Author's note: If you're interested, I can highly recommend listening to an extended version of Jeremy Soule's "Njól" while reading these first few chapters. It's a very atmospheric, somewhat melancholy track that very much suits the mood of the story. I also recommend "Winterfell Ambiance" (soundtrack from Game of Thrones).

- Chapter 1: The lost child -

The midwinter nights in Nordberg were as harsh and unforgiving as the wolves that stalked the surrounding wilderness, hence the old adage: "If the howling wind ain't enough to kill you, the howling beasts surely will." As if roving packs of vicious wolves weren't enough, on the worst of nights the heavy snowfall made it damn near impossible to see further than your hand, making it all too easy to wander off a cliff or – even worse – straight into a gnome hole. Without a fire to keep the cold at bay, the chilling air would slowly but surely creep into your limbs, leaving your whole body frozen and numb in a matter of hours.

With all of that in mind, Torvid couldn't help but wonder why he had been made to abandon the warm comfort of his home in favour of freezing to death on top of the bulwark.

"Watch the gates, Torvid!" the disgruntled nordbergian jeered as he made another pass along the wall, mockingly echoing the words of the mayor. "Y'never know who might be lurkin' 'round out dere!"

Pausing only briefly to wipe his reddened nose, Torvid scoffed.

"Honestly, what kinda' maniac is gonna be out 'n' about in this weather?!" Holding his lantern out in front of him, Torvid gazed into the wintry darkness. "You'd 'ave to be a fool to think you could survive the night out 'ere! Hell, I suppose that makes me an even bigger fool, don't it?"

Clutching his fur coat tightly against the blistering cold, Torvid was just about to dismiss the whole thing and go home to his wife when something suddenly caught his eye: what looked like a bit of movement in the shadows, down by the gates.

"'Ello?! Is anyone dere?" he called out, his words echoing through the night.

With the lantern held high above his head, the old tanner leaned out over the wall to get a better view. For a moment, he could have sworn he saw someone scurry off into the night. Turning his attention to the gates once more, Torvid's eyes went wide as he suddenly noticed a small, shadowy figure slumped against the wooden doors below.

A child.

Torvid's wife was a woman named Alma. Just like her husband, she was a tanner and had lived in Nordberg since the day she was born. Just like her husband, she had brown hair and brown eyes. And just like her husband, she was content with leading a simple life in a simple town, surrounded by simple, hard-working people. So when Torvid came bursting into their cosy little home one night, carrying an unconscious child in his arms, she wasn't quite sure what to think.

"Torvid?! What's going on 'ere?" Alma demanded as she watched him slam the door behind him.

"Found 'im outside the gates!" Torvid explained hurriedly as he rushed to clear a space in front of the hearth. "Dunno 'ow long he's been out dere, but he's frozen stiff! 'Elp me clear some space 'ere, will ya?"

Spurred on by the worrisome news, Alma rushed to help. Together, they proceeded to lay him down on a makeshift bed of animal furs next to the crackling fireplace.

"'Ere! 'Elp me take off his boots!" Torvid instructed as he began to unwrap the frozen bundle of a boy. "We need to massage his limbs to get the blood flowin' again!"

No sooner had the first boot come off before Alma let out a frightened yelp.

"H-his skin!" she gasped as she pointed to the now bare foot lying in front of them.

Torvid's eyes went wide as he gazed upon the unmoving limb, which was covered in dark, blue-grey skin. He swallowed nervously.

"Is... is it frostbite?" Alma asked in a quivering voice.

Torvid just kept staring.

"If it is..." he finally said in a grim voice, "...there's nothin' we can do fer 'im!"

His words were left hanging in the air as a dreadful silence fell upon the house. Torvid's heart sank as he watched Alma's expression wither with sorrow as she covered her mouth with her hand and began to weep softly. She had always been a compassionate soul, which only made the grim reality that much harder to accept. He could still remember their first miscarriage and the weeks of mourning that had followed in its wake. Now here they were again, mourning the death of a child that wasn't even their own.

"Damn it all!"

Gritting his teeth in a sneer of defiance, Torvid promptly pulled off the other boot and began to work his hands across the foot, kneading the muscles like dough. He'd be damned if he'd go through all this trouble just to give up here! Seeing her husband's stoic determination, Alma seized her weeping. For a moment, she watched as Torvid furiously worked to revive the frozen child lying in front of their hearth. Then, without so much as a word, she wiped her tears and began to do the same.

To her surprise, Alma found that the body wasn't nearly as cold as she would've expected it to be. Surely, if the grey skin was the result of frostbite, his limbs would have been frozen stiff by now? Maybe... just maybe... they weren't too late after all?

That thought gave her hope.

An hour later found them both sitting by the table, two cups of mead and a short wax candle between them. Outside, the wind could be heard howling along with the wolves as the snow kept falling over Nordberg. The child was still lying in front of the fireplace, wrapped in animal furs, his small chest now rising and falling at a steady pace. The silence seemed almost palpable.

Eventually, Alma spoke up.

"Those markings on his body..." she said, giving voice to the thought that had been on both their minds for a while now. "You ever see anythin' like it before?"

Torvid just shook his head.

"Sure don't look like any markings I've ever seen!" he said before taking another swig of mead. "Could be elvish, for all I know!"

"You don't suppose he's..." Alma began, only to pause and lower her voice into a whisper. "...a magic user?"

The way she said it, it almost sounded like a curse. But Torvid couldn't blame her. After the Calamity, it was no secret that people had grown weary of magic.

"Could be." he concluded before downing the last of his mead and slamming the cup back down on the table. "And what if he is?"

The question was left hanging between them as they both exchanged a silent look. Even in the flickering candlelight, Torvid didn't fail to catch the almost pleading look in Alma's eyes.

The man sighed.

"I didn't bring 'im 'ere just to toss 'im back out again!" he simply said, letting his eyes briefly wander towards the boy. "Until we can find his parents or... find out where he came from, I don't see the 'arm in keepin' 'im around!"

Despite himself, even Torvid couldn't help but smile as he watched his wife's face light up at his decision.

"He stays fer now!"