The morning began with the same steady cold, but my eyes, already accustomed to the routine, kept searching for small signs of change.
Once again, my sister hadn't come down for breakfast.My mother reassured me with a gentle smile, but a warm herbal tea already rested by her bedside.
— She's just a little tired, dear — my mother said softly. — It's the cold. She'll be fine soon.
I nodded, though I made my own mental notes.Small coughs, longer sleep, reduced appetite.No real alarm yet — but worth watching.
After breakfast — bread and hot broth — I helped my father check the wood piles stacked along the house's outer wall.
The work was nearly automatic by now, but my eyes refused to settle for routine.
If we built a sloped cover, the melting snow would drain better...And if we raised the piles on small stone platforms, air could circulate underneath, preventing rot in the lower layers.
Ideas began aligning in my mind, but for now, I simply noted them and moved on.
Around the square, small groups of villagers spoke quietly, always glancing up at the heavy sky.
I walked slowly toward the old oak.As always, Yorn was already there, arranging the Rekal board.Marta stood nearby, placing a small basket — today filled with oat bread and fresh butter.
— Torren — Yorn greeted me — always punctual.
— Good morning, Master Yorn. Good morning, Lady Marta.
Marta offered a brief smile.
— It's getting colder by the day. Eat the bread while it's still soft.
I sat down, and as usual, the game began without ceremony.
The pieces slid across the board.Gradually, as always, the movements of the game carried our conversation forward.
— The village feels more restless these days — I said, moving my Count toward the center. — Many speak of the heavy taxes.
Yorn answered calmly:
— Winter weighs on every purse, Torren.And the smaller the man, the heavier the sack on his back.
I watched the board.
— What about the Baron? Isn't he supposed to ease that burden?
Yorn smiled faintly, adjusting his piece.
— The Baron… is like a commander surrounded by invisible walls.He governs these lands, yes — but always beneath the eyes of his superior: the Count.
— The same Count who serves Dukes and the King?
— Exactly.Each layer carries its own burden.The Baron collects because the Count demands.The Count presses because the Duke demands.The Duke strains because the entire realm demands.And with each step… someone takes their share.
I reflected, studying the game more carefully.
— In the end, we're all soldiers in a much larger army, aren't we?
Yorn looked at me briefly.
— A fair comparison.Few realize that the greatest wars are fought not with swords, but with ledgers and scrolls.
We continued the match.With every move, I sensed Yorn carefully measuring how much he revealed.
The layers of the kingdom's structure were slowly taking shape in my mind.Not through lessons — but through conversations, through simple comparisons with Rekal.
When the match ended, Marta returned to the table with hot tea.
— The air's more humid today — she commented. — We'll have snow soon.
I took the cup with a smile.
— The first snow always looks beautiful.But afterward, everyone just wants it gone.
Yorn smiled.
— Politics is the same, Torren.Beautiful from afar… heavy when it settles.
I drank my tea in silence.Another lesson, another piece on the board.
On my way home, I passed by my sister's room.She was sleeping, her face peaceful, though her skin was still a bit pale.My mother sat quietly nearby, changing the warm cloths.
I'll keep watching.Perhaps it's only the cold. Perhaps it will need more than bitter tea.
The fire crackled in the hearth, as always.The world outside carried on.Winter approached calmly — and the world, still larger, remained silent, waiting to be unveiled.