In a far corner of Snezhnaya region, where the sun couldn't shine due to the obstruction of the everlasting winter from the Tsaritsa, resides a village. It was huddled with tall pine trees covered in snowy foliage, creating a sense of peace and harmony.
Snowy peaks towered from the north, with flakes of white swaying playfully in the air.
Instead of a village, it was more correct to infer it as a town, since it was quite bustling with marketers and merchants.
In this cornerstone of Snezhnaya, the snow was peacefully falling from the sky, for it was December.
In an alley, far from the glamour of the marketplace, resembling a black bundle, sat a boy.
He exhaled out, exuding white mist. He stared at his gloved hands blankly, his crimson eyes empty yet resplendent as he took in the appearance of his bloody hands.
Another meaningless brawl incited by the adult careless mouths and the envious. Heins clenched his hands as he gritted his teeth, his charcoal hair caressed by the passing breeze, glittered with the contrasting white flakes.
He hid behind a few craters in the alley, leaning on the wall as he glanced at his side. They are rough breads, perfect for the cold climate of Snezhnaya since they could last long.
Heins broke off a small piece and tossed it into his mouth. It tasted rough and coarse, like the dirt he occasionally savour due to the rough handling he got from those lawless men.
Nonetheless, food is food, he guessed.
As he sat there, contemplating, his crimson eyes caught the sight of a busy body. A man drunk on broad daylight, carrying a bottle of vodka and don a slurry look.
In this predicament, Heins sighed as he clenched the knife hidden in his cloak. With a cold dash, he took a pebble and threw it at the man.
Conflicts always rose due to the rough nature of the Snezhnayans, lest a helpless boy like him who anyone could do as they pleased.
The busy body dodged in surprising finesse, but Heins was efficient in his moves. He made a quick stride to the man's side and bring out his knife. It's small but deadly and easy to control.
The man was about to dodge when Heins rotated the blade of the knife swiftly, embedding it into the man's ribs. It was a feint move. The man roared as he delivered a quick jab to Heins, but the boy coldly snorted, not minding the pain on his chest at all.
With a ruthless kick, Heins droved the knife deeper and even pushed it upward, enlarging the rough wound.
The man screamed tragically, and with a ruthless blow, Heins jabbed the man's eyes with his two fingers, ultimately blinded him. As the man fell, Heins lifted his leg and snapped his neck, ending the man's pitiful life.
Killing has never been so casual, Heins muttered as he took the valuables and left the scene.
Without worthwhile backings and guardians, living in this cornerstone was very tough. The cold may not be significant to the merchants since they could leave as they pleased, and even if they stayed here for a while, their wealth could ensure their comfort.
But for Snezhnayans, if they were just a little bit poor without significant backings, they would suffer. The Queen never cared for those she deemed as weak and useless, and the policies always favored the strong. Without sufficient daily needs, three days of careless living would be enough to freeze people to death.
Even now, Heins could see some frozen corpses on these secluded alleys. There are elders, thin sickly men, desperate mothers, even children. All of them died in the cold, their frozen corpses temporarily immortalized their last time.
It was for this reason it became secluded. At the same time, it became a temporal haven of respite for the lost.
Strong here could be discerned into four categories: Strength, wealth, politic and leadership. Without either of those, you are but a stray dog, a useless cog no one wanted.
Such as life in Snezhnaya.
Heins exhaled yet another white mist as he stuffed the glittering coins of Mora and the penchants and other trinkets he found. They could fetch for a good price.
After leaving the dreaded alleys, widely known as the Forsaken's Graveyard, Heins, donning a long black cloak, black coarse pants and a pair of oversized boots he fetched from a deceased woman, integrated with the people. Black attire always seem to fit, even if they looked oversized, hence his seamless integration.
After selling the trinkets to some wandering merchants with an outrageously low price, Heins keep all the Mora in his large pocket. He had no power in the negotiation, thus he was helpless under their gauging, disdainful gazes.
Merchants that have this cornerstone of Snezhnaya in their route usually came from Fontaine and Liyue, the former due to close proximity and the latter due to their commercial-driven leaders.
Heins usually meddled with those from Liyue, since they were all easy to get along to. Fontainians, on the other hand, were too insufferable. Heins forgot how many times they showered him with their high-and-mighty looks.
Perhaps because he looked haggard and dirty since he had no time to care about appearance, since Fontaine was quite an advanced region, they said.
Unfortunately, the New Year was drawing close, and Liyuans hold it in high regard, thus most Liyue merchants have disappeared.
To survive, he could only meddle with those Fontaine merchants.
After finding a comfortable forest not far from the town, Heins brought out the leftover vodka from the drunkard he killed. He hesitated, but driven by curiosity, he poured it in a makeshift cup and took a massive gulp.
The taste was strong. Extremely strong. It was so strong that Heins began to doubt himself as he coughed violently.
"Damn... People would do anything just to get drunk!"
Spitting a few times to brushed off the heavy flavor, Heins blanched as he leaned on the wall. Even a sip of vodka turned his ears red. He would not be a good drinker in the future, period.
However, this dazing, floating feeling was ridiculously captivating. For Heins, who must remain vigilant and tense all his time on Snezhnaya, this carefreeness... Was extremely intoxicating.
Heins's face flushed as he shuddered, feeling the hot, warm feeling of the liquid that went through his throat. It was a good thing he chose a secluded place where anyone rarely transversed.
His hand trembled, but in the end, he decided to pour another cup and took another shot. This time, his vision began to blur as he coughed violently.
He hated the taste, but was utterly captivated by the feeling.
Young Heins leaned against the tree as he clutched the makeshift cup. He hates to drink, but loves to be drunk. It tasted bad, but it's warm. Very warm.