the pot and its steaming contents. “Pa? What’s that? It smells so good!”
“Why don’t you take a guess?” He chuckled along with his wife.
“Is…Is that!”
“Yes it is! It’s your reward for helping us so much with the shop dear.”
An entire pot of cream stew, simmering with healthy chunks of meat, potato and carrots, Rice’s favourite dish. She eagerly took her place at the dinner table, clapping in delight as her father set the pot in the middle while her mother started ladling the stew into wooden bowls.
“Pa! Mom! Thank you so much!” Rice said with a bright smile before she started tucking into her meal. Her parents showered her with praises of “You’re welcome” and “We should be thanking you instead” before starting themselves.
Under the warm light of the ceiling lamp, the three of them happily partook in their hearty meal as they discussed everything from past stories to present tales. Perhaps, this was what true happiness and peace felt like.
Yet, these things never lasted long.
——————————————————————————————————————————--
Red.
Blood red.
That was all Porthen could see in front of him, covering the entirety of the wall on one side of the room in rude strokes, almost as if an angry artist had gone crazy. The description wasn’t too far off, he thought.
“…stinks”, he mumbled, tightly covering his nose with the ragged cloth wrapped around his neck. He looked upon the figure in front of him, lifeless and slumped against that very wall. Quickly, with the hands of a well-seasoned expert, he unloaded the gun he was holding and placed the leftover bullets in his coat pocket just as a tall figure walked into the room.
“Ho…! You sure got the job done real quick.” The burly man walked past Porthen, nudging the corpse with a little too much force. “Being able to just shoot a pregnant woman in the head, you sure you’re still human kid?” He laughed.
“Second floor, third room, she keeps it in a box under her dresser.” He answered curtly. The man clicked his tongue, clearly annoyed at having the topic changed so easily.
“Hmph! If you weren’t her kid, I’d have strangled you by your neck right now.”
“As if you could to begin with…”
With a huff, the man went up the stairs in search of the woman’s savings. Porthen, on the other hand, stayed in his spot, continuing to stare at the person he had shot square in the stomach and the head just a moment ago. His gaze moved to the hand that still held the gun, some of the blood had splattered onto him. He walked closer to the corpse and bent down to take a closer look at her face.
Massive eye bags and wrinkles decorated her skin. He wondered why she had even considered taking such a huge loan when none of the multiple jobs she was running could pay enough to even feed herself.
“Desperation sure is a scary thing”, he mused.
At that moment, the burly man returned, holding a simple red box in his hand. Porthen stared at the box before standing up to walk out. It didn’t matter if the man was mocking him for feeling guilty, or was yelling at him for ignoring those older than him.
He just wanted to get out of that house filled with the stench of blood.
Yet, home wasn’t any better.
“Efficient as always. That’s my son”, A sultry voice echoed through the marble hallways.
Porthen sighed as he felt his mother’s arms slowly wrap around him in an embrace. What had he done in his past life to be reborn as the son of a debt collector? Sure, he was protected wherever he went, armed with the skills of using a gun at a young age, yet…the adrenaline that had come with killing the poor or those unable to pay had long ceased. Maybe he was just becoming indifferent to it all.
“Anything for you, mother…” He replied with a voice devoid of emotion.
His mother looked at him and smiled, “Dinner has already been prepared in the next room, make sure to finish it this time. We can’t have our best shooter growing weak because of a lack of appetite can we? You’re still growing after all.”
Porthen nodded before being escorted to the dining hall by a servant.
What mother even expects her child to eat after killing someone, he thought as he aimlessly played around with the chunk of beef in his soup, hardly any of it had entered his mouth.
“Young master…”, a small voice said.
“What is it, Michelle? And you don’t need to address me like that when we’re alone.” He replied, turning to look at the maid beside him.
“I’m sorry You-…Porthen, but if you don’t finish at least one bowl, Miss is going to reprimand me again.”
“Do you want to finish it for me?” He asked, handing her the bowl.
“No! That’s not! I couldn’t possibly…!” She gasped, shaking her head frantically.
“It’s fine, you haven’t been eating well either. I get this stuff everyday so it’s alright.” He placed the bowl in her hands before exiting the hallway and back to his room, leaving Michelle to stare at the bowl with a hungry yet worried face.
The moment Porthen entered his room, he laid himself down onto his bed with a content sigh. Did he deserve all this? Everything he needed, wanted, so comfortably handed to him the moment he was born. Yet the means that had been used to obtain such peace…surely it wasn’t right? He let out a frustrated sigh as he sat up. What was the use of him thinking like that, it’s not as if he was planning on doing anything to rebel. He was raised as a child soldier, ready to kill at a moment’s notice so the woman he called “Mother” wouldn’t have to dirty her hands, in fact, going against her frightened him. He stared down at his own hands again, some of the blood was still there.
A sigh.
A flicker of light from outside his window caught his attention.
Maybe it shouldn’t have. Maybe he should have ignored it. For if Porthen had never looked outside his window in curiosity, had maybe finished his dinner just as his mother had told him to, then maybe all that could have been avoided.
Yet, as he stared at the road covered in snow from his room, his eyes were fixated on a young girl around his age. A warm yellow scarf around her neck, with the ends of soft brown locks gently tucked into. He did not know what possessed him to run down towards her like he did, but he knew for sure that it was the way she smiled at nothing in particular, the way she seemed to emit life compared to the grey aura that surrounded him, the way she occasionally started drawing in the snow with her foot, that seemed to draw him closer.
And at that point, all he wanted to do was to get a closer look.
Maybe he shouldn’t have.
If Porthen, the child soldier, had never gone down to meet with Rice, the daughter of a humble baker, he would have never met the blond boy or his brunette friend who were dragging their sleigh.
And all that was to happen.
Could have been avoided.
Bell Chimes.
The hearty and familiar sound echoed through the small radius of the olden town, stopped by the ever lasting gush of snowy wind that frosted the village with its cold. Yet, the times it settled brought about the hidden fragrances of smoked ham and juicy turkey, often topped with the seasonings of spices and assorted fruit, garnished with, well, garnish.
Wolven boots with thick soles trampled across the white blanket as mischievous screams could be heard alongside the bells, hands thrown up in the air as the two young boys ran through the frost, enjoying how their faces would melt the falling snowflakes that met their skin. One turned to the other.
“So where’d you think they hid it this year?” The brunette chuckled, his smile showing the missing tooth that had probably been knocked off during some school kid scuffle.
“…Dunno. You’d think they would’ve stopped leaving their sled out here for us to steal.” The blond smiled, evidently more calm then his excitable partner.
“Heh, maybe they actually want us to have fun! Who knows? They might really just want to give us some toy.”
“You think?”
“Nah…they wouldn’t scold us every year after we’ve returned it if they did.”
“Maybe it’s because you keep damaging it every year.” A tight slap to the back followed.
“C’mon it can’t just be my fault!”
“Totally is.” The blond sighed as he rubbed his bruised back.
The duo continued onwards, their footprints tainting the snow as they drew a path showing where they had searched, where they had stopped to look and the places they ignored, knowing to never bother from their short years of sled-hunting experience. The woods were large, with dead trees that grew beautiful multi-coloured leaves, but for now, they remained bald and empty as the magnificent patterns on their wooden spines showed through the snow. Occasionally a few stumps would be spotted, with their edges still chipped from the rough handling of metal blades by muscular workmen. The blonde stopped to stare at one.
“Hey slowpoke, what’s…” The brunette, who had gone a few steps further turned around, only to realise what had caught his friend’s attention.
A wave of a bushy tail and the critter was gone, leaving a few uncollected acorns scattered around the stump.
“I thought animals hibernated during this time?” He chimed, scratching his ash brown hair.
“Not all of them.” The blond shifted, “Hope it finds enough in this weather.”
“Man…it sucked if they had to go through winter all year round, think that’d ever happen if the Earth got whacked up enough by…what was that? Glo…Glowing Warmer?”
“Global Warming.” The blond corrected, “Unlikely, it’ll still take a few decades at the least for it to become that bad.”
“Haa…I hate it when you go all smarty on me.”
The blond smiled to himself as he continued, it was only a few steps after that the brunette’s eyes widened as he exclaimed.
“Hey…you…you know where it IS don’t you!”
It was less of a question and more of a statement. The blond turned back and smiled as he kicked over what seemed to be a pile of snow, revealing part of a wooden leg.
“How did you…?” The brunette gasped, his jaw hung.
“Observation.” The blond shrugged, “They always leave it for a few days so the snow covers their tracks, so I did some pre-searching. Well…not that it’s needed since the storm wasn’t so bad this year.”
“Hmph.” The brunette pouted, his hands tucked deeply into his pockets before he pulled them out again to help his friend uncover the rest of the sled. “Well…at least we found it!”
“That makes it my win again, for the third year in a row out of four.”
“Hey now, if I hadn’t discovered it the first time, we wouldn’t have had this tradition.”
“Yeah yeah, your win’s the biggest.”
The brunette flashed his odd yet bright smile again.
“Of course!”
——————————————————————————————————————————--
A waft sifted its way through the air, finding the quickest path into the olfactory senses of its soon-to-be victims, leading them to the humble bakery that hid in a cosy corner of the fifth street. The village isn’t a big one, yet it was big enough to house around ten streets in total, each having it’s own pros and cons. The fifth’s had a huge lead with just that one bakery. Fresh loaves poured out of the oven daily, with the warm heat still kept safely within its soft yet crusted walls. A huge line extended from the counter, with every individual waiting to be served while holding on to their own trays, of which their treasures were stacked upon. Pink and blue oven gloves, decorated with experience and time, skilfully handled and packed each and every loaf into their bags and back to their new owners.
“Thank you for your patronage! Please do come again!”
A sweet voice, and no doubt that could be the second reason why so many people had gathered in this small shop. Soft brown locks that were tucked into the warm confides of the scarf around her neck, with loose strands hanging loosely, but not too messily, onto her shoulders. Her fringe, that had grown far too long, was neatly tucked behind her left ear, covering most of her left eye. Yet, the one eye that could be seen clearly shone like a marble, fully polished and never losing its vibrant peach colour. Her delicate young hands carefully counting coins before returning extras, while her voice, sweet as the pies they make, sang out heartfelt thanks and gratitude to every customer.
Rice was the closest living being one could describe as an angel. Not the kind of glorified ones that sparkled with glamorous effects, but a humble one that made people feel at ease with simple, yet warm, gestures.
“Ah sir, please wait! You forgot your change!”
“Oh oh…I’m sorry. Thank you so much miss, what a kind person you are.”
“It’s not a problem at all. I wish you a good day.”
Perhaps the old gentleman in the top hat had left his coins there on purpose, wanting to hear the young maiden call out to him. It wouldn’t have been a surprise, nor a first, that was for sure.
“Rice! It’s time to clean-up! Oh dear…there’s still such a long queue.”
“Don’t worry about it mom! You can go ahead and change the sign, I’ll handle the rest of the customers!” Rice smiled, immediately turning back to the next person in line, carefully looking through their trays before giving them a sum.
Rice’s mother gave a relieved sigh and an endearing look in her daughter’s direction before heading towards the door, promptly turning the wooden block hanging against the doorknob that said “Open” to “Closed”. She could hear a few sighs as those who were still outside waiting for a chance to go in started to walk away. Wiping her sweat, she smiled. Such business was good for them, yet at the same time, it only meant that they could not operate too late.
As Rice waved goodbye to the last of the customers, a young man of good build came walking out of the kitchen holding a huge pot.
“Thanks for working hard today as usual Rice.” He spoke.
“It’s not a problem Pa!” Rice smiled before her attention was drawn to the pot and its steaming contents. “Pa? What’s that? It smells so good!”
“Why don’t you take a guess?” He chuckled along with his wife.
“Is…Is that!”
“Yes it is! It’s your reward for helping us so much with the shop dear.”
An entire pot of cream stew, simmering with healthy chunks of meat, potato and carrots, Rice’s favourite dish. She eagerly took her place at the dinner table, clapping in delight as her father set the pot in the middle while her mother started ladling the stew into wooden bowls.
“Pa! Mom! Thank you so much!” Rice said with a bright smile before she started tucking into her meal. Her parents showered her with praises of “You’re welcome” and “We should be thanking you instead” before starting themselves.
Under the warm light of the ceiling lamp, the three of them happily partook in their hearty meal as they discussed everything from past stories to present tales. Perhaps, this was what true happiness and peace felt like.
Yet, these things never lasted long.
——————————————————————————————————————————--
Red.
Blood red.
That was all Porthen could see in front of him, covering the entirety of the wall on one side of the room in rude strokes, almost as if an angry artist had gone crazy. The description wasn’t too far off, he thought.
“…stinks”, he mumbled, tightly covering his nose with the ragged cloth wrapped around his neck. He looked upon the figure in front of him, lifeless and slumped against that very wall. Quickly, with the hands of a well-seasoned expert, he unloaded the gun he was holding and placed the leftover bullets in his coat pocket just as a tall figure walked into the room.
“Ho…! You sure got the job done real quick.” The burly man walked past Porthen, nudging the corpse with a little too much force. “Being able to just shoot a pregnant woman in the head, you sure you’re still human kid?” He laughed.
“Second floor, third room, she keeps it in a box under her dresser.” He answered curtly. The man clicked his tongue, clearly annoyed at having the topic changed so easily.
“Hmph! If you weren’t her kid, I’d have strangled you by your neck right now.”
“As if you could to begin with…”
With a huff, the man went up the stairs in search of the woman’s savings. Porthen, on the other hand, stayed in his spot, continuing to stare at the person he had shot square in the stomach and the head just a moment ago. His gaze moved to the hand that still held the gun, some of the blood had splattered onto him. He walked closer to the corpse and bent down to take a closer look at her face.
Massive eye bags and wrinkles decorated her skin. He wondered why she had even considered taking such a huge loan when none of the multiple jobs she was running could pay enough to even feed herself.
“Desperation sure is a scary thing”, he mused.
At that moment, the burly man returned, holding a simple red box in his hand. Porthen stared at the box before standing up to walk out. It didn’t matter if the man was mocking him for feeling guilty, or was yelling at him for ignoring those older than him.
He just wanted to get out of that house filled with the stench of blood.
Yet, home wasn’t any better.
“Efficient as always. That’s my son”, A sultry voice echoed through the marble hallways.
Porthen sighed as he felt his mother’s arms slowly wrap around him in an embrace. What had he done in his past life to be reborn as the son of a debt collector? Sure, he was protected wherever he went, armed with the skills of using a gun at a young age, yet…the adrenaline that had come with killing the poor or those unable to pay had long ceased. Maybe he was just becoming indifferent to it all.
“Anything for you, mother…” He replied with a voice devoid of emotion.
His mother looked at him and smiled, “Dinner has already been prepared in the next room, make sure to finish it this time. We can’t have our best shooter growing weak because of a lack of appetite can we? You’re still growing after all.”
Porthen nodded before being escorted to the dining hall by a servant.
What mother even expects her child to eat after killing someone, he thought as he aimlessly played around with the chunk of beef in his soup, hardly any of it had entered his mouth.
“Young master…”, a small voice said.
“What is it, Michelle? And you don’t need to address me like that when we’re alone.” He replied, turning to look at the maid beside him.
“I’m sorry You-…Porthen, but if you don’t finish at least one bowl, Miss is going to reprimand me again.”
“Do you want to finish it for me?” He asked, handing her the bowl.
“No! That’s not! I couldn’t possibly…!” She gasped, shaking her head frantically.
“It’s fine, you haven’t been eating well either. I get this stuff everyday so it’s alright.” He placed the bowl in her hands before exiting the hallway and back to his room, leaving Michelle to stare at the bowl with a hungry yet worried face.
The moment Porthen entered his room, he laid himself down onto his bed with a content sigh. Did he deserve all this? Everything he needed, wanted, so comfortably handed to him the moment he was born. Yet the means that had been used to obtain such peace…surely it wasn’t right? He let out a frustrated sigh as he sat up. What was the use of him thinking like that, it’s not as if he was planning on doing anything to rebel. He was raised as a child soldier, ready to kill at a moment’s notice so the woman he called “Mother” wouldn’t have to dirty her hands, in fact, going against her frightened him. He stared down at his own hands again, some of the blood was still there.
A sigh.
A flicker of light from outside his window caught his attention.
Maybe it shouldn’t have. Maybe he should have ignored it. For if Porthen had never looked outside his window in curiosity, had maybe finished his dinner just as his mother had told him to, then maybe all that could have been avoided.
Yet, as he stared at the road covered in snow from his room, his eyes were fixated on a young girl around his age. A warm yellow scarf around her neck, with the ends of soft brown locks gently tucked into. He did not know what possessed him to run down towards her like he did, but he knew for sure that it was the way she smiled at nothing in particular, the way she seemed to emit life compared to the grey aura that surrounded him, the way she occasionally started drawing in the snow with her foot, that seemed to draw him closer.
And at that point, all he wanted to do was to get a closer look.
Maybe he shouldn’t have.
If Porthen, the child soldier, had never gone down to meet with Rice, the daughter of a humble baker, he would have never met the blond boy or his brunette friend who were dragging their sleigh.
And all that was to happen.
Could have been avoided.