Moving through the misery of winter, one step in the mud, the other in water. Where? Nowhere—just trudging toward the unknown, accompanied by the biting cold wind of harsh weather. His only protection was a worn, torn rag for clothing.
His limbs were so thin like sticks barely holding him up. His face resembled more of a skull than a face, with skin stretched tightly over bone, giving him a hollow, gaunt appearance.
"What was my father calling me? Oh yeah, My Breeze... what a funny name. To be called 'gentle wind' while only cruel winds follow me wherever I go," he muttered, trying to warm his hands with his breath.
Walking for days to the Bastion that he thought he would never reach, eating a few bites of stone-like bread, barely enough to calm his hunger, after a few hours he noticed an extensive bastion in the distance. His eyes gleamed with hope.
"Maybe I can find some work there and a roof to sleep under," he thought with a miserable smile, his heart full of fragile hope. Breeze stepped toward the gigantic walls, but life was nothing like the expectations of a young boy.
After walking a great distance on a rough road full of mud and water, he was denied entry by the guards stationed at the gate.
"Hey kid where did you come from and how are you still alive?" the guard asked in surprise.
"My father who used to work outside died out there and left me alone. He usually takes me with him but this time a monster killed him and I escaped."
"A Mo... Mon...Monster? Where?"
"It's a few days away from here on feet."
"Ehem, I don't remember seeing you before. Why didn't you go back to where you come from? I can't accept you here without identification of your father at the very least."
"But I can't go back there, where should I get Identification from?"
"It's none of my business, but if you truly want to enter pay me enough and I'll let you in."
"But sir, I don't have any money on me, and I have nowhere to go. Can you find it in yourself to let me in, please?"
"Shut up, brat! I can find nothing in myself. I'm just a hollow shell, empty inside, like every miserable bastion guard anywhere in the world. Letting you in could get me fired at best, and beheaded at worst. So, can you find it in yourself to pay me or leave."
Breeze stared at the guard for a couple of seconds, then turned his eyes to the towering walls. Taking a few steps back, he said, "At least you'd die painlessly. For me, it will be slow and torturous. Ah, you say you're a hollow shell? Well, at least you're speaking metaphorically. For me, I am hollow—literally. I won't make things harder for you; I'm leaving."
Breeze walked a few dozen meters away from the gate and sat down on a tree trunk.
The guard returned to his post, angrily cursing his luck for encountering such a jinx early in the day. "Tsk, That's why I hate those rat-like beggars. They think they are the only ones suffering in this chaotic world."
Hearing him from afar, Breeze didn't even have the energy to feel angry, but still, the guard's hypocrisy found its way to agitate Breeze's heart.
"I know each person has their difficult circumstances in life, but never compare your life with an orphaned homeless kid," he muttered to himself.
The guard went back to his group complaining how that silver-tongued little kid was hard to handle.
"Come on, don't exaggerate. He's just a kid who stopped drinking his mother's milk yesterday. He doesn't know how the world works or understand the hardships we face. He has no clue how fearsome the nobles are. We'd like to let him in, but our families would be eradicated the moment we do," another guard responded.
"Yeah, maybe you're right. But do you think any boy can survive outside the bastions? Not even a grown man can do that, let alone a kid who looks under 10, especially on his own."
The guard shuddered, watching the young boy from a distance.
"Eek! That gives me the creeps. Is he a monster?"
"STOP TALKING NONSENSE! He's obviously just a kid—a forlorn one with nothing left but a rag for clothing," another guard with a raspy voice interrupted, his tone filled with sadness.
Breeze paid no attention to the guards. He pulled out a piece of bread from his bag, waiting for anyone entering or exiting the bastion to notice him or take pity on him or, at worst, to beg for shelter. He was, in every sense, a beggar—a walking skeleton with tattered clothing, messy hair, and nowhere to call home. The cruelty of the world wasn't what shocked him; it was the cruelty of his kind. "How can people see me like this and not help? Are we really of the same kind? All I want is a place to sleep, I didn't ask for the impossible," he thought, not realizing he was indeed asking for what was nearly impossible in this world. While he was knowledgeable in a lot of fields, he was still a kid and didn't know how hard life could be.
Unfortunately, only one group of hunters passed by, and they didn't give the boy a second glance. Surprisingly, Breeze remained silent, not uttering a word of pity. His appearance spoke for itself as if he had surrendered to his inevitable end. Time seemed to crawl, each second feeling like an eternity in the biting cold. Anyone with a roof over their head, a warm bed, and hot meals should be thankful. Night fell, bringing with it a bone-piercing wind. It wasn't anything new for the boy, but tonight he had forgotten to prepare himself, overwhelmed by his hopelessness and forgetting his father's teachings.
He shivered uncontrollably, his teeth chattering loud enough to be heard from afar.
"Ahh, I'm so exhausted. I want to sleep, but my father told me never to sleep in situations like this. Sniffle... but I want to sleep so badly... just five minutes, father, please." Breeze struggled to hold back his tears, but in the end, he gave in to the urge to sleep.
A brief moment later, he felt a blanket wrap around him from head to toe, and a warm clay pitcher of milk was placed in his hands. A large, bearded man sat beside him.
"You're a tough one, little boy. Can you delight my ears by telling me your name?"
"I'm Breeze—a little breeze in the face of a tyrannical storm(life)."
"Yeah, I guessed it right, a name that is pleasing to hear. And believe me, my young friend, a little breeze can grow into a storm."
Breeze remained silent, drinking the hot milk.
"So, my young friend, can I, as your friend, hear your story?"
Staring at the huge guard, Breeze replied, "You'll have to pay to hear my story. Nothing is free, even for a friend."
"Oh? And how much to hear it?"
"Equal to letting me enter."
Laughter echoed through the cold winter air, making the other guards raise an eyebrow.
"Hahaha! I like how smart you are, my little friend. But don't you think your story is worth more than the entrance fee?"
"Well, I'm not giving a detailed story anyway."
"Oh, so this is a mini version of it. That's fine, let's hear it first."
"It started when I tur...".
.
.
A few moments earlier, atop the bastion walls, several guards were watching the tragic scene below—where a young boy fought against the deathly cold weather with little hope.
"Ahhh, curse it all! If I can't help a kid as a grown man, I'll be damned. Jarr, give me that blanket—I'll warm up some milk."
"But Jackal, it's too risky. You could be punished if the higher-ups find out," Jarr protested.
"I trust you and the others won't report this. Even if you do, I'll take the punishment."
With that, Jackal opened the gate slightly and went straight to the boy.