In a world. I can't call by a name... Because true giants don't have names. Only hairs on their skin have them... In one of such tiny parts.

Deep, deep inside the furthest part of a land called by its inhabitants "Kish Kingdom". Ruled that time by a young and unexperienced Shyahl the Snake.

On the far south between blizzards, snowy hills and sleeping forests. Between howls of wolves and wind trying to overshout each other every full moon night.

There stood a village.

A village that no one longer remembered its past. Only low mountains touching the sharp palisade and ancient trees silently observing from outskirts still carry the memories long long forgotten.

Of slaughters, shadows and whispers.

Of hearts, tears and dreams.

Long long forgotten. Forever in their tightly shut lips.

There was a wind once too... Yes.

Wind always carries the memories. Listening to everything. Sticking its long nose always where it shouldn't. Only to scream it later miles away at some random travelers not even aware of its voice.

Yes there was a wind. But it long left. Who knows where is it now? New wind arrived, new wind was born. Carrying completely different tales.

Few miles on the south. A melting sea, guarded the passage... Not aware of the small wooden village resting at its doorsteps, hidden behind thick, snowy trees. Only smoke in the distance cought its lazy eye from time to time abruptly waking its frightening fury. Taking it as a challenge from arrogant mountains. It sput angry waves biting into the cliffs in the answer as if telling. "Look how easily I can vanquish you".

Two big streams like greedy snakes divided the vast land between the village trapping it inside. With its freezing-cold water carrying snow and ice from the mountains above. Slowing down anyone who would want to either visit or leave the secluded village...

There was also. A dark forest... Throwing grim glances from behind the western stream. I will not however talk about it.

There was more, much more to say. Much more to tell. But the wheels of time turn. And our story arrives before I can...

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A biting whistling wind carried a different taste that night. Dark, sour as if a mine opened its guts releasing iron creaking of carts and echo of dropping water.

All of this blowing with powerful gust through snowy wastelands, through icy trees, wide mountains and finally hitting the village's palisade and roofs with twice the force. Spilling mists of snow and straw everywhere.

It was a very cold an unrestful night for the village of Kotha. And even more unrestful for a certain sleeping boy...

Whistling cold creeped through small creaks in a window, into his bedroom on the upper floor of a small wooden house. Tightly wrapped in a big, soft blanket a boy... Or maybe a young man concluding from barely visible hairs on his chin. Shivered in his sleep on the sudden touch of the cold air...

But you would be hardly mistaken in assuming that he shivered out of cold...

No.

It was because that night you see. There was a much more to this wind than it seemed to be..

...

Turning from side to side like a fish struggling in the net barely sixteen years old boy makes it through the long, windy night, haunted by nightmares full of unclear promises, strangers on the hills and a deep cave trying to swallow him whole...

And a voice. And a frightening screching voice calling from within...

But even the coldest and darkest night can't rule forever and so in this case the sun has risen dragging behind a new day. Reflecting brightly on the snow, blinding the eye. Banishing bad dreams and vile winds away - to the darkness that they came.

The boy slowly opened his amethyst eyes. Forcing himself to not fall asleep again, he looked around the gloomy room. It was early in the morning and he didn't sleep well. He couldn't remember what exactly he was dreaming about but he knew it was terrifying. It was probably one of the worst nights he ever had.

The bags under his eyes and sweat all over his body were enough proofs of that. He wiped out the sweat from his face together with sticky straw-like but dark hair. still tightly wrapped in the blanket the boy with amethyst eyes let out a sleepy, regretful moan.

It was so warm in his bed and the morning was so cold... Maybe father won't smack his head this time if he will sleep a little longer? Just a little bit?

But before he can give in to that tempting thought and blast himself into oblivion of sweat dreams a different thought pops into his head.

Wake up. Called a stern voice in his mind. Stand up. Up. Up. We are waking up! We must wake up you idiot!

Just a little longer... Answered the pleading voice.

No. We are going up. Up! Up!

With a grim expression the boy lifted slowly from the bed. Moving his assaluted by cold limbs one at time out of the warmth of his blanket.

Cold. Cold. Made a sour face boy putting his feet on the fur carpet. Still half-asleep he changed inside his dark room into fur clothes. Consisting of warm white pants, a leather belt and a white jacket - all of that made of a common for this region wolven skin. Rubbing his violet eyes the black haired boy navigates through the half-darkness of his room to so familiar doors leading downstairs.