Title: Children of Winter
In a bitter winter, where the earth groans under the weight of ice and the clouds veil the cold face of the moon, a young woman stops before the old orphanage of Glenford, gazing at the hand-carved sign. She heads toward the gate, silence filling the place except for the sound of her breath as she pants from running. Suddenly, she hears the footsteps of soldiers searching nearby. She drops what she carries and runs into the emptiness of the forest without looking back.
Such incidents often occur in our kingdom, especially during this period. This one took place in the heart of the countryside of Eldra, in the miserable village of Glenford, caught in the struggle between two kingdoms. The fate of its people is no different from that of other sorrowful villages.
That night, snowflakes danced in the air like wandering ghosts, the wind howled like hungry wolves, and nothing remained but frost embracing the deserted streets.
At dawn, one of the orphanage caretakers stepped outside and found small bodies trembling under a worn blanket at the doorstep. She gazed at the two children lying together in a single basket, shivering from the cold. Frowning, she whispered: "Do people now race to leave their children here?"
Just a week earlier, another child had been left, and the week before that as well. Their condition was no different from the others—abandoned to the cruelty of mothers and the harshness of winter. Yet this time, hidden within their blanket were two beautiful necklaces, proof that they were not the children of thieves. Life still painted innocence upon their faces. Kneeling, she gathered them into her arms.
She was not merely a caretaker, but a mother in her own way—Miss Marlene, marked by the wrinkles of motherhood. For years she had raised the children of the orphanage, guiding them from infancy to youth. Generations passed under her care, and she became known as the one who raised the children of ice, naming them, clothing them, and sheltering them with unwavering devotion.
She named the older boy Karl, and his sister Elena, for they reminded her of the children she had lost in the war. The other child, about their age, she called the Raven Boy, for on the night of his arrival—before Karl and Elena—she had seen him under the red sky, while the cries of neighboring villages echoed from the war. His name became Edric.
Years passed, and those little ones who had been sheltered by the orphanage grew, yet the innocence they were born with never left them. They were like winter blossoms, blooming despite the harsh cold, carrying a purity that no wind could scatter.
Karl, at fourteen, was a boy with silver hair that fell softly over his shoulders, like moonlight dancing upon water. His wide gray eyes shone gently, and he was always smiling. His voice was calm, like a cool morning breeze, and his heart carried a kindness that no one could miss.
Beside him was Elena, his twelve-year-old sister, a reflection of his features but more cheerful. She followed his steps wherever he went, laughing at the smallest things, spreading warmth in the hearts of those around her.
Edric, their friend who had become like a brother, was Karl's age. His hair was black as raven wings, and his blue eyes were clear as the sky after rain. He was the most energetic among them, filling the orphanage with mischief, yet his heart was brave.
In the halls of the old orphanage, their voices filled the air—innocent laughter and small dreams woven together. They did not know where they had come from, nor why that unknown mother had left them at the doorstep on a cold night. But in their hearts, they carried nothing but love for one another, as if the whole world had been reduced to their friendship, as if the storm that had brought them here carried only the warmth they found in each other.
They shared their days, with joy and sorrow alike. Yet childhood could not last forever. At fourteen, Karl and Edric found themselves facing a decision they had always wished for, though it had long been reserved for the wealthy and powerful. At last, they had a chance to apply.
The Royal Academy of Knights—amid the diplomatic troubles that threatened to ignite war, the new king was forced to recruit talented youth from all classes of society.
After the king seized the throne from his predecessor—who was overthrown and imprisoned in the royal dungeon nine years ago—the war should have ended. Yet, through the neglect of the current king and the corruption of his ministers, the conflict returned with greater force. They even lost their allies, such as the Kingdom of Arigos, which turned from friend to foe.
On a summer day in the village, Marlene asked Karl and Edric to go down to the market and bring some food for lunch. There, they saw the villagers gathering in the announcement square. A message sealed in red wax, bearing the emblem of the Royal Academy of Knights, had arrived from the emperor. It invited the youth to join the ranks of trainees, to become knights who would carry the sword of honor and protect the land. It was a rare chance, offered only to those who passed the trials, and the summons required them to appear exactly three weeks later—on the date of April 30, 567.
Karl looked at the posted notice, his gray eyes reflecting a deep excitement. He had always dreamed of a life full of adventure, as promised by old Martha, the caretaker who had planted the seed of courage and battle in the hearts of Karl, Edric, Elena, and the other children of the orphanage.
Martha once had a son who was a knight. He left behind some booklets about swordplay and archery, but he went to war and never returned. For this reason, she saw hope in the children. Yet time had its own will, and Martha passed away the previous year. Karl and Edric had taken it upon themselves to fulfill her wish—and now their chance had come.
Edric, too, was eager. His blue eyes shone with excitement, seeing in this opportunity a door to a new world, far from the cold walls of the orphanage.
But they had to prepare immediately. There was no time even for farewells.
That night, all the children of the orphanage sat together at the dinner table, before bowls that were nearly empty. A silence fell among them, until Elena spoke softly:
"If you go… will you come back?"
Her words were directed at her brother and his friend. Neither of them had an answer. Their eyes carried a mixture of sorrow for the coming separation and acceptance of the reality before them.
Deep inside, they knew this night might be the last one they shared as children, and that tomorrow would bring a path they had never walked before… a path that could change their fate forever.
The decision was not easy, but it had already been made. Since the arrival of the summons from the Royal Academy of Knights, everything had changed. Each day carried new meaning, each moment became more precious than before.
Karl and Edric began their preparations for departure, practicing the simple knightly skills they had learned at the orphanage, gathering their few belongings, and imagining how life in the capital would be.
Edric said to Karl: "Tomorrow I will crush the nobles and end these troubles between the kingdoms."
Karl replied: "I will become commander of the army and rise to the highest ranks."
Elena, meanwhile, hid her sorrow behind her usual smile, though she could never deceive her brother. One night, she sat beside him in the orphanage's small garden, gently placing her hand on his. She whispered:
"I will follow you next year. I will study… so don't go too far. Wait for me."
Karl looked at her, his smile calm yet warm, and said:
"I know you will be even better than us at the Academy. So you must give your best to earn a scholarship and join us."
Then he softly patted her head. He knew she would keep her promise.
Marianne, the teacher and caretaker, was a woman in her late forties, with a steady posture despite the years weighing on her shoulders. Her face was calm, with delicate features and skin pale from years of work and fatigue. There was always something in her gaze that brought comfort—a blend of kindness and wisdom. Her deep brown eyes had watched over them since childhood. Though she loved all the children of the orphanage, Karl, Elena, and Edric were closest to her heart.
That did not stop her from worrying about them, as any mother would. She could not hide her sadness. To her, they were her own children, and the thought of their departure weighed heavily on her heart. Day after day, she watched them pack their few belongings, never forgetting the only keepsakes that tied them to their real families—the old necklaces with golden embroidery. She smiled at them, but secretly wiped away her tears whenever they left the room. On the final day, when they stood before her in their simple clothes, bags on their backs, she embraced them tightly and whispered with a trembling voice:
"Be brave."
For their last farewell, they decided to spend the day outside the orphanage walls, as if they wanted to create a memory that would never fade. Under a clear blue sky, they went to the riverbank nearby, where the grass shone green under the sunlight and the water reflected their faces like a pure mirror. They sat there, eating the meal Marianne had prepared—warm bread, some cheese, and fresh apples—laughing and recalling their small adventures in the orphanage, as if they wanted to store every moment in their hearts before parting.
When the sun began to lean toward the horizon, the time had come. They returned to the orphanage with slow steps, as though their feet refused to leave the place that had witnessed their childhood. At the gate, where they had once been left on a freezing winter night, they stood for a moment, gazing at the old building that had once been their entire world.
Then, as the clock struck, the carriage arrived to take them toward the capital—toward an unknown future.