The morning cold had sharpened again.The wind carried that dry, metallic taste that always signaled winter's approach.The village looked the same as the days before — the scent of fresh bread, the crackling firewood, voices trading goods at the square — yet everything carried an unspoken urgency.
I had spent the morning helping my mother sort roots for storage.The task was simple, methodical — washing, cutting, separating.
While my hands repeated the motions, my mind observed:
If we could control the drying with steady heat and airflow, perhaps we'd lose less…But not now. This is not the time.
On my way to the square, I spotted Garin, one of the boys who sometimes helped the merchant on his visits.
— Good morning, Garin.
— Morning, Torren!They say the merchant might arrive before the first snow this year.
— That would be good — I replied. — There's always something missing right when winter comes.
Garin simply shrugged with the carefree air of someone who had not yet carried many winters on his back.
Soon, I reached the old oak where, as had become almost routine, Yorn waited with the Rekal board carefully arranged.Beside him, Marta quietly set a small tray on the rough table.
— Torren — Yorn greeted me with his usual calm smile — I see the cold hasn't defeated your punctuality.
— Good morning, Master Yorn. Good morning, Lady Marta.
Marta smiled gently.
— I brought some cheese and dried fruit. One shouldn't face battles on an empty stomach.
I nodded, accepting the small meal.The board was ready.The conversation would follow the movement of the pieces.
We played in silence for a few minutes, testing the early moves.Rekal had its rhythm — and within it, our talks found space.
— I've been wondering — I began, after moving a Count — how do so many things reach us from outside?The tools, the salt, the fabrics… everything travels so far to reach our village.
Yorn nodded slowly.
— The world feels small while we walk through the square, Torren, but beyond the fields, roads weave like a great web.Merchants walk them like patient spiders, carrying what people need — or desire.
— Do they travel alone?
— Some. But those carrying true wealth travel in caravans, under protection.Guilds and unseen agreements draw their paths.And often, it is not swords but signatures that offer true safety.
I frowned.
— Guilds?
— Groups of merchants, artisans, carriers…— He gently moved a piece. — …setting rules among themselves.Not always fair, but they control the flow.Some guilds are well-managed.Others… prefer to play in the shadows.
I stared at the board.
— So these routes are… like Rekal's corridors?Open lines where risk and profit meet?
Yorn let out a faint smile.
— A precise comparison.When routes stay too open, the emptiness attracts predators — bandits, rivals, even restless nobles.
—
We advanced a little further into the game.
— And how do they pay for all this? Don't they trade like we do here?
— In small villages, barter still breathes, yes.But the farther you go, the louder metal speaks.They use the Drim — copper, silver, gold.Each coin carries its own weight and influence.
I thought for a moment.
— But… the one with more gold rules?
Yorn paused his move, his gaze drifting almost beyond the board.
— Not always, Torren.Many believe that — and many fall believing it.Gold is only a piece.The ones who control the routes, the contracts, the alliances…...those who whisper in the shadows...They shape the true game.
I remained silent, absorbing.
The game is not made of pieces alone.It's made of the hands that move them — and of eyes that are not always seen.
We played for a while longer as the sun threatened to retreat earlier than the day before.
At the end, as we gathered the pieces, Marta brought a warm cup of tea.
— The winter's rushing in fast this year — she remarked, watching the season, not the politics.
— It always arrives — Yorn said softly.— As does the next move on the board.
I smiled quietly, accepting the tea.
On my way home, the cold bit harder.Heavy clouds danced on the distant horizon.
Winter waits for no one.
And neither does the world.