Sitting on a piece of rubble we see a young man with grey eyes and white hair struggling to pull something out of his leg, his clothes were ragged and tattered, revealing an intricate snowflake pattern on the boy's left chest. He was gritting his teeth while trying to suppress a scream.
The snowflake pattern on his chest is a "rune" and it symbolizes winter, and since the boy never knew his parents, he naturally does not know his name either, so he goes by the name Winter.
"Damn it!"
There was an arrow lodged in his left thigh, he was currently busy trying to fish it out, to no success... it had barbed point after all.
And behind him was a trail of blood settling in the snow changing its colour from white to crimson red and around him was a vast plain of snowy fields stretching as far as the eyes could see.
'Bastards'
'Who could mistake me for a beast?'
As the boy pulled on the crudely crafted arrow, his face contorted in pain. The arrow lodged in his thigh had a rusted tip, if he wanted to keep his leg in good health he would need to seek medical attention as soon as possible.
'As if anyone would help a rat like me from the ruins.'
A stifled scream escaped from his lips as the tip of the arrow dislodged from his leg, the arrow seemed to have missed any important arteries.
He sighed and nonchalantly tossed the arrow behind him and walked towards the ruins of a medieval city, his home. The path towards it was unconventional, since you needed to traverse the frozen lake, many people fall through the ice and die of the cold. Of course it would not matter for Winter who simply isn't able to feel cold for some reason...
'Time to head home.'
He was dead tired... and needed some rest, after all he had been hunting for food in the cold for days, not that the cold bothered him.
'I'll need to come back in a couple of days to get more food... again.'
In the time he was hunting, his food supply had been emptied almost instantly to replenish his energy, and then he had to eat what he caught, and then get hungry again. it was a vicious cycle of struggle for food, the most scarce resource in the ruins.
He was gripping a small bag made out of cloth, containing slices of rabbit meat, and some wild herbs. Winter was gonna need to stash this in his hideout back in the ruins.
After a while of walking through the plains and birch forests, Winter reached the Frozen lake of Ruin. It was called Frozen lake of Ruin for no particularly special reason, just because it was close to them. Most people had to go around the lake, not willing to risk their lives to save some time but Winter was in a hurry. he did not need to worry, really. Winter is lithe and scrawny, so he has no problems walking over the relatively thin ice.
As he made his way over the lake he could hear the eerie crackling noises of ice under his feet, it was not new to him but the fear never let go of his heart. Winter had good survival instincts after all and they had never failed him yet.
yet...
Suppressing the fear, he began thinking about living in the Human bastions near the ruins, where people were safe and never needed to hunt, or risk their lives for moldy bread. One day he would make it out of this godforsaken place.
'Soon... i hope, this nightmare end's, every day is a day of pain, and vicious struggle for survival.'
Every person in the ruined remains of the medieval city has dreams of escaping, yet not a soul has managed to do so. It's as if everyone here is chained to it by shackles of fate. The fate of Death. Not immediately, or sudden, but slow, agonizing, premature and inevitable death.
Everyone dies, but not like they do here.
After Winter was done cursing his luck for being born in the godforsaken ruins, he had crossed the river and was finally able to lay his sights on the ruins, of which he has the pleasure of calling his home.
With a bleak expression on his face, he said:
"Home, sweet home..."