The cold winter wind swept across the small village, carrying a silence far too heavy for a place once filled with life. Snow drifted in thin, ghostly sheets over abandoned homes and frozen wells, the air stinging like needles against exposed skin.
In the center of the village lay the grim aftermath of a raid—scattered belongings, overturned carts, and the frozen forms of adults who had fallen where they stood. Only the children remained, huddled together in the snow, wearing nothing but torn shorts. Iron collars circled their thin necks, connected by heavy chains to a wooden pole driven into the frozen earth. Their breaths came in faint white clouds that vanished instantly; some cried until the tears froze on their cheeks, while others simply stared at the ground, spirits exhausted.
The door of a nearby building slammed open. A group of men in mismatched armor stepped out, their boots crunching through the snow with cruel confidence.
"Alright, you Chronians," the leader barked, his voice echoing through the hollow village. "Time to get yourselves ready. Your kind doesn't deserve to live. Only us humans." He tapped the hilt of his blade with a sickening metallic click. "We'll start with the smallest."
His gaze landed on a toddler curled in the snow. As the men grabbed the child, Vaelus—only six years old, tiny and shaking—felt a frantic panic rise. His reddish hair was tangled with ice, his emerald eyes wide with desperation. Seeing a soldier with his back turned, Vaelus lunged for the dagger at the man's belt.
His small hand gripped the hilt, but a heavy gauntlet struck him aside. Vaelus went flying, crashing into the wooden pole.
"Wait," a man in a black cape intervened. "We could use one like him. Take him to the wagon. The rest… tie them and burn the place."
"NO!" Vaelus cried as he was dragged away, his feet leaving furrows in the white. He watched, unable to breathe, as the men herded the other children into a home and locked the door. Torches were thrown. Flames rose. The screams began to fade behind the creaking wheels of the wagon as it rolled into the night.
Years passed in a blur of cruelty. The men used Vaelus for everything they feared to do themselves—sending him out as bait for wolves, forcing him to steal from villages, and ordering him to start fires that destroyed other families. By the time he was nineteen, he was still a slave, still utterly alone.
Then, one night, the world finally broke.
At midnight, while the camp slept, Vaelus moved. Barefoot and silent, he carried jugs of oil through the darkness, pouring them carefully around every tent. He found a chest of stolen clothes, pulling on a shirt and a dark brown cloak. He walked to the camp entrance where the oil trails converged and lowered a torch to the ground.
Fire raced along the earth with a hungry hiss. As the camp turned into a roaring blaze, Vaelus didn't smile or cheer. He simply watched the fire consume the only life he had known for thirteen years, then turned and walked into the night.
For months, he wandered, stealing to survive until the law finally caught him. He knelt in a crowded square, hands tied, head bowed. The people cheered for his execution. Vaelus didn't care; he was ready for the end.
"Any final words, you peasant?" the king asked. Vaelus said nothing. "Alright then—kill him."
The knight swung a heavy blade, but a hand caught it mid-strike. Eiden stood there, holding the sharpened weapon with effortless strength.
"Ah! The First Divinity!" the king stammered. "Y-you can just take him!"
"You," Eiden said gently. "Come. Walk with me."
Vaelus followed, stunned, as Eiden bought him fresh food and water. At sunset, they sat on a rocky cliff overlooking a field of stones.
"You're not scared?" Eiden asked.
"No," Vaelus whispered.
"You're a Chronian, right?" Eiden noted. "I can see it in your eyes. I can teach you to fight, and how to use time magic. Let me teach you."
Vaelus looked up, his vision blurring. In the golden light of the setting sun, he saw something he thought he had lost forever: a guide, a protector, a future.
Vaelus opened his eyes. The room was dim, lit by the soft glow of twilight. He felt a broad, familiar chest beneath him and realized he was pressing his face into Eiden's shirt, seeking the anchor of the present.
Eiden was already awake, his presence steady. "It's alright," he murmured, running a hand through Vaelus's hair. "Let it out."
Vaelus cried quietly, hugging him tightly as the memories of the snow and the fire began to recede. "I've never thanked you enough," he whispered, his voice shaking. "For saving me."
Eiden smiled softly. "You don't need to thank me. I already knew."
Vaelus held on tighter. He would never forget the man who had taught him to stand, the one who had guided him back into a world that had once tried to burn him away. Eiden was the first person to give him a reason to live