The winter was nearing its peak. The wind blew down from the mountains painting the trees and fields with white. The frigid air could bite a finger with too much exposure. Moisture turned to snow, and the night swallows the white into gray.

The moisture and melting snow dampened the road, audible beneath hurried steps. It splattered when too wet, and squeaked when too muddy. A young woman in her teens, clad in a velvet cloak, walked with purpose. It was the uniform of medical practitioners in her village, though now soiled, she paid it no mind.

She cradled a sleeping baby wrapped in clothes, its warmth was a stark contrast to the chilling task at hand, leaving her face pallid, blood drained from her hands, but she had to keep her focus.

Flashbacks were going on in her mind, it kept her conscience alive. Having spent the night assisting in childbirth, she was now tasked with disposing of the newborn she had helped deliver. It was crazy but it was an order from her teacher.

As she walked, memories of the mother flooded her mind with vivid clarity. She recalled the woman's weary but determined expression as she arrived from the northeast, a lone explorer seeking refuge in their village. In the dimly lit clinic, amidst the flickering candlelight and the howling wind outside, the mother's face remained etched in her memory—a mixture of pain, exhaustion, and hope. The young woman couldn't shake the image of the mother's silent plea for help, her eyes searching desperately for reassurance amid the chaos of childbirth. It was a moment that lingered, haunting her steps as she ventured into the wintry night, carrying the weight of an impossible decision.

She assisted her teacher during labor. It was a hard process that usually became a happy event after its success but now was different.

The baby was by no means dead or ill. It cried upon birth, but as soon as her teacher began the body check, particularly when reaching the eyes, she immediately prepared an anesthetic and applied it to the baby's feet.

<--->

Memories flashed as she walked. Vividly a few moments ago.

The room was dark with only a few lights from the candles, wind could be heard blowing against the wooden wall of their medical shack. She held the newborn baby already covered in clothes. Her teacher looked at her, making sure that she had her attention.

"You have to dispose of it… make sure to kill it… make sure it is dead!" Her teacher's voice shook. Just one look at her teacher's face drained all the words she wanted to say. 

"Can you please-" she tried to focus her hearing, maybe she just misheard it because of the wind. She stepped closer. "-repeat that?"

"Make sure it's dead... Okay?!!" her teacher repeated once more. This time there was a deathly stare in her eyes, it made her step back, making him think if it was real or not.

<--->

After relieving the memory, she clenched her heart, steeled it for the task at hand.

Her hair was a mess as she kept walking. She had always been a neat person, but the butterfly tie from her mother dangled against the hair she had always kept. She was contemplating the ways she could dispose of the baby.

She finally arrived at the forest northeast of their village. She checked the baby's eyes... and started crying. Its eyes were likely some kind of mutation. She had heard that this type of mutation was considered special, especially on the central continent.

But she was repeatedly told that she must ensure the child was dead before returning, or not come back at all.

She steadied herself and looked up to halt her tears... and miraculously, it worked.

She gently placed the baby on the ground. Her conscience screamed. A rock? There's a small pond nearby... let it drown? She would never want to harm anyone. As one of the three apprentices of the village doctor, she was studying to save lives, not take them—a cruel irony now unfolding before her.

It was bitterly cold, and she knew that even if she left the baby, it would likely succumb to exposure or be preyed upon by wild animals. The thought was too brutal to bear, and despite her efforts, tears began to flow freely from her eyes. She couldn't bring herself to do it. She just couldn't... Perhaps it was best to leave it like this.

<--->

Back in the village's medical shack.

"Is it dead?" her teacher asked with a trembling voice, she was not even looking at her apprentice.

She simply nodded, her face in disarray—eyes downcast with guilt, lips trembling with nervousness. It spoke volumes. Silence settled between them. She began assisting her teacher in cleaning up.

Her teacher sensed her distress. Her student was clearly troubled, whether from guilt or a mix of other emotions. Her teacher sought to reassure her.

"Relax. There will be times when you can't save someone... savor the feeling," her teacher said, currently tidying the blood-stained garments used during childbirth. Even her teacher's voice betrayed a tremor.

Nonetheless, tea had been prepared. After washing her bloodied hands and drying them meticulously, her teacher poured tea for both of them.

"Teacher... it's different when you kill intentionally," the apprentice remarked.

Her teacher nodded in silent agreement, placing the tea on a nearby table. Locking eyes, they both took a sip, followed by a shared sigh, their breath mingling in the air.

"I've taken a life before, back when I was a student like you. She was a student too... I took her life because she surpassed me," her teacher confessed grimly.

The apprentice's demeanor faltered. Why confess now, in this moment? She gazed at her teacher, unsure how to respond to the revelation.

"Don't fret... it was a joke... I didn't kill her by stabbing or with intent... I desired her demise, and fate saw fit to oblige... don't dwell on it," her teacher reassured, though the hot tea now ran cold upon hearing those words.

"Your conscience will numb with time," her teacher added after another sip. What she meant was clear: she couldn't save every life that passed through her hands.

"What should I tell the mother?" she inquired, aware she would bear the burden of delivering the news.

"If she awakens, have her drink this first before delivering the news... Tell her her son didn't survive birth, and we disposed of him... Explain it was for her own well-being that she didn't lay eyes on him," her teacher instructed, employing another clean cloth to dry her already-dried hands. 

"She will be devastated... but let's not underestimate an explorer," the teacher added.

<--->

Years passed like winds blowing. Her teacher had passed away, and she was now the doctor in the village. Her first sin never left her, haunting her dreams on nights like this, when the spring wind blew cold and silent. She now had three disciples; she had taught them well, but in one of the students, she could see her old self. She promised herself to do her best to save lives, a conviction stemming from the first life she took.

Having more doctors would benefit the village, she thought. Unlike before, when the village's tradition was to have only a single doctor from among the apprentices. She changed this immediately upon inheriting her job from her teacher.

Though their opinions and pride clashed, she instilled in her students the importance of communication and resolving conflicts with words.

She fully understood why her teacher wanted only a single disciple to succeed her. The previous generation had been raised in a competitive environment, hindering the flow of new ideas among the disciples. She had experienced it herself.

As she reminisced and passed the time knitting, she contemplated her single status. Marriage had not been granted to her, but with her disciples around her, she never felt lonely. 'Maybe this is what being a mother feels like,' she thought.

"TAP-TAP"

A light tap sounded at the door. The village had just concluded its week-long festival, and she wondered who it could be. She had already prepared medicine for alcohol-related ailments and milk to soothe upset stomachs.

Quickly rising, she opened the door to find the old lady standing there. She had always been old, ever since Sierra could remember. She was the village's founder, hunched over and leaning on a wooden stick that served as both her wand and walking aid. A small cataract clouded her left eye, which Sierra occasionally treated.

"Sierra... pack some of your things... we have to leave," the old lady's quick words meant that they were in a hurry.

"Lady Zhisata... what's happening?" Sierra scratched her head, causing her butterfly-knotted hair to sway.

"Hurry, we don't have much time," the old lady urged Sierra to act quickly, her words carrying the weight of truth and village rules.

Though confused, Sierra followed suit, packing tools, and medicines. Stepping outside, she found several village warriors and horses waiting outside her house. Some greeted her; her distinctive butterfly hairstyle was well-known in the village, with girls often imitating it.

"Let us go," the old lady commanded, and the warriors nodded. One of them helped Sierra onto a horse, while another pulled a cart-like vehicle, with the old lady riding in tow.

<--->

There was a hidden path to the mountains east of the village. It was a ragged path effectively concealed by the forest at the mountain's base and the village's location. It was always covered in shadow because of the canopies of the trees.

The path could not be seen unless one walked upon it the bushes and trees provided cover. It was deep black at the time and even the dim torch the warriors held only provided enough light to walk properly in the path.

The cold air touched them even before the first light of the day painted the horizon with yellow and orange. There was a dwelling in a form of cave up onto the mountains, it was their destination.

"My Lady, what is happening?" the doctor asked, unable to stop her curiosity after feeling the wind on her face.

The old lady didn't notice her, rather she was too busy using her ears to listen to her. The old lady twitched and finally faced the group "Turn off the lights!" commanded the old lady. Then she faced the direction of the village which also attracted the attention of the whole group.

Now that there was no more light, the village was visible below. A dust cloud approached. It was a company of riders, around thirty of them. Swords were drawn, but no flags were visible... the armor, however, was a clear indication that they were knights, and they were approaching the village with hostility.

Sierra and the warriors instantly grasped the situation. They all looked at the old lady.

"They are heading for the village!!! Lady... you... escaped?" the doctor widened her eyes with a shaking voice.

"You probably don't understand what is at stake here. As long as they don't find me, that's all that matters," the old lady said, her tone simple and cold.

But the villagers... her students. She was filled with deep thought and guilt, yet at the same time, she felt a sense of relief knowing she was safe on the mountain.

There was commotion in the village... it must have been the few warriors who remained... they were preparing to defend the village, but they would not succeed.

"My lady... look…" one of the warriors alerted as soon as he spotted something.

As the sun rose slightly, one figure stood in front of the advancing knights. It was a man, but the distance prevented them from recognizing him. His sword was drawn, and he stood firmly on the ground.

"That man... is he eating?" Sierra, who had better sight, remarked.

<--->

His name was Simon, just a 14-year-old boy, whose large build was attributed to his love for meat, he stood lower for his age. He opened his eyes slightly, checking the distance. His eyes were peculiar; they resembled snake eyes. After he squinted he closed them back again.

"Think first, from the beginning of your movement to its end, then move without hesitation," the boy said, speaking to himself as if he was trying to hypnotize himself, planting his feet firmly on the ground. He took out a piece of meat and shoved it into his mouth to psych himself up.

Midway through the meat, he grabbed his strange-looking sword.

As he heard the approaching hoof beats, he began chewing faster. Simon was ready. He gauged the speed of the charge and anticipated it. 'Can't deal with them while charging... have to stop them first,' Simon thought.

<--->

The knight commander leading the company, with swords already drawn, continued forward in silence. One of the knights at his side attempted to speak to him.

"Sir... drawing our swords displays excessive hostility. Can't we come at peace?" a knight to the captain's left ventured, but the captain, known for his arrogance, merely snorted. 

"Sir, someone is approaching... a boy, I believe," another knight on the right side added.

"What? Kill him... charge!!!" Despite their hesitation, they accelerated, following the captain's lead. It reeked of arrogance. They observed some village warriors attempting to regroup, but their equipment was antiquated compared to the company's full armor, making the charge all but certain.

<--->

"Here we go!" the boy exclaimed, swinging his peculiar sword. The ground trembled deeply as a large gorge formed. The earth grumbled it could be heard even from the village, even from the mountain pass.

The knights, unable to halt their momentum, found their formation disrupted. Despite this, the captain shouted, "STOP!!" and collided, effectively halting the charge and causing casualties, especially among those at the front.

"Now, it's much easier,"' the boy remarked grinning as he began the slaughter.