Freya sat cross legged on the bed, her slender fingers delicately tracing the edges of a worn leather bound book. The moonlight, cold and indifferent, spilled through the cracks in the curtains, bathing the room in a pale, spectral glow. Her green eyes, sharp as emeralds, gleamed with quiet anticipation. She opened the book, its yellowed pages almost ready to fly out of the book.
"Do you know the story of Icarus?" she asked, her voice soft, almost melodic, a stark contrast to the cold world outside the village.
I sat on the floor, chains pooled around my wrists like serpents. My silver hair fell over my face, shadowing my freakish reverse colored eyes. The stone beneath me leached what little warmth I had. "No," I said, my tone as hollow as the deep darkness around us.
Freya smiled, a faint curve of her lips, and lowered her gaze to the book. "Then listen closely."
She began, her voice weaving a tapestry of words. "Icarus was the son of Daedalus, a master craftsman imprisoned by a cruel king. To escape their prison, Daedalus fashioned wings from feathers and wax. But freedom came with a warning: 'Do not fly too high, or the sun will melt the wax.'"
Her words painted vivid images of open skies and treacherous seas. I listened, not out of fascination but because there was nothing else. "At first, Icarus obeyed. He flew close to the waves, feeling the cool spray of the ocean. But soon, the thrill of flight consumed him. He soared higher and higher, reaching for the heavens."
Freya's voice softened, carrying a quiet reverence. "He forgot his father's warning. The sun's heat melted the wax, and his wings fell apart. Icarus plummeted, his cries swallowed by the wind. He crashed into the sea, lost forever beneath its waves."
She closed the book with a gentle thud, her expression contemplative. "A tragic tale, isn't it?"
I stared at her, my voice cutting through the stillness. "Why did he do it?"
Freya tilted her head. "Do what?"
"Fly so high, knowing he could fall."
She paused, then said, "Perhaps he believed that touching the sun, even for a moment, was worth the price." Her gaze turned distant. "Some people would rather burn brightly for an instant than live a lifetime in shadows."
Her words hung in the air like frost, delicate and biting. I didn't respond. The idea of longing, of desire, was foreign to me.
After a moment, Freya shifted, her demeanor lightening. "Have you ever seen a lion, Null?"
"No."
"They were majestic beasts, kings of the wild with manes of gold."
She spoke of creatures I couldn't imagine
tigers with fiery stripes, crocodiles with jaws like iron traps, zebras adorned in natural armor. Each animal was a fragment of a forgotten world.
But one stood out to me. "I've seen a dog," I said.
Her eyes brightened. "What kind of dog?"
"Brown fur, missing an eye. It roams the village."
Freya smiled gently. "Even broken, dogs are loyal. They endure, no matter the hardship."
Her words drifted off, her voice growing softer as her eyelids grew heavy. She curled beneath the thin blanket, her breathing slowing. "We'll talk more tomorrow," she murmured.
I remained on the floor, unmoving. The room grew colder, the air biting and cruel. I stared at the door, my mind an empty expanse. Yet within that void, a single thought took shape,
the freezing cold that surrounded me.
The coldness...
It wasn't just the chill of the room or the frost that clung to my skin. It was deeper, woven into the fabric of my being. I could feel it in my chest, where my heart beat rhythmically yet offered no warmth. My body could shiver; my lungs could exhale clouds of mist. But the cold I felt went beyond the physical.
I thought of the moonlight filtering through the cracks, its light pure but devoid of heat. That was what I felt in my soul: a light that illuminated but did not warm.
The cold had been my companion for as long as I could remember. It dulled everything
pain, hunger, even the faintest spark of hope. I didn't resent it. Resentment required emotion, and I had none. The cold was simply there, a constant presence.My gaze was no different.
I stared at the door, half expecting it to remain shut forever, sealing me in this frozen tomb. Yet, in this lifeless monotony, a faint sound broke the silence.
Footsteps.
They were distant at first, soft as whispers. But they grew louder, more deliberate. Each step echoed, heavy and precise, like the ticking of a great clock.
I opened my eyes fully, my body tensing. The chains on my wrists clinked softly as I shifted. I couldn't sleep; the cold wouldn't allow it. The footsteps stopped outside the door.
The handle turned, and the door creaked open. A shadow loomed in the doorway, massive and menacing. It ducked slightly to step inside, moving with a grace that belied its size. The figure's breath was slow and heavy, yet its footsteps were unnervingly silent on the wooden floor.
It was a hulking form, too large for a normal man. As it approached Freya, something in me stirred. My body moved before my mind could process, the chain's compulsion driving me forward. I lunged, aiming to strike the intruder.
But the figure was fast. A massive hand shot out, gripping my head like a vice. With a casual flick of its wrist, it hurled me across the room."Oh sh-." My back slammed into the wall, the impact stealing the air from my lungs.
I fell to the floor, coughing violently, blood dribbling from my lips. My hand instinctively clutched my ribs, sharp pain radiating with each breath. Through the haze of pain, I looked up, and the moonlight finally revealed the figure's face.
It wasn't an assassin or a beast from the frozen wasteland.
It was the grandfather of the house.
---
The cold wrapped itself around me like an uninvited guest, clawing at my skin. I sat on the floor, my back against the door, watching Freya's steady breaths as she slept. My thoughts wandered to the relentless frost outside,creeping inside the room. The cold wasn't just external; it gnawed at my heart, leaving nothing but emptiness.
This life...this cage..this leash...none of it mattered. The weight of chains or the commands they carried didn't stir any anger or fear within me. They were simply facts, unchangeable, like the bitter chill that had settled into the marrow of my bones.
The door creaked. I straightened, the sound breaking through the silence. Heavy footsteps approached, deliberate and slow, each thud like a drumbeat echoing in my chest. The door trembled, and then it was flung open with a force that shook the room.
Jason stormed in, his usual authoritative presence filling the space. But before he could speak, a figure stepped in behind him
a giant compared to the rest of us. His broad shoulders nearly grazed the doorway, and his face, weathered and scarred, told stories of survival against ferocious beasts. Julius. The patriarch.Ive heard of him,from my slaver,he even hanged to what seem a handmade drawing on top of his bed.
Freya's eyes snapped open, and her expression brightened immediately. "Grandfather!" she exclaimed, rushing toward him. She embraced him without hesitation, her excitement filled the room with laughter.
I pushed myself off the floor, wincing at the sharp pain in my ribs. Julius turned his gaze to me, his eyes studying me with a depth that felt almost intrusive. His lips curled into a faint smile.
"You've found yourself a useful one," Julius said, his deep voice reverberating through the room.
Jason folded his arms, his expression proud. "He's been loyal so far, and he'll prove it tomorrow."
Julius nodded, his eyes still on me. "Good. We'll need all the help we can get for the hunt."
I stood motionless, my face betraying nothing. Jason's voice broke the silence. "Null will be the bait. At dawn, he'll face the wasteland along with the team."
Jason stood close to me his eyes taking a weird shape as if to show kindness."Don't resent us too much."
'Don't resent us?' How could I?
The room grew colder yet again, the unspoken weight of those words sinking in. I met Julius's gaze one last time before lowering my eyes. Tomorrow, the hunt would begin.