“The cold teaches lessons that warmth never could.”
Winter never truly left the North Kingdom.
Even when spring arrived in the southern lands and flowers bloomed beneath warm skies, the north remained trapped beneath endless sheets of snow.
Mountains stood like frozen giants around the kingdom, shielding it from the rest of the continent while cruel winds swept through its streets day and night.
For the nobles living behind towering stone walls, winter was little more than another season.
For everyone else…
It was a battle.
Raimer slowly pulled his worn cloak tighter around himself as another gust of icy wind brushed against his face.
The fabric had long since lost its warmth, patched together more times than he could remember.
Even his boots were beginning to fall apart, the soles barely holding together after years of walking frozen roads.
His stomach growled.
He stopped walking for a moment and rested a hand over it.
“…Easy.”
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
“You’ll get something today.”
Whether he was reassuring himself or his stomach, even he wasn’t sure.
Three days.
Three days since he had eaten anything that resembled a proper meal.
Yesterday had been nothing more than a handful of wild berries gathered near the city walls.
Before that, an elderly woman had insisted he take a bowl of vegetable soup.
“You’re still growing,” she had said.
Raimer knew she had lied.
The pot had been nearly empty.
She had wanted someone else to eat before she did.
The memory made him sigh.
“I’ll pay you back someday…”
He whispered the promise to no one in particular before continuing toward the city market.
Unlike the quiet streets surrounding the poorer districts, the central marketplace was alive.
Merchants shouted over one another.
Fresh bread filled the air with its irresistible aroma.
Fishmongers argued over prices while blacksmiths hammered glowing steel beneath open workshops.
Children laughed.
Travelers bargained.
Life moved forward, uncaring of who had enough to eat and who didn’t.
Raimer stood near the entrance for several seconds.
Not looking for food.
Watching.
That was how he survived.
Every guard had a route.
Every merchant had habits.
Every distracted customer created an opportunity.
Years on the streets had taught him that rushing was the quickest way to get caught.
His sapphire-blue eyes quietly followed the movements around him.
Two city guards passed the fruit stalls.
An old baker argued with a customer over the price of flour.
A butcher disappeared into the back of his shop.
Raimer smiled to himself.
“There…”
Fresh loaves of bread sat unattended beside the baker’s window.
Still warm.
Steam rose gently from the golden crust.
His stomach answered with another loud growl.
“Alright…”
He took a slow breath.
“One loaf.”
“No more.”
He wasn’t proud of stealing.
Never had been.
But pride couldn’t fill an empty stomach.
Raimer slipped into the crowd.
One step.
Another.
The noise of the market swallowed the sound of his footsteps.
The baker turned away for just a heartbeat.
That was enough.
His hand moved with practised speed, lifting a single loaf before disappearing beneath his cloak.
He kept walking.
Calmly.
Casually.
Almost…
Almost…
“…Hey.”
Raimer froze.
An elderly woman looked directly at him.
For one terrifying second, he thought she had noticed.
Instead, she smiled warmly.
“You dropped this.”
She handed him a small piece of cloth that had fallen from his pocket.
“…Thank you.”
His voice barely escaped.
He accepted it with an awkward smile before continuing forward.
“That was close…”
He had nearly reached the end of the market.
Just a few more steps.
Then—
“MY BREAD!”
The baker spun around.
His eyes widened.
“You brat!”
Raimer broke into a sprint.
The marketplace exploded into chaos.
“Catch him!”
“Stop that thief!”
“Someone call the guards!”
He darted between crowded stalls, narrowly avoiding a wagon loaded with barrels before vaulting over a stack of wooden crates.
Years of surviving on the streets had made running second nature.
He knew every shortcut.
Every rooftop.
Every alley.
A guard rushed toward him from the opposite side.
“There he is!”
Raimer quickly changed direction, slipping through a narrow alley barely wide enough for two people.
The guard followed.
Big mistake.
Raimer kicked against the wall, climbed onto a wooden balcony, and pulled himself onto the rooftops with surprising agility.
Snow scattered beneath his boots as he raced across the frozen tiles.
Behind him came a chorus of frustrated shouting.
“Get down from there!”
“He escaped again!”
Raimer couldn’t help laughing.
“You’ll have to do better than that.”
Within minutes, the bustling city had disappeared behind him.
Only silence remained.
The abandoned barn sat alone at the edge of the northern fields.
Its roof sagged beneath years of snowfall.
One wall leaned dangerously to one side.
Most people avoided it.
To Raimer…
It was home.
He gently pushed open the creaking wooden door.
The familiar scent of dry hay filled the air.
Sunlight slipped through cracks in the walls, painting thin golden lines across the dusty floor.
A small pile of blankets rested in one corner beside an old wooden bucket.
His entire world…
Reduced to a single room.
Raimer sat down with a tired sigh.
He removed the loaf of bread from beneath his cloak and stared at it.
“So…”
He smiled weakly.
“Breakfast…”
“Lunch…”
“And dinner.”
He broke off a small piece.
Just before taking a bite—
A voice echoed from deeper inside the barn.
“I’ve seen worse hiding places.”
Raimer instantly stood.
The smile vanished.
His hand reached beneath the pile of hay beside him, wrapping around the handle of a rusted dagger.
Slowly…
A man stepped into the light.
He wore polished silver armour beneath a heavy winter cloak.
The emblem of the Royal Army rested proudly upon his chest, though his face held neither anger nor suspicion.
Instead…
He smiled.
“Easy,” the man said calmly.
“If I wanted to arrest you, I’d have brought more than one soldier.”
Raimer didn’t lower the dagger.
“What do you want?”
The soldier glanced toward the loaf of bread.
“You were hungry.”
Raimer remained silent.
The man reached into a leather satchel hanging from his side before tossing something toward him.
Raimer caught it instinctively.
Another loaf.
Larger.
Fresh.
Still warm.
“This one,” the soldier said with a small grin, “was paid for.”
Raimer looked down at the bread before looking back at the stranger.
“…Why?”
The soldier folded his arms.
“Because starving boys make poor conversation.”
For the first time in years…
Someone had entered Raimer’s home without looking at him with disgust.
Outside, snow continued to fall.
Inside the old barn, the true reason the soldier approached…
A conversation was about to begin—one that would quietly change the course of Raimer’s life forever.
End of Chapter 1