A pleasant morning dawned upon Virelya, the Land of the North. The sun's rays trickled through frost-bitten windows, warm and golden, kissing the skin of an infant like whispered blessings — healing wishes for such a cold, unforgiving land.
In the quiet of the babybed, young Einar stirred. His azure eyes shimmered as light touched them, and with a soft grunt he wriggled under his blankets. A tiny hand reached up, batting against the air, and he began kicking his legs with surprising force — as if declaring to the world itself: "PULL THE CURTAINS ALREADY!"
Three curious heads peeked into the cradle, their breaths caught at the sight of this tiny bundle of life.
Narrator (cutting in sharply):"HEY! No, no, no— WE ARE NOT PULLING THE CURTAINS. Not yet. The chapter's just getting started!"
A soft giggle drifted from the audience — unmistakably hers, that one girl. The sound carried like silver bells in the frost, curling into the cradle's warmth.
Then, as if the moment itself had been staged, a sweet aroma filled the air. It wasn't from the hearth, nor from flowers (because good luck finding those in Virelya's snow), but from somewhere between the words.
For a fleeting instant, it felt as though the Narrator, the girl, and the story itself had signed a peace treaty — a rare truce in this endless squabble of mockery, interruptions, and chaos.
Narrator (in an uncharacteristic whisper):"…Huh. Almost feels like harmony. Almost."
The Nation of Virelya — a crown of frost at the very top of the world. And here, in the humble town of Skjoldheim, life was unlike anywhere else.
There were no herds of cattle grazing the fields, no packs of wild beasts lurking in the woods. Instead, the people lived side by side with the friendly seals that dotted the ice shores, and once in a great while, they would share in the bounty of a whale hunt — a tradition as ancient as the glaciers themselves.
Meals here came not from fertile soil, but from the sea's generosity and a few hardy cold crops that could push their roots through frost. And yet, despite this harshness, Virelya was said to be the happiest of all nations.
The people of Skjoldheim were known for their warmth — kind, polite, endlessly welcoming. So much so that outsiders often made the mistake of thinking them soft, harmless, too gentle for the brutal world beyond the snow.
But under those smiles lay something else: a quiet strength, like the bedrock beneath the ice. A strength that would one day awaken in the boy whose cradle now swayed beneath the morning sun.
As there was no Bronze Hall in Skjoldheim, Einar's parents had little choice but to send their elder son, Harald, to the heart of the nation — the capital city of Isenforge — where the frost never melted, yet knowledge burned brighter than any flame.
There, Harald completed his primary education, forged in the discipline of the North and the stern wisdom of the Halls. When he finally returned home to Skjoldheim to begin training for his Trial, he expected nothing more than to carry the family's hopes upon his shoulders.
What he did not expect, however, was the sudden arrival of a new sibling — a tiny brother swaddled in furs, his name whispered gently into the icy air: Einar.
In the Frostval family, the eyes were more than windows — they were omens. The shades of blue, so common in Virelya, carried with them quiet weight. Some called it a trick of the northern sun, others a quirk of bloodlines. Yet, in every tale, the eyes seemed to decide far more than sight.
Einar's own gaze, gleaming in rare azure, was different. Too deep for a child. Too alive for comfort. The old neighbors whispered it meant potential, though none dared say what kind. Not aloud.
For in this land, it was said the color of the eyes did not only mark one's heritage — they hinted at what the world itself might be willing to yield… should the bearer have the will to ask for it.
Einar had a lovely childhood, wrapped in happiness and love. He adored his older brother, who had trained for a year here at home before his trial.
When Einar was only three, his brother departed for the Trial. In his absence, Einar often spent his days tagging along with the neighbor's teenage daughters — his tiny feet always chasing after their laughter.
Four months later, the door opened again. His brother returned — battered, bruised, and scarred — yet his blue eyes shone with a light that made all wounds seem smaller. Laughing through the pain, he shouted:
"Hey, Einar! Hey, Astrid! GUESS WHAT? I JUST GOT SELECTED INTO KRAMPBAT!"
One of the three esteemed Silver Halls.
Harald Frostval was the pride of the family, the eldest son who carried the weight of both heritage and expectation on his shoulders. Unlike many in Virelya, Harald's eyes were a deep, steady blue — not the brightest, but resolute, the kind that seemed to promise reliability rather than brilliance. To his parents, he was their steady flame, and to young Einar, he was nothing short of a hero.
Despite the gap in their ages, Harald never failed to make time for his little brother. He carried Einar on his shoulders through snow-covered streets, taught him how to skip stones across frozen lakes, and would whisper half-remembered legends before bed. Their parents often said the bond between the two boys was "the warmth against the northern winds."
And then, there was Astrid. She had been their neighbor for as long as Harald could remember, her laughter as common in their home as the crackling fire. What began as childhood companionship slowly grew into something more. On long evenings, after training sessions left him aching and worn, Harald would find Astrid waiting by the pier, a basket of bread and fish in hand, her cheeks red not just from the cold.
It wasn't grand or dramatic — theirs was a love written in small gestures: Astrid stitching his torn sleeves, Harald sneaking her flowers pressed between pages of his textbooks, both of them trading dreams beneath the northern lights. Even when he returned bloodied from his trial, it was Astrid's embrace that softened the bruises, her proud tears that outshone the scars.
For the Frostval family, Astrid became more than just a neighbor. She was part of their hearth, their circle, their story. And for Harald, she was the unspoken promise that no matter how far the trials carried him, he would always return home.
Those four months, while Harald waited for the gates of the Silver Halls to open, became something of a golden season for the Frostval family. He trained daily, laughed often, and stitched memories with both Einar and Astrid that would linger for years. But time moves quickly when hearts are full, and soon the summons came. Harald, accepted into the Silver Hall of Krampbat, was bound for Isenforge — the great capital where both Bronze and Silver halls stood side by side like towering citadels of destiny.
Einar, though only three and a half, would not be left behind. The Frostval elders of Krampbat, recognizing the strange clarity in his azure eyes, allowed him into the Bronze Hall earlier than any boy his age should have dreamed. It was rare, unheard of even, but Einar was taken in with little protest. And so the brothers, though worlds apart in age, began their journeys under the same roof, separated only by rank and circumstance.
For their parents, it was bittersweet. To see both sons depart so young left the hearth colder, though pride flickered beneath the sorrow. For Astrid, it was harder still. The evenings by the pier grew lonelier, her laughter less often heard through the Frostval home. But she was not one to remain in shadows. A year later, against all expectation, Astrid herself stood before the gates of Isenforge and claimed her place within Krampbat.
The Frostval brothers, once only two, were now joined by Astrid in the capital. Three young souls bound by family, friendship, and love — all drawn together into the endless weave of the Trial.
Narrator (leaning back, voice warm but tinged with mischief):
"AND SO, THE STAGE IS SET. Three hearts, each blazing with curiosity, courage, and a hint of stubbornness, step into the halls where DREAMS are tested, forged, and SOMETIMES… broken. But fear not, dear reader — for in this frostbitten crucible of trials, BONDS WILL BE STRENGTHENED, LAUGHTER WILL ECHO THROUGH COLD STONE CORRIDORS, and SECRETS LONG BURIED BENEATH SNOW AND SILENCE WILL STIR. Keep your eyes wide, your heart steady, and remember: in Virelya, even the smallest FLICKER OF A DREAM can ignite a FIRE THAT CHANGES EVERYTHING. Now… LET THE NEXT CHAPTER BEGIN."
Writer : Hey! - Hey! , Give me a break already , I just wrote around 1500 words .
Can't you wait like a bit ?
Narrator and that one girl (currently under the peace treaty ) in unison , while holding the curtains : Ugh, well ... NO !
Writer (betrayed by his own characters) : Huhh ??
Curtain falls.