"It's so cold..." Murmured the child, breathing out cold air, the pale white skin on his face freezing.
"Many things are cold out there, my son. Our enemies are no different, and they will want what rightfully belongs to us. You must be strong against the cold like you must against our enemies, for all that matters out there is power, wealth and little men who will squabble over it." The child's father said in a righteous tone that made his eyes light up.
"You're...you're right, father. But what have I got? I haven't a clue how to fight or have my way with our enemies..." The son sighed somberly, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
"You will in due time, which is why I'll be teaching you how to fight." The father said, pausing for a few seconds as he turned to look at his son. "...And the good arbitrator from last month's Christmas feast has agreed help, he is a good friend of mine and he will teach you the ins and outs of manipulation." The father put a hand on his son's shoulder.
"Of course, father! I'll make you proud!" The son said eagerly, before his expression turned to that of a sad one.
"And you'll make mother proud, too." The father replied, knowing what his son was thinking about. He knelt down to eye level with his son, staring directly at him with a stern expression.
"Your mother's death was tragic, but for our benefit. It was a terrible accident, but we must move on from it." The father said rather hastily, the son breaking eye contact with his father and looking away.
"But, father..." The son tried to speak but was quickly cut off by his father's words.
"No buts, only a fool would refuse to let go." The father's tone suddenly sounded far more cruel.
"Is she in a better place, at least?" Inquired the young boy, sounding desperate for some sense of closure.
"...There is no such thing as angels or demons, son. Perhaps you should stop reading those foolish newspaper articles about "demons" killing people, they only do it for attention." The father replied dismissively, standing up and folding his arms.
"I...see." The son nodded slowly. Despite the cruel tone of his father, he felt that he understood where he was coming from and only saw it as his father trying to set him on the right path; the path of royalty, wealth and power.
"Come now, we're going to be late if we dawdle too long." The father began to pick up his pace, the song barely being able to keep up in this harsh storm.
"Yes, father! I won't disappoint you, I promise!" He exclaimed with a shivery smile.
"Good, I've no doubt that the name Chaleureux will one day strike fear into the hearts of the weak much like my own has." Murmured the father, arrogance dripping from his tone.
This would cause the son's smile to widen a bit, he truly had no idea what the world was like yet.
"Y-Yes! I'm Chaleureux, I'll be the best son there ever was!"