Miguel stood at the door of a modest house in the heart of the city. The winter cold was relentless, biting, and even with the long coats he and his guards wore, the freezing wind managed to penetrate their clothes, making their bones shiver. Snow was falling softly, covering the streets in a silent, white blanket. Beside him, Ricardo stood as well, also wrapped in a thick coat, his expression serious.
One of the guards opened the door to the house, hesitant. "Your Majesty, Ricardo, we thought it best for you to see this for yourselves."
Miguel entered, followed by Ricardo and a few guards. The interior of the house was simple, with old and worn furniture. The fireplace, which should have been warming the place, was out, cold like the rest of the space. Everything there seemed frozen in time. The wooden floor creaked beneath their feet as they slowly walked through the room. The smell of death was faint but unmistakable.
When they reached a small bedroom, the scene before them weighed heavily on Miguel’s heart. On a bed lay a couple, their faces pale and lifeless, embraced as if trying to keep each other warm. Between them, a small child, barely covered with a thin blanket, also dead, lying on her side as if asleep. The silence in the room was oppressive.
Miguel stood still, unable to say anything for a moment. The cold he felt now seemed to come from within, something deeper than the mere winter chill. He took a deep breath and approached the bed, looking at the child’s frozen hands.
"It shouldn’t be like this," Miguel murmured, still gazing at the scene in sadness.
Ricardo, beside him, placed a hand on his shoulder. "We can’t let this continue, Your Majesty. We’ve already faced too many losses."
Miguel nodded, still staring at the lifeless family in front of him. He turned, his eyes heavy with sorrow. "We must do something to prevent more families from dying like this." He wiped his face, trying to push away the growing despair inside him.
One of the soldiers, standing at the door, stepped closer and spoke in a low tone, almost as if confessing. "Unfortunately, Your Majesty, this happens every winter. In the villages and here in the city... we always lose some people to the cold. There aren’t enough blankets, food, or warmth."
Ricardo crossed his arms, his expression hardening. "This can no longer be accepted. There’s something we can do, Your Majesty. More shelters, more supplies... perhaps workshops to produce more blankets and cold-weather clothes. We need to better prepare our city for winter."
Miguel agreed with a nod. "We need to act quickly, Ricardo. We can’t keep going like this. No child should die like this, without hope, in the midst of a relentless winter."
He gave one last glance at the family on the bed, his expression somber. "Let’s go. We need to fix this."
As they left the house, Miguel felt the weight of responsibility increase. The solutions to the problems that arose in Drakmoor seemed to grow by the day, and with winter tightening its grip, he knew he would have to act swiftly to save as many lives as possible.
Miguel walked back to the mansion in silence, the muffled sound of footsteps on the snow the only noise around. The cold wind cut his face, but he barely felt the frost. His mind was occupied, wrapped in a fog of guilt he couldn’t shake. The image of that dead family, especially the small child, wouldn’t leave his mind. He could hardly believe that something like that had happened under his leadership.
How did I not foresee this? he asked himself, the weight of his own failure beginning to crush him. The winter was severe, that much was obvious, but he should have prepared better. He should have ensured that everyone had what they needed to survive. More shelters, more blankets, more food... He should have thought of all this much earlier. Now, lives had been lost, and it would be marked on him like a scar that would never fade.
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As he walked, Miguel looked around, seeing the snow-covered houses. How many other families might be facing the same fate? How many children like that one were still in danger, cold and hungry, struggling to survive each freezing night? He clenched his fists, feeling the frustration and guilt boil inside him.
I should have done more. I failed them.
He knew that the work of protecting his people wasn’t just about fighting armies and building walls. There were much more silent enemies, like the cold and hunger, that also needed to be fought. And he, as a leader, should have foreseen that.
As he returned to the mansion, Miguel made a silent promise to himself: he wouldn’t let more families die like that. He would do whatever it took to ensure the people of Drakmoor had what they needed to face the winter. Even if it meant working day and night, without rest. He couldn’t change what had already happened, but he could prevent it from happening again.
---
Miguel was in him office, pacing back and forth while holding a glass of wine. The dark liquid swirled gently inside the glass with each step, but he didn’t seem interested in drinking. His mind was elsewhere, searching for a solution to the problem that tormented him. The silence of the room, broken only by the crackling of the embers in the fireplace, seemed to echo the tension in his thoughts.
He paused for a moment in front of the fireplace, staring at the flames that burned brightly, warming the room against the intense cold outside. His eyes fixed on the embers, almost hypnotized by the orange glow emanating from them. And then, a simple question crossed his mind: why don’t the villagers’ houses have fireplaces like this?
The humble homes of the people of Drakmoor were cold and often lacked proper heating systems. This now seemed obvious to him, something he should have noticed before. The fire from the mansion’s fireplace provided a comfort that was missing in the wooden and stone houses of the villagers. If only they could have fireplaces or some other type of efficient system to keep their homes warm…
He took a long sip of the wine, feeling the warm liquid flow down his throat, but the temporary relief didn’t dissipate the guilt. He continued to pace around the room, the sound of his boots on the stone floor echoing through the space. It was a problem he needed to solve, and quickly, before more families suffered.
“Damn winters,” he muttered to himself, frustrated. The cold was relentless, but he needed to be even more relentless. Perhaps if he could organize a distribution of portable braziers or create some kind of project to build fireplaces in the villagers’ homes, it would help. Or maybe he should see if there were other, simpler heating methods, something that could be implemented quickly.
Miguel stopped pacing for a moment and looked at the door. He was expecting John, the defense secretary, to arrive at any moment. He needed answers, information about how the people’s homes were built. Maybe John could help identify possible solutions. John always had a practical view of things and could bring some insight that Miguel hadn’t yet considered.
The crackling of the wood in the fireplace brought him back to the present. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the restlessness he felt. Everything seemed like a race against time, and he knew that every decision he made now could save lives.
Miguel looked out the window, lost in thought, admiring the snow-covered landscape. The white hue that dominated the scene seemed to offer a momentary peace, but not enough to ease the weight of his worries. The cold was unforgiving, and the memory of the family that had perished wouldn’t leave his mind. He knew he had to do something.
A light knock interrupted his thoughts. He turned and, with a quick gesture, indicated that whoever was on the other side of the door could come in. It was John, his defense secretary. The man entered the room, bowing respectfully before greeting Miguel.
“Your Majesty,” John said formally, inclining his head. Miguel returned the greeting with a nod, appreciating the man’s punctuality and seriousness, but feeling uncomfortable with the constant reverence.
“John, please, have a seat,” Miguel said, pointing to a chair near the fireplace. The warmth of the flame seemed welcome to both of them, still wrapped in the cold that dominated the outside.
After a brief moment of silence, Miguel got straight to the point, anxious about the idea that plagued him. “John, I’ve been thinking about the villagers’ homes and why only this mansion has such an efficient chimney system. Do you know why the rest of the city doesn’t have something similar?”
John, still warming his hands near the fire, thought for a moment before replying. “Your Majesty, I don’t know much about it. What I do know is that the old baron, as soon as he began to govern, requested the installation of this chimney system in the mansion. It was something he did right at the start. The person responsible for the work… if I recall correctly, he lives in the capital. I think there was never an effort to expand this type of system to the people’s homes.”
Miguel nodded, reflecting on John’s words. It was a detail he hadn’t considered, but now it made perfect sense. The old baron had his priorities, but they weren’t the same as Miguel’s. While the people continued living in rudimentary conditions, the baron had invested in his own comfort. It was typical of the old nobility.
“I see, John. That’s all I needed to know. Thank you.” Miguel dismissed him with a nod, his eyes returning to the window as the secretary stood and exited.
The door closed with a soft click, and Miguel remained where he was, standing with his back to the fireplace and his eyes fixed on the outside. The wind blew outside, scattering small snowflakes through the air, while he pondered solutions.
Now, more than ever, he knew he had to act.