Rain fell hard across the empty plain, drumming against the half-frozen earth until the world itself seemed to hiss beneath it. A heavy fog clung to the land—or perhaps fog was too gentle a word. This was darker. Thicker. A blackened veil that smothered distance and swallowed shape.
Through that bitter shroud, along a narrow dirt path that vanished into the darkness before and behind, a lone figure walked.
It did not hurry. Each step came measured and deliberate, bony feet sinking into the mire before lifting free once more. Behind it, shallow footprints filled with rain until they disappeared beneath the endless downpour.
Aside from the storm, there was no sound. No wind stirred the empty plain. No beast called through the darkness. No voice answered the rain. Only the soft pull of mud around bone.
The figure appeared to wander without destination, yet the thought felt strangely foolish. Some things did not search.
They simply arrived where they were needed.
A tattered black robe hung from its skeletal frame, the soaked hem dragging through mud and water as though the earth itself wished to delay its passing.
Then another sound reached it.
A child crying.
It was faint at first, nearly swallowed by the rain. Then it came again—thin, fragile, desperate. Not the cry of anger, nor hunger, but of a life clinging to warmth that no longer remained.
The figure never changed its pace.
With every step, the cries became clearer.
Louder.
Weaker.
At last, the black mist parted.
A lone tree stood beside the path, young and stripped bare beneath the winter sky. Its mahogany trunk rose from the soaked earth while naked branches stretched upward like pleading hands toward a heaven that offered no answer.
At its roots...
lay the dead.
A man lay a short distance from the trunk, face down in the mud, his feet still pointed toward the woman behind him. His severed hands clung to a ruined sword and a cracked shield, as though even death itself had failed to loosen his grip.
The woman sat with her back against the tree, knees drawn close, her head gone, as his had been. In her frozen, blood-soaked arms, she still cradled the child. Whatever had found them here had taken everything else, but not that final act of protection.
Only the grass beneath the tree had escaped the frost. Blood had seen to that. It pooled through the mud in dark, uneven patches before the rain drew it into crimson threads that slipped between the roots and vanished into the earth.
The bodies looked fresh at a glance, but the plain told another story. The blood had cooled. The limbs had stiffened. Whatever violence had happened here was already over, leaving only its shape behind.
The figure stood motionless before them.
Beneath the hood of its tattered robe there was no face, no skull, not even the suggestion of one. Yet somehow it seemed to study every detail: the ruined sword, the broken shield, the woman's locked arms, the infant still cradled against her chest.
The violence had been too deliberate to mistake for rage. Only those who had abandoned all feeling could have mistaken it for art.
The child cried on.
He could not have been more than six months old. Still, he fought. His lips had turned violet with cold. Tiny hands trembled where they clung to his mother's blood-soaked clothes, while eyes squeezed tightly shut tried to keep out a pain he was far too young to understand.
Each cry scraped weaker than the last until it became little more than breath.
"Hmm..."
The figure released a low hum.
It had no throat to shape the sound. No mouth to release it. Yet the voice came all the same, dull and hollow beneath the rain.
There was no pity in it. No disgust. No anger.
Only boredom.
Boredom... before such a sight?
After a long moment, the figure stepped toward the man.
His body had been torn apart with the careless thoroughness of something that had never needed skill. The armour across his back hung open in jagged seams, exposing flesh shredded more than cut. One glance was enough to tell the story. Whatever had killed him had not struggled.
Even so, his severed hands still clung to a ruined sword and a cracked shield, death itself unable to loosen their grip.
The figure raised its right arm. From the darkness of the sleeve emerged a skeletal hand, white as old bone, each fingertip ending in a sharpened point.
The mist answered before a word was spoken. It drifted toward the outstretched hand in slow, twisting strands, folding over itself until an open scroll hung above the exposed bones.
The hand lowered toward the man's body. Rain fell straight through the mist-woven parchment, disturbing neither its shape nor the words yet to come.
"...Judgement."
Silence settled.
For several breaths, nothing happened.
Then pale haze bled across the scroll, gathering line by line until a single word stood alone at its centre.
Winter.
The figure remained motionless.
"Reasoning."
The word dissolved. The mist shifted, corrected itself, and wrote again.
Article. Death.
The figure inclined the scroll ever so slightly.
"A life was taken..."
The words lingered beneath the rain.
"...Article. Death."
A quiet Yes appeared beneath the judgement.
The figure lowered its hand.
The matter was settled.
Only then did it turn toward the woman beneath the tree.
Compared with the man, her body had suffered less. Deep wounds marked her clothes and skin, but only her head was gone. Even stiffened by death, her arms still cradled the child, as though some final instinct had refused to release him.
Once more, the skeletal hand rose.
Again, the mist answered.
It gathered into the same open scroll, unchanged in every detail, until it hung above the exposed bones.
The hand lowered toward the woman's body.
"...Judgement."
Silence followed.
This time, it did not last.
Pale mist bled across the parchment almost at once, gathering into a single word.
Winter.
The figure remained still.
"Reasoning."
The verdict dissolved.
The mist shifted, erased itself, then patiently wrote again.
Article. Betrayal.
The hollow voice gave a quiet hum.
"I understand."
The scroll unravelled into drifting vapour.
Only then did the figure turn toward the child.
The infant had quieted to faint, broken whimpers. Frost and rain had stolen almost every sound from him, and even his tears vanished before they could reach his chin. The rain served one mercy at least: it washed his mother's blood from his skin.
For the first time, the figure hesitated.
"I cannot judge you..."
The hollow words lingered beneath the rain.
"Not until you pass."
The child answered with another frail breath, so faint it might have been mistaken for the whisper of falling rain.
The figure inclined its head.
"Understood."
Its skeletal hand lowered slightly.
"I will remain until it is over."
It knelt beside the woman's body.
For a long moment, it simply looked at the arms that refused to surrender the child, even in death.
Only then did the figure reach forward.
The bones of its fingers were hard and sharp, yet they moved with an awkward care that did not belong to them. One by one, they gently loosened the woman's stiffened embrace until the infant rested against the black robe.
The figure wrapped a torn fold of its tattered cloak around the child's small body.
It would not save him.
At best, it would steal a few more breaths from the cold.
The figure looked down with eyes that did not exist.
Even so near death, the boy possessed a fragile beauty. Wisps of silver hair clung to his head, damp with rain, while pale white eyes, almost the colour of the surrounding mist, still held the faintest trace of life.
"Unfair, perhaps..." the figure murmured.
It watched the child in silence before speaking again.
"To end here, like this... born to such complicated, caring parents."
The infant offered no reply.
Nor had one been expected.
Instead, tiny swollen fingers reached weakly from beneath the black cloth and closed around a fold of the tattered robe.
The figure remained perfectly still.
"Even now..."
The hollow voice softened, carrying something it had not possessed before.
Something almost like wonder.
"You still fight."
The rain continued to fall.
Then the moment came.
The child's fingers slowly slipped from the worn fabric.
His breathing grew still.
For a long moment, nothing seemed to change.
Then the tiny heartbeat beneath the black cloth faded into silence.
At last, the figure raised its left hand and extended a single sharpened finger toward the child's forehead.
"...Judgement."
The fingertip darkened—not with shadow, but with something older, heavier, as though a verdict had gathered there long before it was spoken.
The figure waited.
Nothing came.
No scroll answered.
No word appeared.
Only silence.
Slowly, the sharpened fingertip came to rest against the child's brow.
"Reasoning."
The world answered.
A child laughed.
Warm sunlight spilled across silver hair untouched by rain.
The same woman smiled, younger now, glancing behind her as though afraid someone had followed.
Another man stood nearby, trapped before a choice no soul should ever have been forced to make.
The visions vanished.
"...No."
The hollow voice had become almost a whisper.
"That was not his choice."
The world answered again.
Tiny hands stained with blood too small to understand.
A door left open.
Footsteps that did not belong to him.
Decisions made by others.
Consequences falling toward a child who had not yet learned his own name.
"...You would place this upon him?"
The rain seemed to grow quieter.
"Were we not the ones who—"
Another vision tore through the silence.
The figure recoiled—not in fear, but as understanding arrived before mercy could.
"This is... unjust."
The words barely rose above the rain.
"He is only an infant."
Before another protest could follow, the world answered one final time.
Light burst across the mist.
Everything became still.
The visions faded.
The rain returned.
For a long while, the figure did not move.
Then, slowly, its hand fell away from the child's forehead.
"I... understand..."
A longer silence followed before the figure spoke again.
"Noir."
Nothing answered.
Then a black raven emerged from the mist and settled upon the figure's shoulder without the sound of beating wings.
Its feathers were darker than the storm itself, drinking in what little light remained. When it folded its wings, drops of black liquid slipped from the feathers, dissolving into vapour before they could touch the earth.
The figure did not look toward it.
"Deliver... the man... and woman."
The raven cawed once.
It sprang from the shoulder and landed upon the man's back.
With a single peck, its beak passed effortlessly through steel, flesh, and bone, leaving behind only a wound no larger than its own bill.
From within the opening, a black orb slowly emerged.
It trembled.
As though reluctant to leave.
Noir caught it gently in its beak and swallowed it whole.
Without hesitation, it crossed to the woman.
Again, a single peck.
Again, the small black orb rose from the wound.
Again, Noir swallowed it.
The raven returned to the figure's shoulder.
For a long moment, neither moved.
Then Noir lowered its head toward the child.
A single caw broke the silence.
The figure answered only after a pause.
"No..."
Another silence.
"Not the child."
Noir called again, sharper this time.
The figure looked down at the infant sleeping against the tattered robe.
"It... would be unjust."
The raven fell silent.
Slowly, the figure rose to its full height, never disturbing the child nestled within the folds of black cloth.
Once more, its left hand lifted.
This time, a crimson scroll appeared within its grasp.
Unlike the mist-born scroll of Judgment, this one possessed weight.
The rain struck its surface.
It did not pass through.
For a single heartbeat, the scroll remained untouched.
Then black fire bloomed from both ends.
The flames made no sound.
They consumed the parchment with patient certainty, curling it inward until nothing remained but drifting ash.
The fragments settled upon the blood-soaked grass before vanishing into the rain.
Silence returned.
Several moments passed.
Then something moved within the mist.
Not far to the figure's left.
Large.
Slow.
Ancient.
An elk stepped into view.
Yet no ordinary creature could have carried such grace.
Snow-white fur shimmered beneath the rain, each droplet clinging to it like scattered crystal instead of water. Copper antlers rose above its head in branching crowns, adorned with golden leaves and silver blossoms shaped like roses. Gentle blue eyes, deep as the open sea, regarded the world with quiet kindness.
Wherever its hooves touched the earth, roses bloomed through blood and mud alike.
The elk approached without haste.
It did not disturb the silence.
It simply became part of it.
"Grom."
Its voice was gentle enough to soften the storm itself.
"This is unexpected. You never call for me. Has something happened?"
"I... require... a favour... Enet."
Their voices could not have been more different.
Enet's carried the warmth of a mother soothing a frightened child, every word effortless and alive.
Grom's seemed assembled rather than spoken, a hollow sound dragged through stone and old bones, ending beneath the weight of a distant growl.
"A favour?"
She smiled—not with amusement, but quiet curiosity.
"From you?"
Her gaze softened.
"That is rare."
She took another step.
"Tell me what you need."
Grom remained motionless.
For several long moments, only the rain moved.
Then, with a care that seemed almost painful, he drew the tiny body from within the folds of his robe.
The child rested in skeletal hands far too sharp to hold something so small.
Yet they never trembled.
Grom extended him toward Enet.
"Please..."
The single word scarcely rose above the rain.
"Bring him... back."
For the first time since her arrival...
Enet faltered.
It lasted only a heartbeat.
Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly before the familiar calm returned, but something had changed.
Even the rain seemed quieter between them.
"Grom..."
Her voice was softer now.
"You understand what you are asking of me."
"...Yes."
"You understand what my answer must be."
"...Yes."
Silence settled once more.
Rain struck copper antlers.
It ran from silver blossoms.
It dripped from the edge of Grom's empty hood.
Neither spoke.
At last, Enet broke the silence.
"And still..."
Her voice had become almost a whisper.
"You would ask again?"
Grom did not answer.
Instead...
Slowly...
He lowered himself onto one knee.
Mud yielded beneath the weight of ancient bones.
With both hands, he lifted the child high above his hooded head.
Not as an offering.
As a plea.
"...Yes."
For the first time since arriving, Enet hesitated.
The being kneeling before her was meant to be her equal and her opposite. One of the few existences created to stand apart from mortal life.
Grom did not grieve.
He did not hope.
He judged.
He delivered.
Nothing more.
Yet he knelt in the mud, cradling a dead child as though refusing him would be the greater sin.
"Tell me, Grom."
Her voice remained gentle, though something beneath it had begun to waver.
"Why are you doing this?"
Grom did not answer immediately.
Rain slipped from the edge of his empty hood.
At last...
"I... want to give him... a chance."
"A chance at what?"
"Living."
Enet drew a slow breath.
Warmth drifted from her lips, and for a heartbeat the rain nearest her dissolved into pale mist.
"Why this child?"
Her eyes never left the tiny body resting in Grom's hands.
"Of all the souls you have judged... of every life you have delivered..."
A pause.
"Why him?"
Silence answered.
Even Noir became still.
At last...
"This child..."
Grom's voice dragged through the rain.
"...will go to Black Winter."
Everything changed.
Enet's composure cracked.
It lasted only an instant.
Yet the roses blooming beneath her hooves trembled as though the earth itself had heard.
"...No."
The word escaped before she could stop it.
"He is only..."
"Six months... old."
Another silence.
"Then..."
Her voice faltered.
"There must be a mistake."
Grom slowly lifted his hood toward her.
Though no eyes looked back, she felt his gaze all the same.
"This was..."
A pause.
"...the judgement..."
Another.
"...He gave."
Enet took an involuntary step backward.
She caught herself almost immediately.
Too late.
The movement had already betrayed her.
Warm breath escaped her once more, drifting over the child still held between them.
"Grom..."
Her voice had grown quiet.
"You know what you're asking."
"Yes."
"To do this would betray every law we were created to uphold."
"...Yes."
"If He discovers it..."
She did not finish.
She didn't need to.
"...Yes."
Enet closed her eyes.
The rain continued to fall.
When she finally spoke...
It was almost too soft to hear.
"And still..."
She opened her eyes.
"You would ask me?"
Grom never lowered the child.
"...Yes."
The word lingered between them, impossibly small beneath the endless rain.
Neither moved.
At last...
Enet smiled.
Not with happiness.
With surrender.
"Fine."
Grom looked up.
Noir did the same.
Even the raven remained perfectly still, its black eyes fixed upon Enet as though it, too, had never expected her answer.
Though Grom possessed no face, the sudden lift of his hood betrayed him all the same.
"You... will help... me?"
"Yes."
For a long moment...
Only the rain answered.
At last...
"...Why?"
Enet tilted her head.
There was sadness in the gesture.
Patience, too.
"Why ask that?"
A faint smile touched her voice.
"I have already said yes."
"Let that be enough."
Grom lowered his hood.
"Thank you..."
"Do not thank me yet."
Enet stepped closer.
Roses bent beneath her hooves.
"There will be three conditions."
"Name... them."
Her gaze settled upon the child.
"First..."
"You will never see him again."
"Not in this life."
"Not in any life that follows."
Rain filled the silence.
"Second..."
"When his life ends again..."
"You will not deliver him."
Noir shifted uneasily upon Grom's shoulder.
Enet looked back into the darkness beneath the empty hood.
"Third..."
She waited.
"You must name him."
Grom's fingers tightened around the tiny robe.
Noir gave a low, uneasy caw.
"...But..."
"...that means..."
"Exactly what you think."
Silence.
"You..."
"...would curse me..."
"...like that?"
Enet never looked away.
"You understand this better than anyone."
"Nothing in this world comes without consequence."
Grom bowed his hood.
Rain slipped from the torn cloth and disappeared into the dead grass below.
The pause did not last long.
"As… you wish…"
Once Grom accepted her terms, Enet turned her gaze toward the child.
For a long moment, she simply looked at him, committing the stillness of his tiny body to memory.
Then she lowered her muzzle until it rested gently against his chest.
Warmth passed from her into him.
It was quiet at first, almost invisible beneath the rain, but the air around the child softened. His fingers twitched. His lips parted. Then, with a fragile gasp that sounded too small for the miracle it announced, the child returned to life.
The child's cry arrived a beat late, fragile and astonished, not drowned but knitting with the storm, as if reality had stumbled and birthed a narrow, impossible thing. Noir lifted from Grom's shoulder and settled on his arm, close enough for the child to see. The boy blinked at the raven, then reached toward one black claw with the clumsy certainty of an infant discovering the world for the first time.
The raven lowered its head, allowing the tiny fingers to brush one black claw.
Grom rose slowly, still cradling him as if any sudden movement might undo what had just been granted. Only then did he notice the change.
"His… eyes…" Grom paused, the hollow growl of his voice thinning. "And hair. They have changed."
The child's eyes now shone a vivid gold, bright with new life, while the faint silver down on his head had darkened to black, soft and deep as Noir's feathers.
Enet lowered her gaze, and the warmth in her voice dimmed by a shade.
"A side effect," she said after an agonising second. "I am afraid neither of us could have prevented it."
Grom gave a small nod. Whether in acceptance or resignation, even Enet could not tell.
"Blanc."
Like Noir before it, a bird appeared from nowhere.
A white dove settled into the rainlight, its feathers glowing faintly, soft as a firefly against a midnight sky.
Grom tore another strip from his robe and wrapped it around the child with awkward care, securing the cloth without pressing too tightly against the fragile body. When he was certain the boy would not slip, he lifted him toward the dove.
Blanc took the edge of the robe in its pale beak. The child rose with it, swaddled in darkness beneath wings of light. Grom summoned another scroll into his left hand, and a quill appeared between the bones of his right.
He wrote slowly.
The quill paused often.
Never from uncertainty.
Only from care.
As the quill reached the bottom of the scroll, Grom hesitated slightly. When he finished, he rolled the scroll with care and tucked it deep within the folds of cloth beside the child, hidden from rain and sight alike.
"Blanc…" Grom said, his voice quieter now. "Find the child… a family that needs him. Hide until He creates a new world… and when the time is right… deliver him."
Blanc inclined its head.
Without a sound, the dove climbed into the storm, carrying the child beneath wings of gentle light.
Grom watched.
He never reached after him.
Higher and higher the dove climbed until both bird and child vanished into the waiting mist.
Still...
Grom watched.
Only when there was nothing left to see did Enet step beside him.
"So..."
Her voice was barely louder than the rain.
"What did you name him?"
Silence answered first.
Grom kept his hood turned toward the empty sky, as though the name still travelled with the child and he feared calling it back too soon.
At last...
"...Cur."
The rain continued to fall.
"His name... is Cur."