Standing in a relatively well-preserved room, Winter was cradling a piece of moldy bread in his hands. Ready to leave, he let out a deep grunt and made his way out of the barricaded doorframe. He was beyond disappointment.
Not only did he risk his life for some good food to celebrate living sixteen, long, harrowing and dreadful years.
He also got nothing but a moldy piece of bread!
'I guess fate isn't on my side'
...Ever
Winter swiftly ran towards the exit of the building and jumped through the cracks in the wall. He had to get out before the bandits returned, but he should still have a lot of time. Hunting was hard around the ruins due to the lack of prey. And it only gets worse the farther out you go.
'They won't be coming back in a while'
'But they are still close...'
Now outside, Winter looked around and noticed that it had started snowing. He ran across the square and started to scale the giant debris.
It had gotten slippery because of the snow, but he still managed to climb it. He had climbed this particular piece of debris many times before after all.
After climbing to the top he glanced at the sun and turned to the big building behind him and then the street in front of him.
He climbed down and walked through the street, not looking back even once...
'Time to celebrate...'
***
'...My sixteenth birthday...'
After arriving at his house... well actually his basement. Winter had decided to spend the night outside and enjoy the night sky. Nobody except him ever came here anyways. The tower was near the western entrance of ruins and living near the entrance meant being closer to the wilderness.
There were not many mystical beasts around, but there were some, and they tended to venture into the ruins if they smelled the scent of a soul.
But Winter's house was protected by large pieces of debris and an unshakable smell of decay, so he did not need to worry.
'Time to eat!'
Winter was a rather pessimistic person, but when it came to food he would instantly feel good again.
He grabbed the piece of moldy bread and stared at it for a while, hesitated and brought it closer to his mouth to take a bite...
Right as the bread met his lips he heard a rustle from behind, he tried to turn back and look but suddenly felt an explosion of pain in his back.
A scream of pain filled the ruins and reverberated with the stone structures.
Winter stumbled to his knees and strained his back and neck to look at his attacker.
'...A beast?'
Behind him stood a broad man with clothes made out of beast hide, black hair and a messy beard. He was tall with broad shoulders, emanating a feeling of strength and masculinity. His face was full of scars and the man seemed to be grinning, his eyes full of bloodlust.
Winter's eyes widened when he saw him, and then his face contorted in anger.
"You!" Winter spat.
It was dark outside but Winter still recognized him almost instantly. He could never forget the face of this particular person, no matter how hard he tried.
The man behind him was the man who had shot him with an arrow yesterday, the one who had beaten him to a pulp on multiple occasions when Winter was caught hunting, stealing his food and robbing him of his equipment.
Winter tried to run away but suddenly felt an explosion of pain in his left thigh.
The man let out a chuckle and circled around Winter and grabbed him by the throat. He held a crude knife in the other and looked at Winter with a mischievous expression as he lifted him from the ground. Winter tried to resist, but the man was too strong.
"Stop squirming around kid, it's useless..." he said with a disappointed tone.
"Wait! Stop!" Winter protested, the air escaping from his lungs.
Winter was many things but above all, he was paranoid. How could he have let this happen? He had taken all the measures to make sure nobody found out about his location, so how did the bandits find him?
"...How?" Winter said in a stifled voice.
The man did not even bother to answer him and just pointed at the small drops of blood in the snow. Winter was confused but then a glint of understanding appeared in his eyes.
Looking down at his left thigh, the cloth wrapped around his leg was soaked in blood and was dripping down in streams.
Winter started cursing himself for making such a stupid mistake, how could he have missed it?
The man looked at him and glanced to the side. His grip softened and Winter dropped to the ground.
Gasping for air, Winter lay on the ground and tried getting up.
Meanwhile, the man had gone and grabbed the piece of bread and put it in his pocket.
Winter was in pain and had an injured leg, he could still run of course, but it would be a real ordeal.
On his feet, he dashed towards the streets in an attempt to escape, he was small and nimble so he knew he could outrun the bandit who was way heavier than him.
As he reached the entrance to the closest street he suddenly collided with something and let out a deep groan.
Winter looked up and saw four men dressed in clothes made out of hide, all of them wielding a knife or sharp object.
After realizing that he was being surrounded he tried getting up.
But before he could move one of the bandits jumped on top of him and drove his knife deep in his left chest, piercing his heart and...
"No hard feelings buddy, this is just how the world works."
This was a cruel, unforgiving world. People liked to say that it was fair, but it was not. Fate liked to play favorites after all.
Winter suddenly felt weak and his sight became blurry. After being stabbed in the back and heart, he was at death's door.
And then he suddenly felt... cold?
Without any power to speak, he lost all will to live and started thinking:
'Why me?'
'What have I done to deserve this fate?'
'Why have the gods cursed me...'
'...'
'...'
'Curse the Gods...'
'...I'll get my revenge, just not now...'
After that last thought, he lost sensation in his fingers and felt a heavy burden being lifted from his shoulders...