I woke to the kind of heavy silence only snow can bring.
The entire world seemed muffled beneath a white blanket.The windows were partially fogged, but I could still glimpse the thin snow gently covering the square, the thatched rooftops, and the bare trees standing silent in the distance.
The cold felt denser, more present, as if trying to seep into the house through every small crack.
The fire was already burning in the hearth. Mother must have risen before everyone, as always.The warm scent of morning porridge filled the air, mingled with the faint aroma of burning wood.
My sister still lay in bed, as she had most mornings lately.But today, she seemed even paler.
— Did she sleep well? — I asked my mother as I sat at the table.
— More or less. She coughed a bit through the night, but the tea helped soothe her.Her body is simply adjusting to the cold, Torren.
I nodded silently.
The warm porridge went down smoothly.Father, seated nearby, tightened his leather gloves as he spoke:
— If you can stop by the square later, Torren, pick up some meat strips from the butcher and stop at the carpenter's. He's prepared some wooden planks to reinforce the back door.
— Of course, Father.
Not long after, I stepped outside.
Though thin, the snow already coated the ground in a steady layer.Each step left crisp marks.Some children were trying to play in the square, their laughter blending with the mist of their breath.
I stopped first at the butcher's.As always, he wore his thick apron, his gaze calm.
— Morning, Torren.Come take what your father requested.The cold has come for real, hasn't it?
— It has, sir. But at least it arrived slowly.
He smiled, handing me the neatly wrapped bundle.
— That's how we prefer it, isn't it?Let winter come slow, so our hands have time.
I continued to the carpenter's.
The shop smelled of freshly cut wood.He was already waiting with the planks tied in small bundles.
— Your father said to reinforce the door before the next storm — the man said, wiping sweat from his brow despite the cold.
— I'll take them.Thank you.
I greeted a few familiar faces nearby.Simple exchanges, quick smiles — the daily rhythm of those who share the same soil and the same winter.
As I returned home, the sky was already closing again, threatening more snow before nightfall.
Upon entering, my mother waited near the hearth.
— Thank you, Torren. This will help for the coming days.Now, go visit Yorn — he's expecting you as usual.
I nodded and headed out once more.
Today, our meeting was inside Yorn's stone house, where the warmth held better.
Marta opened the door with her usual gentle smile.
— Come in quickly, before the cold follows you inside.
Inside, the Rekal board was already set on a solid dark wooden table.The walls were lined with thick tapestries and shelves of old books and jars.
I sat down, and as usual, the match began without ceremony.
The comfortable warmth and the crackling of the fire gave the game a different rhythm.
As we moved our pieces, Yorn spoke first:
— The snow has arrived, Torren.A cycle completes itself.Now begins the true test for small villages.
I studied the board, thinking.
— After all this time... I am beginning to see this place more clearly.I know where I am.I know the faces, the routines... the paths.
Yorn glanced at me with a quiet smile of approval.
— Knowing where you stand…Is the first step before choosing where to go.
I smiled, satisfied.I truly felt that the adaptation was complete.I belonged here now — and from here, I would begin to walk.
But at the very moment that thought settled, the door opened abruptly.
It was Marta.Her usually serene face now carried restrained tension.
— Torren, your mother sent for you.It's your sister.
My chest tightened.
I stood quickly, leaving the board behind.Yorn simply nodded, understanding.
The snow thickened as I ran back.The marks of my earlier steps were already being swallowed by new layers of white.
Entering the house, I found my mother kneeling beside the bed.Father held damp cloths to my sister's forehead.
The fire burned strongly, yet sweat already dripped from her brow.Her eyes were half-closed, and her breathing heavy and hot.
I gently touched her forehead.
Hot. Far too hot.
Her body shivered in waves of chills, alternating with sweats.Her skin was damp, yet pale beneath the moisture.
High fever.
My mother spoke softly:
— I'll prepare another tea, but she needs help.I want you to go to the healers, Torren.They may have better herbs for this.Your father and I will stay with her.
I nodded firmly.
— I'll go.
I pulled on the thicker coat and stepped outside once more, while the weight of winter seemed to press harder on my shoulders.
Now, finally, it was time to meet a side of the village I had only observed from afar.
The healers awaited me.