The river was far too rough, as if something inside it had awakened violently and was now dragging everything in its path without any intention of stopping.
The boy struggled to stay afloat, moving his arms desperately, trying to swim without technique, without enough strength, only with the primitive instinct of not drowning.
Every time he managed to lift his head above the water, he could barely take a gulp of air before the current pulled him under again, as if the river itself rejected him, as if it wanted to devour him.
The water struck his face, entered his nose and mouth, making him cough, making him lose the rhythm of his movements.
Beneath him, the riverbed stones rushed past at high speed, scraping his body, scratching his skin.
More than once he felt one nearly strike his head directly, and that simple thought filled him with an even deeper fear. He had no control, no direction, nothing.
In the midst of that chaos, his eyes caught sight of something. A few meters away, in the distance, an enormous tree trunk floated adrift, slowly spinning, carried by the same current that was destroying him.
For a second, the idea appeared in his mind to reach it, to use it as support, as a chance to survive. But the river gave him no time to think too much.
The boy tried to swim toward the surface once more, gathering the little strength he had left. He lifted his head with difficulty, gasping, desperately seeking air… and it was in that precise instant that the trunk struck him.
The impact was dry, brutal.
There was no time to react. No time to understand what was happening. His entire world went dark in an instant, like a candle blown out by the wind.
His body went completely limp, letting itself be carried by the current while his mind fell into absolute darkness.
The river continued its course.
When he awoke, pain was the first thing he felt.
It was not a mild or bearable pain, but an intense pressure that seemed to pierce his skull from within.
It was as if something throbbed violently in his head, reminding him every second that he was still alive. He opened his eyes slowly, with difficulty, as if even that simple movement cost him enormous effort.
Instinctively, he brought his hand to his head, trying to understand what had happened.
Upon touching it, he felt something wet and thick. When he lowered his gaze, he saw his hand stained with blood. It was not a little. The wound had been deep, and though he couldn't see it clearly, the sensation was enough to know that something had broken.
He breathed with difficulty, trying to stay conscious.
Then he looked around.
The landscape had changed completely.
He was no longer in the verdant forest he knew. There were no longer trees covered in leaves nor damp dark earth ground.
Everything he saw now was white. A pure, cold, almost unreal white. The ground was covered in snow, stretching as far as the eye could see, and the trees, bare and pale, looked like sculptures frozen in time.
He had arrived in a completely different place.
The air was icy, so cold it burned his skin when he breathed. Every breath hurt his lungs, and his already weakened body began to tremble uncontrollably.
It was a silent, constant cold that did not attack suddenly, but seeped in slowly, numbing everything in its path.
He tried to sit up from the riverbank, supporting his hands in the snow.
But as soon as he tried, his body did not respond as expected. A sharp pain shot through his leg, forcing him to stop immediately. He lowered his gaze, and though he didn't need to confirm it, he understood.
His leg was broken.
The memory of the armored knight flashed through his mind for an instant, like an uncomfortable flicker he preferred to forget. Not only his leg… one of his arms was also useless, barely able to move without causing unbearable pain.
He remained still for a few seconds, breathing with difficulty, feeling the weight of his situation fall upon him.
The cold, at least, had numbed part of the pain. It didn't eliminate it, but it made it more bearable, as if his body were slowly being anesthetized by the environment.
Even so, the suffering remained, constant, accompanying him in every attempt to move.
He couldn't stay there.
With effort, he tried again.
He sat up slowly, supporting himself as best he could, letting out a low moan that was lost in the silence of the place. His body trembled, not only from the cold but from the extreme exhaustion to which he had been subjected. Every movement was a struggle.
He advanced limping, dragging his injured leg, leaving an irregular mark on the snow. A few steps away, he found a piece of wood lying on the ground, probably dragged by the river or detached from some nearby tree. He picked it up with difficulty and used it as support, improvising a staff that allowed him to stay upright.
It wasn't much, but it was enough.
His clothes were torn, ripped in several places, wet from the river water.
The cold seeped through the fabric without resistance, embracing his body with cruel calm. His teeth chattered, and his hands could barely hold the piece of wood without trembling.
Even so, he advanced.
The trees surrounding the river seemed to form a natural path, a kind of trail that stretched toward enormous pointed mountains in the distance.
They were imposing, covered in snow, as if marking the boundary of that unknown world into which he had fallen.
Without realizing it, he was far from everything he knew.
He walked for hours.
Time lost meaning as he advanced slowly, step by step, fighting against his own body.
His stomach growled fiercely, empty for far too long. He had no food, nothing. His only source of relief was the river water, which he drank occasionally, though even that was difficult for him.
The sky began to darken little by little.
Night fell upon him without warning, covering the landscape with a shadow even colder than the snow itself.
The world grew quieter, more still. Even the sound of the river seemed to have faded, as if respecting the arrival of darkness.
He knew he couldn't keep walking.
He needed to stop.
With what little he had, he gathered some pieces of wood scattered on the ground.
His clumsy, numb hands barely managed to hold them, but after several attempts, he managed to form a small bonfire.
The fire took time to light, but when it did, a faint orange light broke the monotony of white and black that surrounded him.
He sat close, extending his hands toward the heat.
It wasn't enough to truly warm him, but at least it gave him a feeling of relief.
His eyelids began to grow heavy, and the exhaustion, accumulated over hours, began to drag him slowly toward sleep.
He was about to surrender to it when he heard it.
A sound.
Distant, but clear.
His eyes snapped open.
It wasn't the wind. It wasn't the river. It was something else. Something moving. Something approaching.
His body tensed instantly.
Fear returned with brutal force, stabbing into his chest. He remained completely still, watching the darkness beyond the bonfire, trying to distinguish something among the shadows.
And then he saw it.
A silhouette.
At first it was barely a blurry shape, but as it approached, it began to take human form. A man walked toward him, unhurried, as if that place posed no danger to him.
The boy froze.
He couldn't run. He couldn't defend himself. He could only wait.
The man finally reached the bonfire and, without saying a word, sat down in front of him.
The firelight partially illuminated his face, revealing a young man with a calm appearance, red eyes reflecting the flames and dark hair falling messily.
He wore thick clothing, perfectly prepared for the extreme cold. Black gloves fitted tightly covered his hands, and his posture was relaxed, as if all of this were completely normal for him.
For a few seconds, neither spoke.
The silence grew heavy, charged with a tension difficult to describe.
Finally, the young man moved one of his hands toward the bag he carried on his back. The boy reacted slightly, bracing for the worst, but he had no strength left to do anything more.
The young man pulled out a thick sack and, without looking directly at him, tossed it toward him.
The object fell at his feet.
The boy hesitated.
He didn't know who this man was. He didn't know what he wanted. But the cold gave him no room to distrust too much.
He took the sack and put it on clumsily, immediately feeling how warmth began to accumulate inside.
It was… comforting.
Even so, he said nothing.
He remained watching him in silence, tense, alert, like a wounded animal that doesn't know whether to trust or attack.
But his body could take no more.
Slowly, almost without realizing it, he moved a little closer to the young man, seeking the warmth that radiated from his presence, seeking something he hadn't felt in a long time.
Closeness.
In the midst of that cold and desolate place, that simple action seemed the only thing keeping him connected to life.