Chapter 1

In a winter's storm

- There are many things I would gift to a child, family being the greatest of all -

He opened his mouth to yawn, and a mewling cough was heard. The infant was hungry and wailed loudly. A smiling young woman gave him some milk, twisting his curly locks with evident fondness. She had noticed a strange feature that had made itself inherent in the child; his hair, though predominantly midnight black, had streaks of white. But both the dark and white parts of his hair fell in thick wavy curls that hung around the child's face, like a thick creeping cloud. Barely six months old, the infant giggled and kicked, his curly locks bouncing.

"Time to go Miri", said a man, coming into the room. Tall, gaunt and heavily built, Jesse Ironhand was a handsome man and a proud one. But his pride in no way hid his fear. Pushing back his thick black hair, he rubbed the sweat from his head and moved around the cabin, hauling large bags that were full of the family's belongings. He is like a windstorm. My own windstorm, thought Mirya fondly to herself.

"Come woman. We have to leave now!" he bellowed, his tone urgent. "Have you packed all that we need? The broadcast said to make our way to the city docks. There we would find the ships waiting. And if we do not hurry, they will leave without us."

His gaze returned to the window, where outside, the great docks could be seen. Already tiny golden and silver ships were leaving, moving out into open water, carving the icy waters freckled with glints of gold before taking off into purple-blue skies, as the sun began to set in the distance.

“They say we go to a great city. A place of dreams. What good fortune awaits us, one might wonder?”

"A place of dreams? What other kinds of nonsense have you heard? "

"It shall be a place of rest. Rest from war and the weariness of life,” continued Jesse, a distant, hopeful look in his eye. "It will be a better life. For us and for our son. We must be on our way then."

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

"Oh, put your mind to rest now," Mirya gently chided her husband. "I too share your excitement. We will tarry no longer. See, I have packed all that we need here. We will leave the rest behind. But I am worried about the child. He is not used to travelling in the cold. He does not have enough warm clothing. He may fall ill in these frozen parts of the world."

"Hush, woman. If he is to be a man, he must need no protection from a flustering mother", declared Jesse Ironhand, with a wry smile. "He shall brave the winter storm like a man."

And with that, the tall form of Jesse Ironhand, strode out into the winter storm, heaving great bags upon his back, whistling merrily to himself.

Shaking her head with a smile, Mirya Ironhand pulled her cloak on, tucked her midnight curls beneath a hood, and hugged the child close to her warmth, wrapping him in the thickness of her robes. She followed her husband out into the swirling snows, leaving the sanctity of their cabin-home in which the two had dwelled together for so many years. Taking one last look at its interior, she still remembered the days she and Jesse had spent, in this cabin, just after they had performed their marriage rites. Those were golden days. Full of sun and laughter. Heady days.

I will miss this. All of it. Never again shall our joy be the same. How shall fate deal with us now?

They set out and as soon as they left the cabin, the cold and its bite kicked in. The wind howled and buffeted about the couple and their newborn child, determined to obstruct their every step. Beneath her robes, the child squirmed and coughed. Jesse glanced back at his wife, his eyes squinting in the wind, and looked away, taking big strides, making deep prints in the snow for his wife to step in. The cabin wherein she and her husband had dwelled for so many years of their lives was already getting smaller and smaller with each step, fading into the mists, falling into memory.

Just then a fork of lighting cracked in the sky above, followed by a harsh peal of thunder. The infant squealed in fright. Great golden ships loomed in the distance, and in the splendor of the dying sun, glinted and shone with the brilliance of a heavenly dream.

"Hush, young one", whispered Mirya, cradling the baby boy's head in her arms, her blue-grey eyes staring deep into her child's own. "Oh, you shall be a fine one, just like your father. My little boy. My little...Thonavar...".