Soren
Soren leaned against the rotting door of his shack, his breath coming in shallow, desperate rattles. He looked at his lantern. The violet light was pulsing aggressively now, bleeding out onto the floorboards like an oil spill. It was heavy. It felt like he was carrying a lead weight inside his chest.
"I can't... I can't breathe, Pip," he wheezed.
He looked at the Great Stair in the distance. He needed the 'Lung-Clear' tonic they sold in the Terrences, but he knew he'd never make it past the Wardens with a lantern that screamed sickness.
With a trembling hand, Soren did the unthinkable. He unhooked the lantern from his belt and set it down on his sleeping mat.
The moment the metal left his hand, he gasped. A coldness, sharper than any winter wind, surged through his limbs. It felt like his heart had stayed behind in the glass casing. He felt hollow.
"Stay," he whispered to the fox, his voice barely audible. "Keep it... keep it warm for me."
Fox whined sadly, nipping at Soren's trousers as if to drag him back. But he stepped out into the snow, leaving behind his lantern in the fox's fur.
However, he was not prepared for the climb. It was a nightmare. The air burned his lungs with every ragged breath. He had sold his only windbreaker for a loaf of bread. A very foolish move, he realized.
Halfway up the Great Stair, the heavy thud of boots echoed from above. A group of Mid-Tier merchants were descending, their amber lanterns swinging brightly.
Soren froze. If they saw him without a lantern, they'd call for the Wardens. He scrambled behind a massive stone pillar that braced the staircase against the cliff, pressing his back into the freezing, moss-covered rock. He held his breath as the merchants passed just inches away.
"Did you feel that?" one merchant asked, pausing. "A chill. Like the river mist is rising."
"Just the wind, Elias. Move on," the other replied.
Soren waited until their light faded before he continued. Slowly, he resumed his slow trek up the stairs. He reached the Mid-Tier plaza, but the level ground felt like a mountain.
He passed a bakery where the scent of warm bread almost made him faint. A woman stepped out to sweep her stoop that had been buried in snow, and Soren had to duck behind a decorative pillar. He watched her, a person with a full, bright lantern and a warm coat, carrying a piece of bread in her mouth. Soren felt a sharp pang in his stomach. He was so hungry.
He moved again, his vision tunnelling. The lemon-yellow sign of the apothecary appeared through the falling snow like a lighthouse.
Almost there. Just a few more steps.
By the time he reached the porch of Mrs. Gable's shop, his strength was gone. He reached for the brass handle, his fingers slipping against the cold metal, and collapsed. His head hit the wood with a dull thud, and he fell unconscious.