What does the word 'despair' mean to man? Is it the complete absence of hope or the overwhelming feeling of utter defeat? For Norvin, despair wasn't a feeling; it was a physical force, a black sea of suffering that had consumed him. It wasn't just the absence of hope, but the absence of air, as if every ounce of life had been sucked from his lungs. The war had stained the very water he was drowning in with the blood of his family, and he was sinking deeper with every passing second.
Each desperate, frantic stroke he made to reach the surface only propelled him further into the abyssal darkness. The pressure crushed him, silencing his screams and stealing his sight until there was nothing left but the gnawing cold and the horrifying knowledge that he would never breathe again. He was a shattered soul submerged in a watery grave of his own grief.
Norvin's eyes fluttered open, his mind blank. It took a single second for the world to come into focus, and what he saw stole his breath: the splayed carcass of a human, its innards spilled across the muddy ground. He recoiled, scrambling from the mud and staggering to his feet in a single, panicked motion, reeling from the sight he saw.
He took in his surroundings, realizing the river had cast him up on its shore with no idea of how far away he was from Northwood. His body ached, covered in wounds; he must have slammed into countless rocks while drifting. But the grim scene didn't stop with him. Farther along the riverbed lay the bodies of more victims. He saw the golden and purple armour of fallen knights and mages lying beside the commoners who had been dragged into a war they didn't choose, all for the amusement of those who remained safe within their castle walls, enjoying their lives.
His heart was just beginning to calm down when an aggressive uproar from behind, so loud it must have been audible for miles, made it leap once more. The force of the gust of wind from the roar threw him forward, sending him rolling through the blood-drenched mud and over the carcasses. He scrambled to a wobbly stand, clutching his chest as his heart pounded like a drum.
He looked up and was amazed by what he saw. A dragon stood before him, its scales white and red and harder than steel, its teeth sharper than any blade. Its wingspan was easily fifteen feet on each side, and its height was over twenty. It was an astonishing creature. The dragon began to run toward him on all fours, its heavy strides shaking the ground and making Norvin stumble. But the beast didn't even seem to notice him. With a single, powerful beat of its wings, it leaped into the sky, it's rider shouting from its back, "Charge forward!"
As the dragon soared miles high, Norvin noticed dozens of other dragons in the sky, all killing each other. Each one was cloaked with the emblem of the Broken Crown or the Everburning Torch. Humanity had successfully made dragons, such majestic creatures, victims of its own true nature- war and hatred.
It was Norvin's first time seeing a dragon with his own eyes, let alone so many. He had only ever heard of them in his late mother's lullabies, believing they were nothing more than bedtime stories.
A wave of profound, aching sadness washed over him, a feeling far deeper than the fear of battle. It was the crushing weight of a child's shattered innocence. "Mother," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Why didn't you take me with you? I shouldn't be alive. I should have died, too." A torrent of tears streamed down his face, a raw and agonizing cry for a life that was stolen, and for a world that offered only sorrow. "Yara... is she with you, mother?" he sobbed, his body shaking with the grief he had so long held back. He was just a boy, and in that moment, seeing the majestic beasts of his childhood stories turned into instruments of war, the brutal reality of his broken world finally overwhelmed him.
An explosion on the ground made Norvin's gaze snap downward, momentarily ignoring the vibrant battle in the sky. He saw dozens of figures in armour fighting on the ground, each strike so powerful that he knew a stray blow could end his life. He began to falter away, turning to run from the battlefield. As he sprinted along the river, he noticed smoke rising from within the forest. Changing direction, he bolted toward the smoke, which led him to an unexpected view; a camp belonging to the knights of the Roric Kingdom.
Norvin paused to catch his breath before deciding to enter the camp, hoping to find something to fill his stomach after what felt like an eternity without food. Dozens of large tents were scattered everywhere, many filled with injured soldiers in a grim state, and nurses desperately trying to heal them , "Regenerar leigheas".
No one paid attention to a small boy slipping inside. They were too preoccupied with the war raging just a few miles away, at the border of the Roric and Kvothe Kingdoms.
Norvin sat alone in the corner of the weapons tent, his mind drifting to his sister. Was she even alive, or had she met the same fate as his parents? Tears traced paths down his cheeks as he tried to whisper their names, a broken plea repeating over and over: "Yara, mother, father, grandpa... why did you leave me alone?" His voice was a gut-wrenching, choked whisper, each name a painful struggle as his throat burned from the hours of crying. He couldn't even say their names properly anymore, only force out a choked, half-audible sound that broke his own heart.
Soon, a loud horn blast echoed for miles, signalling the end of the day's battle. Within minutes, hundreds of soldiers, knights, and mages began to stream into the camp. Most were in a dire state, barely able to stand, and nurses rushed them into the infirmaries. As the sun set on the day's war and the moon rose high, everyone began to line up for supper. Norvin joined the queue, hoping for a share of the soup and bread.
After a long wait, Norvin finally reached the front, but the server gave him a doubtful look. With a raised eyebrow and a rude voice, he demanded, "What are you doing here, child?"
"To eat, Sir," Norvin replied.
"This food is only for the soldiers who have fought for our kingdom, laying down their lives each day," the server spat. "We have none to spare for the likes of you. Now get lost!" He kicked Norvin hard, sending him stumbling out of the queue.
None of the soldiers spoke up for Norvin, nor did anyone offer him their food. They simply stared as he found a spot by the fire to warm himself in the chilly night. As midnight approached, Norvin's stomach growled with hunger. He was all alone, sleeping outside under the stars while everyone else slept inside their tents. Yet, he made no wishes. He considered himself lucky they had even let him stay by the warmth of the fire.
Two days went by, and he still hadn't eaten. It wasn't for lack of trying. He couldn't simply steal from the cooks or the kitchen, as the luxury of his warm spot by the campfire would surely be taken away. He couldn't risk venturing out of the camp either, just to get killed in the ongoing war. He had begged the knights for scraps, but they had nothing to spare; their own rations were barely enough. Each day, he stood in line just like the others, but the server always turned him away without mercy.
That night, he lay by the dying embers of the fire, the cold seeping into his bones, with nothing but a growing hunger in his stomach. Norvin made a desperate choice—he would join the war at the next sunrise.