****, A boy no older than 5 cycles,

Awoke to a world of endless white,

The cold biting at his fragile small body, seeping through his thin clothing and into his bones. He lay curled up on the frozen ground, his breath misting in the frigid air. His mind was a blank slate— no memories, no past, not even a name to anchor him to who he once was or why he was here. He was just... *here*, in this strange, silent place, surrounded by towering trees and the heavy weight of a winter he could not recall ever knowing.

He opened his eyes to the sight of thick, snow-laden branches high above, the dark wood contrasting sharply with the endless white, as if watching him. The trees stretched upward so far that their tops vanished into a swirling mist. It was as if the sky itself had been swallowed by the snow, leaving behind only a faint, gray light that did little to warm or illuminate. The snow fell steadily, softly, each flake landing on his face with a cold, delicate touch, like tiny frozen kisses from a world that cared nothing for his small, shivering form.

*Where am i?*

The thought drifted uncontrolled through the boy's lost mind, but there was no answer, no recollection to grasp onto. He couldn't piece together how he had found himself in this so weird place, or why the air was so chilly and silent, yet alive with the hum whisper of the winds song.

His tongue felt thick and dry in his mouth, and he could barely swallow. How long had he remained there, unmoving and unnoticed from the unknown, while the world turned and the skies touch darkened, leaving him to the mercy of the cold and the haunting, ceaseless winds?

Instinctively, he stuck out his tongue, trying to catch the snowflakes on it, hoping for some moisture, some relief. But the snow melted too quickly, leaving only a bitter coldness that did nothing to soothe his thirst.

**** sat up slowly, his small hands sinking into the snow as he pushed himself upright. The cold was unforgiving, seeping through his thin shirt and trousers, chilling him to the core. His fingers were numb, and he had to clench and unclench them repeatedly just to make sure they were still there. As he looked around, the enormity of the trees struck him. They were unlike anything he had ever seen—or at least, anything he could remember seeing. The trunks were as wide as halls, yet rough and gnarled, their bark etched with deep grooves and ancient scars. They were so tall that even when he craned his neck, he couldn't see where they ended.

*I want to get out of here.*

The thought came unbidden, a spark of survival instinct in the back of his mind. But how? Everywhere he looked, the world was the same—an endless expanse of snow and trees, no path to follow, no sign of life. His limbs were heavy with cold, and fear began to coil around his child heart, tightening with each breath.

As he struggled to stand, the snow clung to his feet, making each step feel like a battle. The cold was relentless, numbing his senses, but it was the only thing he could focus on. It was better to think about the cold than the emptiness in his mind.. (and tummy), the terrifying blankness where his memories should have been. He wanted to cry, to call out for someone, anyone, but he didn't even know who to call for. Mommy?Daddy? The words felt strange and distant, like echoes of a time that had faded with the shine of down light.

He staggered forward, each step heavy and uncertain. The snow crunched beneath his feet, the only sound in the eerie silence. The world around him was so still, so quiet, that it felt like he was the only living thing in existence.

*It's so beautiful,* the little boy thought, as he gazed in awe at the world around him, captivated by the pristine, untouched beauty of the snow-covered landscape, where every tree and shadow seemed to hold a silent, ethereal grace.

But then, through the thick, oppressive quiet, he felt it— a feeling he could not describe, danger. No, not only one, but many. It was a strange sensation, like a shiver running down his spine, but deeper, more insistent. He couldn't see them, but he could *feel* them, lurking just out of sight, in the mist and snow, between and above.

Panic gripped him, and he stumbled, falling against one of the giant trees. The bark was rough against his hands, grounding him in the physical world, but the pain did little to quell the rising tide of fear in his chest. He pressed himself against the tree, trying to make himself as small as possible, trying to disappear into the shadows and the snow. The feeling grew stronger, closer, and now he could hear them—voices, faint at first, then a bit clearer, sharper, they drew near.

He dared to peek around the rough trunk, his small heart pounding in his chest. Through the falling snow, he saw them. Carriages groaned through the white shining forest, their wheels grinding against the frozen earth. Giant wolves, their coats shimmering silver and white, moved with an eerie, almost otherworldly grace, alongside pale, white horses, both beasts armored. The men marched beside them were towering figures, their presence exuding an feeling, of primal fear and ancient terror. Some of their faces were partially hidden by pale masks that covered from the nose to the chin, leaving only their eyes exposed—cold, calculating, and filled with an unnerving stillness. Their skin, where it was visible, was streaked with blood, and marked with strange, pulsating runes that whispered of lost rituals and long-forgotten oaths.

The forest, once still, now resonated with the relentless clink of armor and the steady, dreadful rhythm of hoof and paw. These men, cloaked in an presence of myth and menace, moved with a purpose that chilled the very air around them. The boy, small and frightened, huddled in the shadows of the towering trees, their gnarled branches heavy with snow, now melted at his heavy breath. He watched in wide-eyed fear as the procession passed, each step of those fearsome figures resonating deep within his bones, as if the very earth trembled beneath their advance. The air was thick with the weight of dread, the silence of the forest shattered by the presence of these harbingers of some unknown doom.

*Who are they?* the little head wondered, his breath catching in his throat. The figures moved with purpose, their voices low and harsh, speaking in a language that sounded both beautiful and terrifying. It was unlike anything he had ever heard—sharp, melodic, old, yet laced with terror and venom.

"Both sides have lost many of their elites," one of the soldier spat, the words filled with anger and disdain. "May these cunt-called humans burn from coldness."

****'s blood ran cold at the word. *Humans.* He knew that word, but it felt too strange on his dusty tongue, like something that should mean more but.. didn't. Were they talking about him? Was he human? The thought made his tummy twist with fear. If they hated humans so much, what would they do if they found him?

"His majesty needs to be informed once he's back. We cannot allow these wretched creatures to gain any more ground." another voice said, this one carrying a tone of command. The others murmured their agreement, their voices blending into a chilling harmony.

*..Majesty?* ****'s mind raced. *Who are they talking about?* The more he tried to understand, the more his head hurt, as if something was trying to keep him from remembering, from thinking too much. But he couldn't help it. The word 'majesty' made him think of kings and queens, of rulers with power and authority. But in this place, where everything felt so wrong, so cold, the word took on a sinister meaning, as if the one they called majesty was someone to be simply... feared.

Two wolves halted in their tracks, their ears pricking forward as if searching for the source of their sudden curiosity. Their cold, azure-like eyes scanned the snow-laden forest, muscles tense and ready, but they simply could not track the scent of ****. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying only the crisp, clean smell of winter. Frustration flickered in their gaze, and after a moment of boring stillness, they each took a piss in the snow, marking their disappointment before continuing on their way. The wolves, still sensing something just beyond their grasp, left behind only the faint steam of their frustration in the frosty air, while the boy remained undetected, a ghost in the shadow of the ancient trees.

*Puh,* the still hiding boy thought, a wave of relief washing over him.

One of the many soldiers spat on the ground, his face twisted in disgust. "… they defile everything they touch. We should have eradicated them long ago, before they spread like a disease across the lands."

Another soldier nodded in agreement, his eyes narrowing. "They have no respect for the old ways, no understanding of the balance. They take and take until there is nothing left, and then they move on, leaving destruction in their wake."

*...*, the last of the figures were about to vanish into the mist, their voices fading into the distance. **** let out a silent breath he didn't know he had been holding, his small body trembling with relief and residual fear. But he knew he couldn't stay here.

*Just a little bit more.* he thought. The soldiers might come back, or worse, something else, another monster, might find him. He had to move, had to find somewhere safe. But where? Everything looked the same—endless trees, endless snow. white, white and big, big.

He forced himself to stand straight, his legs shaking with the effort. His feet felt like blocks of ice, and the cold had seeped so deeply into his bones that he could barely feel his fingers. But he had to keep moving. He took a few tentative steps forward, the snow crunching softly beneath his feet, the sound so loud in the quiet that it made him flinch silent.

He stayed frozen, still behind the tree, hardly daring to breathe as the soldiers passed by, their armored boots crunching rhythmically in the snow. They were so close he could almost reach out and touch them, but he didn't dare to move. The cold that had been biting at him before was now an afterthought, overshadowed by the heartbeat's of fear that gripped him.

*Please don't see me,* he prayed to the unknown, silently. *Please, Please, just go away.*

But it was no use. The fear was too strong, too overwhelming for this child. His breath came in ragged fear-filled gasps, and despite his efforts to close his mouth with his tiny hands, a small whimper escaped his lips.

*?!*

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The soldiers froze, their ears twitching as they caught the sound. They turned as one, their eyes narrowing as they scanned the trees around them.

"Did you hear that?" one of them whispered directing, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword.

"Over there," another pointed, his voice low. "Something's hiding behind the tree."

****'s heart skipped a beat, and he pressed himself harder against the tree, so hard his finger and feet began to bleed, willing himself to disappear, to become one with the bark and the earth. But it was too late. The soldiers had heard him, and they were moving toward him, their steps silent, unheard and deadly in the snow.

Just as they closed in, a figure stepped out from nothingness.

He somehow old, yet young.. and tall, taller than any man **** had ever seen, though he could not recall such, or any memories clearly at all. His hair was a cascade of Silver, similar to the snow that fell softly around them, and his eyes were a piercing emerald, glowing with a light that seemed to come from within. The tall man's hair was a masterpiece of braids and loose strands, flowing down his sides and back in a way that spoke of both care and wild freedom. The man was dressed in robes that shimmered with a light of their own, woven with intricate patterns that **** couldn't begin to understand. He radiated a sense of power, of authority, that made the air around colder than it already is.

The man moved with a grace that commanded attention, causing the soldiers to pause and bow. Deeply, instinctively.

*Is.. this the majesty?* The thought sent a fresh wave of fear through ****, but there was something else, too—a strange pull, a sense of familiarity that he couldn't explain. He didn't know why, but he felt like he had seen this man before, or at least, someone like him. It was like a fragment of a memory trying to surface, but it was too deep, too buried beneath the fog in his mind.

**** froze, his breath catching in his throat. This was no ordinary man—this was someone to be feared, someone to be revered.

Having finished his conversation with a soldier somewhat different from the rest, the 'majesty' turned his gaze toward him. With measured steps, he approached, studying the shaking boy intently, as if he had foreseen the arrival at this very spot, in this exact moment.

The man knelt down, bringing himself to ****'s level, his eyes scanning the boy with a mix of curiosity, and something that looked like.. relieved sorrow. His gaze was so intense that **** felt like it was seeing through him, peeling away layers of skin, fear and confusion, searching for something deep within.

The boy looked up at the figure in awe and fear, his breath in his throat holding. The man bringing his face level with the boy's now kneeling, though even on one knee he towered over him. There was a moment of silence, the air thick with the tension of the coming, and then the man spoke.

"Aren't you cold, brat?" the man asked, his voice deep and resonant, carrying an undercurrent of warmth that contrasted with the harshness of the words. The question was so unexpected, so strangely casual, that the child didn't know how to respond.

The man's hand reached out, and as every soldier and beast turned their gaze toward him, the boy's heart leaped into his throat. He flinched, instinctively stumbling backward, but his foot caught on something hidden beneath the snow. He fell hard, the icy ground unforgiving as it stole the breath from his lungs. For a moment, he lay there paralyzed, shame burning through him, knowing he was exposed and helpless. Trembling, he stared up at the towering figures and drooling wolves above, feeling small, insignificant, and utterly alone under their unyielding scrutiny.

But the man didn't withdraw. Instead, he sighed softly, a sound filled with sadness and something else—something that **** could not name but felt deep in his chest. The man gently placed his hand on the boy's head, and warmth spread through ****'s body, chasing away the cold that had gripped him for so long.

"What's your name?" the man asked, his voice unexpectedly soft, almost tender.

The boy hesitated, his gaze darting around. The others watched, even the wolves, their eyes filled with confusion, as if they couldn't comprehend why this question, why this moment, was of importance. The boy felt the same uncertainty, his mind struggling to sift through the fragments of his identity, lost somewhere in the mist of forgotten memories. But then, from deep within that haze, a name surfaced, fragile but real.

"A… Aras," he whispered, the word slipping out in a voice barely more than a breath.

"Remain on guard and keep your senses sharp. Scan the surroundings at once, and let the trees observe," the man who arrived with the majesty instructed, suddenly.

The man—Luthian, though Aras did not yet know his name—nodded slowly, his eyes studying the boy. "Aras… a strong name for a strong soul," he murmured, more to himself than to the lost child.

In that moment, as the warmth of Luthian's hand spread through his body, Aras felt something stir within him. It was not a memory, not exactly, but a sense of belonging, a purpose?. He did not know who this man was, or why he had found him here in the heart of the wildwood, but he knew, deep down, that he was no longer alone. And for the first time since he had woken in the snow, Aras felt a little flicker of hope's flame.

Luthian rose to his feet, his gaze lingering on the boy for a few silent moments longer before he turned to the soldiers who had gathered nearby, their presence still heavy in the air, ready for the sudden. They had watched the encounter in silence, their expressions unreadable behind their masks marked by runes. But there was no mistaking the tension that radiated from them—the unease, the uncertainty. This was not how things were supposed to be. A human child, here, in the heart of their domain? It was unheard of, unacceptable, and yet, here he was.

The core of the Royal family bowed before an unknown child, a human, regardless of the reasoning.

'Unacceptable.' The thought lingered silently in the minds of the many beneath the elven, too fearful to voice it aloud.

"From this moment forward, this brat is under my protection," his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority. "Ensure that no harm touches to him."

The soldiers exchanged quick, wary glances, their eyes betraying their reluctance. But they did not question him. They bowed their heads in unison, their obedience born of deep respect and perhaps a touch of fear. Luthian was no ordinary leader; he was the eldest of the Elven, once king of the great kingdom of Thalrion. His word was law, and to defy him was unthinkable.

Aras watched this exchange with wide eyes, trying to make sense of it all. The warmth of Luthian's touch still lingered in his body, a comforting presence that pushed back the cold. But there was so much he didn't understand. Why was this man, this powerful man, helping him? Why did the soldiers obey him without question? And most of all, why was he here, in this strange, terrifying place, with no memory of how he had arrived?

Luthian turned back to Aras, his expression softening as he looked down at the boy.

"Come," he said gently, extending his hand once more.

"We cannot stay here. There is much that needs to be discussed, but not in the open where the cold can steal your strength."

Aras hesitated only for a moment before he reached out and took the tall man's hand, still not even knowing his name. The warmth that radiated from the man was comforting, and though he was still frightened, still confused, there was a growing sense of trust. This man had found him, protected him, and there was something in his eyes—a sadness, a deep understanding—that made Aras feel safe, as if he had known him from another life.

The kind man led him away from the clearing, the Elven soldiers falling into step behind them, their presence now more of a shadow than a threat. They moved through the forest with a speed and grace that made Aras stumble to keep up, but Luthian never let go of his hand, guiding him through the snow-laden paths of the myth forest with a steady patience.

The trees around them began to thin, the darkness of the forest giving way to a soft, ethereal light that seemed to emanate from the very air itself. As they walked, Aras's fear slowly ebbed, replaced by a sense of wonder. The world around him, though cold and foreign, was beautiful in a way he couldn't fully grasp—a beauty that was ancient, powerful, and tinged with a deep melancholy.

Finally, they reached a clearing, where the ground was untouched and pristine, sparkling like diamonds of green under the pale light. In the center of the clearing stood a tree unlike any Aras had seen before. It was old, its bark silver and smooth, its branches reaching high into the sky, where they twisted into intricate patterns that seemed to dance with the light. The air around it was warm, a stark contrast to the bitter cold of the forest, and as they approached, Aras felt a deep sense of unknown settle over him.

"Woah," the brat let out unknowingly, his eyes wide with wonder. Realizing what he had just said, he quickly covered his mouth, a look of embarrassment flashing across his face. He glanced nervously at Luthian, who was already looking at Aras with a gentle smile, the kind that softened his entire expression and made his eyes seem really kind.

"This is the Heart Tree," Luthian said softly, his voice reverent as he gazed at the ancient tree. "It has stood here since the beginning of time, long before our kind, long before... yours. It is a place of healing, of protection. Here, you are safe."

Aras looked up at Luthian, his eyes filled with questions, but the words wouldn't come. He was overwhelmed—by the beauty of the tree, by the warmth that surrounded it, by the strange sense of familiarity that tugged at the edges of his consciousness. It was as if he had been here before, in..

Luthian beside him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"There are things you do not yet understand, Aras," he said, his voice filled with a quiet care. "But in time, you will. For now, rest. You are safe here, and no more harm will come to you."

Aras wanted to believe him, wanted to trust in the warmth of Luthian's words. But the fear, the confusion, still lingered in his heart. He was just a boy, lost in a place, a world he didn't understand, with no memory of who he was or where he came from. And yet, something deep within him stirred at Luthian's words, a flicker of something ancient and powerful, something that felt like hope.

"Rest now," Luthian said again, his voice soothing as he gently guided Aras to sit beneath the Heart Tree. "We will talk more when you are ready."

Aras nodded slowly, his body finally succumbing to the exhaustion that had been gnawing at him since he woke in the snow. He curled up beneath the tree, the warmth of the earth beneath him seeping into his bones, easing the cold that still lingered. Luthian remained beside him, a silent guardian, his presence a comfort in the vast, not known world.

As sleep began to claim him, Aras's last thoughts were of the man who had found him, the man with the white hair and emerald eyes who spoke with a kindness that belied his power. There was something about this man, something that felt both familiar yet so mysterious, and as Aras drifted into sleep, he knew that his questioning was only just beginning.

But for now, he slept, the Heart Tree standing watch over him, its ancient branches swaying gently in the wind, whispering secrets of the past, the present, and the future.

And in the distance, far beyond the forest, forces were stirring—forces that would soon converge on this small, sleeping boy, setting in motion a chain of events that would alter the course of history.

"So, destiny brings us together here." With a relieved smile, the late king whispered, his hand gently caressing the sleeping child's night hair, knowing that the promise he once made could finally be honored.