The boy now walked barefoot, wearing only a simple bear-fur skirt around his waist and a small cloak of the same hide wrapped around his young shoulders.
He had left the bear's den several days ago.
He had cut pieces of meat and dried them, keeping them in a bag slung over his left shoulder.
From the animal's pelt he had made himself rudimentary clothes.
His old garments were nothing but rags, and he had preferred to abandon them.
Yet, despite the extreme temperatures, the young boy hardly felt the cold.
His breath remained calm and steady, his body withstanding the freezing climate far beyond what he would have thought possible.
The discovery of this new body's capabilities had given him hope.
Before that, all he saw when he opened his eyes was darkness and despair.
Now he saw a glimmer — small, fragile — but real, piercing that darkness.
His new objective was simple: to become the overlord of the lands beyond the Wall.
What?
You thought he would use his new powers to cross the Wall and join "civilization"?
Hehe.
To tell the truth, his hatred for the noble houses of the South far outweighed any need for comfort or order.
So he had made a choice: stay on this side of the Wall and build his own civilization here.
With his rules.
And his people.
After all, in the South, magic was hated.
Here, in the North, it was feared, respected… or simply ignored.
That's why he was looking for a tribe.
A starting point for his conquest.
And as if on cue, at that very moment, he noticed a thin wisp of smoke rising in the distance — a sign that a fire had been lit.
After five minutes of walking through the forest, he emerged into a clearing.
There, about ten people were sitting around a fire, roasting a deer.
Six men, four women.
Not sensing anything particularly threatening, he decided to keep walking without trying to hide.
He stepped slowly out from the tree line, arms dangling, not trying to look threatening or friendly.
Conversations stopped almost instantly.
A dozen pairs of eyes turned toward him — wary, surprised, then confused.
It was a child.
Barefoot, dressed in bear skin, hair matted with melting snow.
Before the men and women of the camp could speak, the boy spoke — no, he ordered:
— Submit to me, or die.
A strange silence followed those bold words, then everyone burst out laughing. Honestly, if they hadn't all seen and heard the same thing, they would have thought it a hallucination.
The laughter barely died down when a burly man stood up, a stone axe in hand.
— Alright, kid, he said in a deep voice. Listen: either you leave now and go back to the cave you came from, or I split you in two with my axe and feed your corpse to the boars.
The boy looked him straight in the eyes, took off his cloak and his bag, standing bare-chested under the gray sky.
— Very well. I see you won't take me seriously until I prove myself.
He drew his stone knife from his belt and took a deep breath. His breathing became slow, deep, even. The world seemed to stop around him: the fire, the wind, the looks — all lost their importance. When he opened his eyes, the transparent world wrapped around him again.
He bowed slightly, took a step forward… and vanished.
A second later he reappeared to the others' eyes, two meters behind the big man with the axe. The latter's head was already rolling on the snow; it had come off the body and fell with a muffled thud.
The silence that then reigned in the clearing had nothing to do with the first: no one laughed anymore. Everyone now looked at that frail little figure with the same gaze one reserves for death.
The spell seemed to break about ten seconds later as everyone stood in panic and moved as far away from the young boy as they could, as if he carried the foulest of diseases.
— What the fuck is this shit!!!
— Hurgot's dead! Fuck!
— I didn't see anything, one moment he was there and then Hurgot's head was rolling on the ground.
The boy let them have time to panic, to pick up their weapons (it wouldn't make any difference anyway) and he also gave them time to calm down before speaking again.
They were now all gathered in a tight group, pointing their weapons at him in an icy silence.
— Submit to me or die, he repeated.
This time no one mocked him and no one answered for a long while.
Finally, a man with gray eyes spoke for the group.
— What do you want from us, kid? We don't want trouble.
The boy tilted his head; the gesture made a man and a woman in the group flinch.
— I want you to submit to me, he said. I want to create my kingdom, and you will be my first subjects. So either you submit, or you die. Anyway, if it isn't you, it will be others — or others again. I will eventually find someone smart enough to understand that you don't fight me.
The gray-eyed man studied him for a long time before answering:
— You want to create a kingdom? Why?
The young man looked at him strangely, as if he had just been asked the dumbest question in the world — but a good king must know how to answer even the dumbest.
— Let's start simple: what is your name?
The gray-eyed man answered even though he didn't know where the kid was going with this.
— Lodar, why?
— Tell me, Lodar: do you like your life? Think carefully before you answer. Have you lived with dignity? Will people remember you in ten years? a hundred years? maybe even a thousand years, if you are truly more important than you let on? If you have children, do they live well? Do they have enough to eat? A warm roof at night? A dignified life? If you can honestly answer yes to all those questions, then I will leave you alone and you can keep what you have. Otherwise, know that I intend to build something new here, on these abandoned lands beyond the Wall.
Lodar stood motionless, fingers clenched on the shaft of his spear.
Around him, no one dared breathe.
— You want… me to submit?
The boy simply nodded.
— You, them, everyone.
— And why would we do that? Lodar replied, voice tense.
— Because, answered the boy without raising his tone, I am the only one here capable of giving you a future.
His gaze swept the circle slowly, one by one.
— You survive, that's all. You kill a deer, you eat for two days. You burn your dead and you repeat.
He took a step toward them.
— I don't call that living.
No one spoke. The flames of the fire crackled, as if to fill the void.
— I will build something here, he continued. A glorious kingdom.
He stressed each word.
— A kingdom the southerners will no longer be able to ignore or despise. They will have to watch their Wall with fear and insecurity, hoping it will protect them from us.
A nervous laugh escaped from one of the men, but it was snuffed out almost immediately under the boy's stare.
— Do you still think force alone is enough to rule?
He shrugged.
— I killed your strongest without him even understanding what happened to him. So no… force will not make me a king. It's fear.
He let a cold silence settle before adding:
— And fear, you already have. I can feel it.
He turned to Lodar.
— You. Get on your knees. Now.
Lodar stared at him, jaw clenched.
Around him, the others waited, breaths held between revolt and survival.
The boy approached slowly, barefoot on the snow.
His step made no sound.
He raised the knife, without trembling.
— Kneel, Lodar, he said calmly. I don't need corpses, I need subjects. Make the right choice.
Lodar inhaled, his gaze wavering between the knife and the boy's eyes.
What he saw there nailed him to the spot: no hatred, no anger.
One would almost have said the boy was looking through him.
The big man gritted his teeth, hesitated another second, then put a knee to the ground.
A murmur ran through the clearing.
The boy stopped in front of him, reached out and placed two fingers on his forehead.
— Good, he said simply. The first to kneel lived. The others still have one last chance.
A second man fell to his knees.
Then a third.
And a fourth.
It spread like a wave.
In less than a minute, only two men remained standing — faces closed, proud, or simply too slow to yield.
The boy raised his knife slightly.
— Very well. You have made your choice.
And in two steps, he vanished from sight.
The first body collapsed before the second had time to raise his weapon.
When he reappeared, the blade was dripping, and everyone was either kneeling or lying in the blood.
He calmly put his knife away and watched the flames of the fire pick up their dance.
— Perfect. From today, you are the beginning of my kingdom.