The cold had changed its tone.It was no longer just the chill of morning air; now it carried a steady weight on the skin, a persistent warning that winter wasn't simply coming — it was already lurking, testing our endurance.
That morning, I woke a little earlier than usual.Though it was still early, the house was already filled with its familiar sounds: my mother in the kitchen, my father sorting supplies, and... a sound that caught my attention.
My little sister was coughing softly, leaning against the wall, still wrapped tightly in a thick blanket.
— You're already up, little one? — I asked as I approached.
She smiled faintly, still half-asleep, still entirely childlike.
— I woke up... but the cold won't let me leave the blanket.
— It's good to stay warm — I replied, brushing her head gently.— Winter hasn't even fully arrived yet.
Her eyes blinked slowly.
— Today… the air feels different. Heavier.
I studied her for a moment.Her eyes were slightly sunken, her cheeks a little pale.
Perhaps just the cold… or maybe she's weakening a bit. Too early to worry for real. But I'll keep an eye on her.
My mother, always attentive even behind her serene expression, was already preparing a bitter root infusion in the small iron kettle.
— I gave her some root tea early. It should help strengthen the body — she said, noticing my concerned glance.
I simply nodded.
The morning passed with simple tasks.I helped my father check the last wood stacks, now covered with straw to keep the frost out.Afterward, I organized several grain sacks, sealing them for winter storage.
As I arranged the sacks, I noticed the wasted space.A simple press, with wooden levers and sturdy axles, could compact the grains far more efficiently and save storage room.I noted the idea in my mind.
While carrying one of the smaller sacks to the storage shed, I overheard two villagers quietly speaking near the square.
— New taxes again... as if the cold wasn't enough, now the weight of the coins feels heavier than the frost — one muttered.
— They always want more, up there. Down here is where we feel it — the other replied in a lowered voice.
I continued walking, but their words echoed in my head.The larger structure, which had begun to take shape through my talks with Yorn, now pulsed within the village's daily murmurs.
A little later, I made my way toward the old oak.
As always, he was already there, the Rekal board carefully prepared.Marta stood quietly, arranging a small tray with dark bread and butter.
— Torren — Yorn greeted me — always punctual.
— Good morning, Master Yorn. Good morning, Lady Marta.
Marta simply nodded with her gentle smile as she finished arranging the slices of bread.
— The cold makes us work earlier — I added, taking my seat.
Yorn was already sliding the first piece on the board.
We played in silence for a while, each of us weighing the early moves.
Then, while watching the board, I let the thought slip:
— I heard some villagers talking this morning about new taxes.
Yorn moved his Count slowly.
— There are always taxes, Torren.But in some seasons, there are... more hands collecting.Hands that often never step on these fields.
I glanced at the board, then back at him.
— Who decides all of this, in the end? Who stands above everyone?
Yorn leaned back slightly, his eyes still focused on the pieces.
— The kingdom's structure, my boy, is much like this very board.There are layers, pieces with different reach and roles.
— The King, at the top?
— Yes. The King rules over the entire realm, at least in name.But beneath him sit Dukes, each overseeing vast domains.Below them are the Counts, and beneath the Counts, the Barons — like the one who governs Eberholm.
— And the King sets the taxes?
Yorn smiled — not with sarcasm, but with patience and prudence.
— In theory, yes.But each layer... adjusts what suits its interests.Gold flows from the top like a river, but along the way, many tributaries form…And many diversions.
— So… what reaches the people isn't always what was intended from above.
— Exactly.And how much does the King truly know?Often… enough to keep the game balanced, but not enough to control every detail.Some prefer to keep certain matters... invisible.
We remained quiet for a moment.The pieces continued sliding across the board.
It was a world of layers.Layers I was beginning to glimpse — but knew I was still far from reaching.
Marta returned with steaming tea.
— It's cooling faster than last year — she said while serving our cups.
— With each winter, the season's game resets — Yorn commented.
I smiled, sipping the tea.
— Like Rekal. Though in winter, we don't always start with all our pieces intact.
Yorn glanced at me, quietly pleased, though he said nothing.
On the way home, the air felt even heavier.As I entered, I found my sister lying under the thick blanket.
She looked at me with bright, but slightly weakened eyes.
— Are you alright, little one? — I asked softly.
— Just... tired.Mama says it's the cold.
My mother, sitting nearby, simply looked at me, silently carrying her watchful care.
Perhaps just the cold... perhaps more.I need to keep watch.But no hurry, no alarms.
As the fire crackled in the hearth, I once again felt the weight of the seasons — and of all that I had yet to see.