-Winter-
[The Avarician Continent]
Snow fell in thick, heavy flakes, each one unique in its silent descent. The world below was a canvas painted monochrome by winter's relentless brush. It was as if time had frozen, holding its breath in the crisp air, refusing to concede to the ticking clock of the seasons. The people of Avaricia, a continent known for its stark beauty and unforgiving weather, had grown accustomed to winter's embrace. Yet, this year felt different. The chill in the air was more biting, the snowfall more persistent, and the days shorter, as if the sun had retreated in defeat.
"Haa..," Arteus exhaled heavily, leaning on his wooden shovel, the handle sticky with sweat despite the biting cold. The snow had been particularly unyielding today, and the path to his small, wooden home looked like a battleground. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his mitten-covered hand, leaving a salty streak on his frosty cheek. Though the snow had been falling all day, the path to his humble abode was now clear, a testament to his stubborn determination.
"That should do it for now," He murmured to himself, standing back to admire his work. Arteus's smile was like the first sunbeam that pierced through the clouds after a heavy storm—bright, warm, and hopeful. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and his cheeks reddened further, giving him the appearance of a man who had found joy in a simple, hard-earned victory.
"Hey mom!" Arteus called out, "I'm done out here, need help with anything else?"
The muffled sound of shuffling and pots clanging in response drifted from the house. His mother's voice, a comforting melody against the harsh winter backdrop, called back, "Outback, sweetie."
Arteus trudged through the freshly shoveled path, his boots leaving a trail of compacted snow that immediately began to refill with the relentless flakes. He stepped onto the wooden porch, the planks groaning under his weight, and pushed open the door with a gentle force.
Inside, the house was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the frigid outdoors. The scent of stew wafted from the main living area, where the kitchen and a makeshift dining nook shared the same cozy space. The room was small, but it held a comfort that spoke of many years of shared laughter and quiet moments of solace. In the corner, two tree stumps served as sturdy seats, worn smooth by countless hours of use. A giant log, carved with the same care and precision that had built the house, sat in the center, acting as a table. The walls were adorned with fur rugs, each a trophy from Arteus' hunting expeditions. They brought not only warmth but a sense of protection and legacy to the humble abode.
To the right was his and his mother's rooms, two snug spaces separated by a simple wooden partition. The walls were lined with shelves, each one crammed with knowledge that his mother had gathered over the years.
Arteus hung his shovel and dusted off his snow-covered boots by the door before making his way to the back of the house. His steps echoed on the cold, wooden floorboards, the warmth of his breath painting temporary misty shapes in the air.
The backyard, though invisible through the frost-covered window, was a sanctuary for his mother's work. In the warmer months, it bloomed with herbs and plants that she meticulously tended, her garden a cornucopia of natural remedies and ingredients for her potions. But now, it lay dormant under a thick blanket of snow, the only signs of life being the slabs of stone arranged in a semi-circle outside the kitchen door. These stones, rough-hewn and ancient, served as a makeshift workbench for her alchemical pursuits. They were worn smooth by the countless hours she had spent there, her hands moving with the grace of an artist, crafting concoctions that could soothe a fevered brow or ease the pain of a bruised soul.
Hanna, a stooped figure with a face etched with lines of wisdom and weariness, emerged from the shadows of the storeroom, a basket of frozen herbs in her arms. She was one of the last of her kind, a herbalist whose knowledge of the land's flora was unrivaled on this side of the continent. There were only two others like her, but they dwelt far beyond the reach of a simple traveler. Her eyes, once vibrant and full of life, had dimmed with the weight of the years spent in study and solitude. Yet, when she saw Arteus, they sparkled with a warmth that belied the chill outside.
Her slender frame was wrapped in layers of thick fur and wool, the same material that lined the walls of their home. Her beauty was stark against the pale winter light, her skin a canvas of the purest alabaster, untouched by the harsh sun of the south. Her son, on the other hand, was a tapestry of light and dark, his skin a warm caramel that spoke of his father's distant heritage. Arteus's eyes were a deep brown, a mirror to the earth they trod upon, but the shape and the way they crinkled when he laughed were a clear inheritance from her.
"Thanks, Arty," she said, her voice a gentle whisper that seemed to warm the very air around them. She walked straight to her workbench, the basket of frozen herbs held close to her chest as if it were a treasure beyond measure. With a grace that belied her age, she set the basket down and began to unpack the contents, her hands moving with a familiar rhythm.
"Need help with anything else?" Arteus offered once more, his eyes lingering on the garden beyond the window as he followed in behind her.
"That's all, love," Hanna said, her voice a gentle reprieve from the howling wind outside. She placed a tender hand on his shoulder, "Why don't you go rest by the fireplace? Your cheeks are redder than the berries in the summer meadow."
Arteus nodded, his own sigh unnoticed amidst the symphony of crackling logs and the hiss of the winter breeze. He padded over to the hearth, the warmth enveloping him like a warm embrace. The fireplace, the heart of their home, was a cobblestone monolith that stretched from the floor to the ceiling both on the outside and in. It was a constant reminder of the warmth that could be found even in the coldest of winters.
Hanna's eyes remained on her son as he settled on the tree stump, her gaze lingering longer than usual. With a soft sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the winter's burden, she turned back to her work. The sigh was a silent lament for the garden that lay dormant under the heavy snow. Her hands paused in their task, her knuckles white from the cold and the tight grip on her herbs. For a moment, she allowed herself to miss the feeling of earth beneath her fingers, the sweet scent of blooming flowers, and the gentle hum of bees in the air.
"This winter," she began, her voice barely audible above the crackling fire, "has been longer and harsher than any I've seen in my time. The plants are sleeping deeper, and the animals are more scarce." She paused, her eyes distant as if she was recounting an ancient prophecy rather than the simple observation of the changing seasons. "But with your help, we'll keep our path clear. It's vital that I can bring in fresh herbs and transport the potions to those who need them."
Arteus nodded solemnly, his eyes never leaving hers. "What are you working on?" He asked, his curiosity piqued by the urgency in her tone.
"Hm? Oh, this??" Hanna's eyes focused back on the task at hand, her expression shifting from one of distant concern to her usual calm efficiency. "These are for the village," she explained, holding up a handful of the frozen herbs. "Balms and antidotes for frostbite. With the winter dragging on like this, people are getting careless. Too many people are coming down with it and getting bites from arctic serpents." She paused, her gaze flickering to the garden again.
On Avaricia, the cold was not merely a nuisance but a silent sentinel that claimed many lives. But the winter was not the only predator the inhabitants feared. Arctic serpents, creatures of the tundra, that had grown bolder as the snow deepened, slithered through the frozen landscape. Their scales blending perfectly with the snow, making them invisible until it was too late. Their venom was potent, turning the blood of their prey to ice within moments.
Add to that strange critter list, the ice leeches and frost spiders, and winter on Avaricia transformed from a tranquil slumber into a jungle of survival.
Arteus nodded, his mind racing. His mother's altruism was well-known in the village, but he couldn't help but think that her generosity was taking a toll on their already meager supplies. "We could charge a bit for them, you know," he thought to himself, "To cover the costs and ensure we don't run out ourselves."
But aloud, he asked, "Is there anything else you need for your balms, mom?" His voice was filled with genuine concern, his eyes searching hers for any sign of doubt or weariness.
"Hm, just melt flowers." Hanna replied, her eyes not leaving her work. "But i plan to go pick some after i'm done here."
She spoke as if the task was as simple as plucking berries in the summer, but Arteus knew better. Melt flowers were a rare find even in the best of conditions, their petals as delicate as the first snowfall.
"I'll go get them," Arteus offered, pushing himself to his feet with a quiet determination.
Hanna looked up from her work, a hint of surprise in her eyes. "No, Arty," she protested gently, "it's too cold out there. Besides, your hands aren't as steady as they should be for something so delicate."
But Arteus was already pulling on his warmest pair of mittens, a stubborn set to his jaw that she knew all too well. "I've got to start helping more, mom," he said, his voice firm despite the crackling fire. "I'm not a kid anymore. And if this winter is as bad as you say, then we're going to need all the help we can get."
"Haaa, fine." Hanna relented with a tired smile. She knew that look on Arteus' face; it was the same one she had seen on her own when she was his age. "But only if you promise to bundle up and don't stay out too long."
Arteus nodded solemnly and walked to the wooden rack by the door where their winter gear hung. He pulled out his warmest cloak and thickest pair of snow boots, the fur lining giving off a comforting aroma of pine and earth. His mother's eyes followed him as he dressed, a silent conversation playing out between them. She knew the dangers that came with this task, but she was trusting in him silently to return in one piece. The boy was seventeen winters old now, giving him more responsibilities was a chance to allow him to step into his own role, to find his place in the tapestry of this frozen landscape.
As he wrapped the scarf around his neck, Arteus asked once more, "Is there anything else we need, like from the red-square, mom? I can grab it on my way back."
"Hmmm, well..."
-Later-
[Barley Village, Town Centre]
"Arghh, why didn't i see this coming?" Arteus groans frustratedly, his breath creating a small cloud in the frigid air.
He looked at the list in his hand, a scribbled mess of his mother's handwriting, and let out a resigned sigh. It seemed that the "one quick errand" had turned into a veritable shopping list that would take him through half the village. He had agreed to find melt flowers, but somehow, he had also committed to fetching firewood, a new set of candles, and a few rare herbs from the local apothecary. And that was before his mother had remembered the need for a fresh batch of tallow for the lamps.
"Well, at least she's relying on me more now."
Arteus's thoughts were a warm embrace as he walked through the frosty village square. The snow crunched beneath his boots, the sound a stark contrast to the silence that hung over Barley like a shroud. The village looked like a collection of gingerbread houses, their red-tiled roofs draped in snow, chimneys puffing out smoke in a rhythmic dance with the descending flakes. The buildings huddled together for warmth, their wooden frames creaking in the cold embrace of winter.
"Huh?" Arteus turns his head as he walks, noticing the subtle glances that follow him from the villagers. Their eyes, hold a hint of something—concern, curiosity, perhaps a touch of resentment? It wasn't the first time he'd felt the weight of their gazes upon him, but today it was more pronounced. Each set of eyes seemed to linger longer than usual, and the whispers grew louder as he passed. He tugged his scarf tighter around his neck, the fur brushing against his skin like the comforting caress of his mother's hand.
Did you think that this story was a wholesome tale of the familial love between a mother and her son?
Arteus sighs, the warmth of his breath disappearing into the cold embrace of the winter's day. He pulls his scarf tighter around his neck, the fur bristles against his skin as he braces himself against the wind.
-Meanwhile-
[Back at Arteus and Hanna's Cottage]
*knock *knock*
The sound echoed through the warm, wooden walls of the cottage, a stark reminder of the cold world outside. Hanna paused in her task, her eyes darting towards the door with a flicker of surprise. It was uncommon for visitors to drop by, especially in the winter months when the village stayed indoors in the face of the harsh elements, the timing was odd. Arteus had just left, and the snowfall had thickened, the flakes now a blizzard's frenzied dance.
"Welcome to herbs with an 'A', how can i help--"
Hanna's words died in her throat as she swung the door open, the warmth of the cottage rushing out like a sigh of relief. But what greeted her was anything but comforting. The figure at the door was cloaked in shadows, their face obscured by a heavy hood. The only features visible were piercing eyes that bore into her soul, unblinking and unyielding.
"...you"
-To Be Continued-