Jayden pulled his thick coat over his shoulders and stepped outside. The cold greeted him like a slap, biting into his face as wind whipped through the trees. The snow was ankle-deep, untouched and endless.
He exhaled through his nose and started walking, boots crunching with every step.
He didn't go into the village often, only when supplies ran low. Every few days, he made the trip to the local store, a crooked little shack that somehow stayed upright despite the constant storms. It sold just enough to keep him alive.
The villagers never warmed to him, even after all this time. He knew how they looked at him.
Outsider. Intruder. Stranger. It didn't matter that his grandfather had lived among them for years. Jayden had inherited his blood, not his welcome.
The wind howled through the trees as he walked, shoulders hunched. His breath came out in clouds. Ice clung to his beard, his lashes. He shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets and muttered to himself.
"I miss real summers," he said through chattering teeth. "Not this frozen hell every damn day."
The road was half-buried, forcing him to march through dense snow like a soldier in enemy terrain. When he finally reached the village's edge, the mood shifted. Life stirred around him, quiet, simple, and honest.
Women carried buckets between houses. Children chased each other, their laughter cutting through the cold. A group of men chopped wood in front of a shed, each swing of their axes sharp and purposeful.
Jayden watched them, unseen. This place was nothing like the Mega City. No glowing signs, no drones overhead. Just people present, alive, connected. It was the kind of place the city had forgotten how to be.
But he wasn't part of it.
He passed through the village without speaking as eyes followed him. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. The air always felt heavier when he was around.
The store was a tired building with a sagging roof and a sign that barely hung from rusted bolts. Inside, it smelled of pine and damp cloth. A few women stood near the counter, speaking in low voices that died the moment he walked in.
One brushed past him on her way out, pausing just long enough to mutter, "You don't belong here."
Jayden didn't flinch. He kept his expression blank as he gathered what he needed. Flour, dried fish, tea leaves, matches. All the basics. He could hear their whispers as he paid, feel their stares burrowing into his back.
He didn't bother arguing. He never did.
Outside, the cold struck again, sharper than before. He adjusted his hood and turned to leave when a voice cut through the stillness.
"No! He's not!"
Jayden stopped. The voice came from across the street.
He turned and saw David, red-faced and furious, shouting at his parents in their front yard.
"David, he's dangerous," said his father.
"He's not!" David yelled. "He's the only one who listens to me! He treats me like I matter!"
His mother knelt beside him, wrapping him in a hug. "We're not saying that's bad, sweetheart. We just want you to be careful."
"What does that even mean?" David's voice cracked, angry and hurt.
His father folded his arms. "It means he's not from here. People like him... they bring problems."
"Like what? He's not a monster!"
"No," his mother said gently, brushing snow from his hair. "But he's not one of us. And we don't know what he's running from."
Jayden stood frozen, heart pounding louder than he expected. He wasn't trying to listen, but once he heard David's voice, he couldn't walk away.
"We're poor," David's father continued. "We can't afford to take risks. Especially not on strangers with pasts they don't talk about."
"But he's my friend," David whispered.
"There are no buts," his mother said, softly but firmly. "Go play with kids your age. Please."
David stood there for a second, shoulders heavy. Then he wiped his eyes and turned away from them.
Jayden finally looked down, then started walking.
He shouldn't have stayed. He wasn't angry at them. They weren't wrong.
Their fear wasn't about him, it was about what he represented. The unknown. The unspoken. And deep down, they were right to worry.
"Sigh… your mom's right, kid," Jayden muttered. "I don't belong here."
He paused near a fence and looked around. The forest loomed in the distance. Smoke drifted from chimneys. Somewhere behind him, David was still out there, somewhere between boyhood and hope, still trying to believe in something better.
Jayden closed his eyes. The snow crunched beneath him. He remembered the day he first arrived, years ago, before anyone in the village knew his name.
---
"Here we are, boy," his grandfather had said, clapping Jayden on the back. "This will be your new home. What do you think?"
Jayden had frowned, peering out at the rows of crooked houses and snow-choked roads. "Grandpa… where are the buildings? The shops? The people?"
"There's none of that here," the old man said, laughing. "But this place has something better than skyscrapers and traffic."
"Like what?"
His grandfather's eyes sparkled. "Time. Peace. The kind of quiet that tells you who you really are."
Jayden hadn't understood back then. Not really.
Not long after they'd arrived, the village mayor had shown up on their doorstep. A short man with a thick mustache and a chip on his shoulder.
"Marcus, who is this boy? Why bring him here?"
"Relax, old man," Jayden's grandfather said as he puffed on a cigarette. "He's my nephew. That's all."
The mayor's eyes narrowed. "Why would someone like you retire out here?"
"We don't want anything," Marcus replied. "We just want to live quietly. That's allowed, isn't it?"
"If you bring trouble to this village, Marcus," the mayor growled, "I'll never forgive you."
Jayden had never forgotten those words. Or the way the mayor had looked at him. Suspicion first. Then dismissal. The message had been clear—don't cause waves.
So he hadn't.
He kept to himself. He trained, hunted, worked, and disappeared between supply runs. For seven years, he existed without incident.
But now, it felt like something was shifting.
David had cracked something open. Not just the memory—but the guilt that came with it. That boy believed in him. Defended him. Fought for him.
And Jayden had done what he always did, turned his back and stayed quiet.
He reached the edge of the village, bags of supplies hanging from both arms, and stopped. Snow blew across the trail ahead. Beyond the forest was his home, isolated and silent.
But for a few seconds, he didn't move.
He thought about David's face, angry, loyal, hurt. The kid didn't understand boundaries. He didn't have filters. But he was honest.
And now he was paying for it.
Jayden muttered under his breath. "Your mom's wrong about one thing, David. I'm not hiding from someone. I'm hiding from myself."
He stood there a little longer, letting the cold settle on his skin. Then he turned toward the woods, trudging into the white silence. No one called after him. No one tried to stop him.
Just like always.