Chapter 1 - "White Winter's Touch"

The "winter" season arrived, painting the land with white blankets of snow, transforming everything it touched in a white color. The trees, that once were a colorful mix of leaves, now stood bare and withered, with branches reaching towards the cloudy gray sky, as if they were pointing at it. Even the houses had been coated in a thick later of snow, their roofs looking like frosted cake. The fields stretched very eye, beyond where the eye could see, with small residents working between them like obedient serfs for their feudal lords. The once fertile land now laid in a sea of dust and ash, scarred by years of neglect and exploitation, yet these people preserved. They worked tirelessly in the thick air, with the sour scent of a burned planet around them. Here, hope was scarce, but determination ran strong. Each step through the fields kicked up clouds of decay, it was a home of despair. Nearby, located where the children worked, several knights wandered the perimeters, keeping guard. Their armor glinted in the dying light, making them standout within the landscape. They surveyed the area with a piercing gaze. They collected the harvest with a demanding efficiency, leaving the exhausted laborers to double their efforts in order to survive the gray winter.

Finally, as the sun slowly began its slumber, turning the sky shades of orange and purple, the children worked on, determined to earn their pay, to make gain resource out of the harsh environment. Hours passed, their tired faces grew desperate, stained with sweat and dirt, their flushed red cheeks showing increasing exhaustion, while sunken eyes falling heavy. Some bents low to the ground, their fingers digging into the ground, to collect any scraps of life that survived the killing and bitter frost. Others carried heavy buckets of water, drawn by distant wells, moving steady, navigating a terrain that was very uneven, an ironic obstacle that added to the difficulty. The unlucky ones had to spread manure as a means of fertilization, their noses wrinkling in distaste at the fumes. Finally, night came, and their jobs were finished. As the moon ascended into the sky, casting a glow on the landscape, the children headed back to their homes, to fuel up for tomorrow, another day of work — another long day of work for their feudal lords.

There was the village. The village was a collection of small, rundown houses, with roofs made of straw and walls of mud. The buildings were clustered together, almost squished together. There were the small fields, different from where people worked. It's surrounding the village, with lifeless, and plains of emptiness. Within the homes, would smell the smokey and wooden scent of the meat cooked by the commonly wandering animal. The sun, missing from the sky, the children were now returned to their makeshift homes, a pieced construction of materials. Some were lucky enough to have a small tent or shed to sleep in, but many returned to a lonely hut, barely big enough for one person, let alone a family. Inside, families gathered together to share a simple meal, exhausted from the day's work. Typically, they venture into the darkness with developed skills for acquiring food where meat was scarce. They knew which animals roamed in these lands, how to track them and set traps for them. With handmade weapons and stealthy movements, they hunted small creatures that could sustain their families for days.

For now, all was calm and peaceful as the residents recharged for another day ahead. Snow continued falling, floating down gently. Each one a unique and delicate pattern. It spread upon the village, covering the roofs and fields in a white layer. Shortly, the moon would say it's goodbyes, trading its spot with the sun. Which meant work time for everyone. Knights, left their homes and returned to their positions, with all-seeing eyes. The children, given their tasks in the fields to work diligently, and the adults, worked in the village. The group of children, their breath forming puffs of mist in the air, gathered around a patch of soil that awaited their attention. Today was freezing, so huddled together, their small silhouettes glowing, breaking over the horizon. It didn't take fast for them to become tired, but like always, they felt determined. Standing in the group was a girl with a short hairstyle, dressed in all white like the others. She blended in perfectly with the kids, with little differentiation. She would speak, breaking the silence, as they worked. "I hate winter… Other than the fact it's too cold, we work in this ugly field. In summer, these fields are always pretty."

Another child replied, her voice filled with sorrow, the sound of despair, her expression blank and empty, and her eyes devoid of hope. She continued, her voice quiet. "And then what becomes beyond of that time? Still working in this prison?" Her words echoed in the field, with a bitter tone.

The bitter cold seemed to leach onto their bones, chilling all of them from the inside out. The girl's words were bitter and lacking hope, but deep down, they knew she was speaking the truth. Yet she remained positive. "No." she whispered, almost to herself, but loud enough for the others to hear. "We won't be trapped here forever. One day, we'll break free from this cycle of endless struggle. We will find a way to change our fate." The child looked back at her, a sad, hopeless smile spreading on her face. She didn't believe in those words, but regardless, she found some joy. The children returned to their work, feeling the eyes of passing knights on them. They knew they had to stay quiet and focus on their tasks, as any noise or distraction could lead to punishment. But children remained children, they talked when they could, regarding rules. One of the children, with the same hair, and same clothing, would ask, "What do you think lies outside?" He asked, his voice above a whisper, but filled with excitement. The other children paused in their work once more, turned to look at him with curious expressions. One of them, a boy with dirt smeared across his cheek, grinned eagerly. "I heard there's a hidden valley with lush trees, and flowers lighting the sky!" he whispered bemusedly.

The girl's eyes widened in wonder as she leaned in closer. "Really? I heard monsters roamed, eating bad children!"

The children, together, exchanged tales of what lay beyond their village, painting a different picture of the world outside their confined existence, feeding their imaginations and fueling their desire for adventure. Some spoke of magical creatures, others of a paradise. Few of them, was nagging doubt, that these were fantasies to distract them from their reality. Though, despite that fact, it came down to "What If?". Such as, "What if they were free?". One boy said he would be a knight, a knight different from the ones that held them in prison, but a knight that fought against injustice. Another girl, shared she wanted to explore the world and see what it had to offer. Some, were so unaware of the outside, that these topics felt foreign, and unaware of what they could imagine.

Unaware to the children, there was something that fit into their imagination, a ghost was among them, invisible to their youthful eyes, drifting silently among them. It had a chilling presence residing in a cold draft. The presence gone unaware from the children, he didn't have any warmth coming off of him, no breath forming puffs in the air, eyes devoid of any spark or life, that gazed through others as if they were mere shadows passing through him. The ghost listened to the chattering, hovering near them as a silent observer, hearing their innocent fantasies. He longed to join in their conversations, to feel the warmth of laughter and engagement. But he was trapped in this ghostly state, unable to interact with the people, within the world of the living. He laid down, feeling the ground beneath him. It felt hard and cold, giving him no sensation of pleasure nor pain.

Suddenly, the knights that patrolled the village began to stir, creating a shift in the atmosphere. Their horses snorted nervously, picking up on the tense presence the knights caused. As the ghost lingered near the children, their playful chatter turned into hushed whispers. The fields became silent, minus the sound of snow crunching, as the children went back to work. The children wondered what could possibly be going on. They knew something was up, they became fearful of the worst, not knowing what the worst actually was. The ghost, feeling their unease, stood still, blending into the snow, lifelessly. One of the knights, a rough veteran with a sharp eye, controlled his horse forward towards the children. His gaze looked at them, clearly upset. With a groggy voice, he demanded. "You are to return to the village immediately, something has happened that requires the entire villages' presence."

The children exchanged worried glances at each other, their faces uncertain. Slowly, they gathered their tools and belongings, and began walking to the village, in a group. Even the girl, who had spoken of hope earlier, felt a tight knot form in her stomach. The ghost hovered near them, his eyes jumping around, looking at the world around him. While they walked, one would say, "What's going on? What's happening in our village?". It was a whisper, a thought that came of the trembling boy. He knew no one had the answer, but they all shared the same sense of unease. Now, the snow seemed to fall heavier now, swirling around them like a protective cloak that failed to shield them from the chill in the air, or the apprehension in their hearts. As they approached the village, they could see a crowd of people gathered in the central area, their faces tense. The knights stood in a circle, speaking in a hushed tones amongst themselves, their expressions grim. The children joined the outskirts of the crowd, trying to catch glimpses of what was happening. One of the children attempted to ask a nearby adult what was happening, but the response was only silencing shush.

The knights, seeing everyone was there would begin his announcement. As the knight cleared his throat, the crowd fell into silence, everyone's eyes staring at him with a burning curiousity and apprehension. He stoold tall and distinguished. His voice boomed across the area, carruing a weight that seemed pass over like a wind.

"Everyone, listen up." He began. "There has been a murder." Gasps rippled through the crowed as murmurs of shock spread like wildfire. The children didn't know what to think, their eyes were wide with alarm, and they stared into the knight. The ghost looked around at the shocked faces, trying to understand what was happening. Murder? He had heard of the term before, but it held little meaning to him. His gaze fell onto the hight who made the announcement, his eyes searching for a clue, to what it meant, and why it caused such distress.

As the crowd whispered among themselves once more, a woman stepped forward from the chaos. She was dressed in white clothing, and her face was filled with grief. The ghost floated closer, intrigued by her sorrow. "My son!" She cried out, "My son has been killed!"

He watched her fall into the arms of another villager for comfort before turning his attention back to the knight.

Everyone was concerned. Death was common, very common. The harsh climates, and harship of labor, caused many accidents. Yet murder was so rare that it shook the foundation of the village. The knight's voice cut through the tense air once more, commanding attention from all. "We will find the culprit responsible for this act." He declared, his gaze sweeping over the faces before him. Despite the biting cold and snowflakes that danced in the wind, the villagers stood rooted in place, their breaths visible in the air.

The ghost drifted closer to where the woman stood, her grief displaying in the way her shoulders trembled. She raised her tear filled eyes to the knight, pleading for justice for her lost on. It was a heart wrenching sight that sparked interest in the ghost. He questioned this raw emotion, displayed by the living.

As the villagers began to disperse, some looked at each other, suspiciously, accusing each other within their minds. They would go back to work, the knights weren't going to allow this situation to hold production any longer. Yet the people whispered in small groups, speculating about who did it. The children, innocently, worked. Their young faces, curious about what it all means, yet fearful of a potential killer still out there. They chatted among themselves, "I can't believe he's gone.." said one kid.

Another child chimed in, "Why do you think they would do such thing anyways?"

Meanwhile, the ghost was present to hear a very similar question. "He was such a kind soul… who would do this?" She sobbed softly, her words filled with agony and disbelief. The ghost listening to all, would think about it. What drove a soul to murder? He needed to know who had done this, and how murder had an affect. He would leave the area, and wander around the village. He traveled silently through the area, blending in with the snowflakes. As he explored, he went past the rustic cottages and voided alleys, oberserving the villagers as they talked anxiously amongst themselves. He noticed the group of knights gathered around a flickering lanter, their faces bored. Their voices were low, discussing the murder and the possible suspects while sharing their suspicions. The ghost lingered nearby, his curiousity pinched by the their conversation. The flicering light cast eerie shadows on the snow-covered ground that made the world seem grim. One of the knights, spoke, as if the work was tedious. "Its only a kid that died. There work isn't that valuable to the village."

Another knight spoke, "Pfft. You know how the peasents are. Always caught up within the insignificant." He scoffed. "But we have more pressing matters to attend to.". The ghost, unseen and unheard, absored the dry words of the knights. The lack of remorse didn't go unnoticed, he concluded that these knights viewed the death as

inconsequential, just another statistic in their harsh world. Deciding that these knights were of no help to his driven need to unravel the mystery, he continued his silent exploration.

Slowly, the ghost drifted through the narrow pathways of the village, his eyes scanning his surroundings. As he passed by the old cottages and dimly lit alleys, he noticed subtle details that seemed out of place - a torn piece of fabric caught on a fence, a muddy footprint leading towards the outskirts of the village and the faint scent of herbs that lingered in the frosty air.

Following his instinct, the ghost followed the faint trail of evidence, moving effortlessly through the dying daylight. the sun almost done setting, casting a red glow over the landscape as he ventured deeper to where he feels might be important. Now, within the edge of the village, where the last bit of houses were placed near a worn fence, with gaps and holes scattered throughout. The cottages became more spread out, with more ashy fields and open spaces between them. The houses were smaller and less maintaned, with cracked roofs and peeling paint. The roads are uneven and unpaved, with dirt and mud on the path. Smoke rises from a few chimneys, signaling that there are still some inhabitants in this area. Beyond the village, heavily guarded, the land is wilder, and less cultivated, with tall trees and thick underbrush surrounding the outskirts.

He entered the house, and saw the lifeless body wrapped in a blanket. The house itself was poorly lit, filled with old furniture, covered in what seemed like an infinite amount of dust. In the corner, a makeshift bed made of straw and blankets lay still. That's where it was, a human—like figure wrapped tightly in a brown blanket. The limbs were stiff and unmoving, and its face was pale and expressionless.

"This must be the murdered kid, everyone is talking about." The ghost thought to himself. He approached the lifeless body, and scanned it, gaining every detail. He saw the wound. It was deep and jagged, oozing dark blood onto the blanket. It looked as if been caused by a sharp weapon, with torn flesh and exposed muscle. The ghost could see that the wound was fatal, causing death almost instantly. The ghost floated through the funeral, observing the room with a detached curiousity. He envied their raw emotions, the tears and embraces and wails of grief. As a ghost, he couldn't fully comprehend or experience these human complexities, and it made him feel empty. He turned his attention back to the body, focusing on the wound. Kneeling down, he examined it more closely. The nature of the wound indicated that the weapon used was likely jagged and inserted in a rather bizarre way. His gaze then lingered on the woun,d his mind racing to the process of the details. His heart, or what remains of it, stating to pick up a theory. The more he examined the wound, the more it became apparent. It wasn't murder. It wasn't the act of a killer. It was suicide, the act of a desperation made desicsion. He sat back, stunned by his own realiztion, trying to piece together what led to this. looked around the room, taking in every detail with a new perspective. He saw the decrepit house, the lack of proper care and maintenance, and the small made bed all pointed to the life of poverty and struggle. And in this small village on the outskirts of an outside society, it must have been even harder for this person to survive.

The ghost floated toard the window, peering out at the village once again. he saw children in the dirty with sticks as toys, elderly people struggling to walk on uneven roads, and adults working tirelessly in their fields for a small pay. And then he saw it — hopelessness etched onto every face in the village. It was a cycle that seemed inpossible to break. He turned back to look at the body once more, feeling sadness wash over him. This person must have felt so alone and helpless their struggles that death seemed like the only way out. But who was this person? The ghost wished he could commuticate with them somehow, ask them why they made this desicion. Were they sick? Did they have friends? Or were they truly all alone in this world?

He studied these thoughts, something caught his attention - a small notebook tucked under one of the blankets on the bed. Curiousity getting the best of him, he floated over and picked it up. Flipping through its pages revealed heartbreaking entries filled with despair and hopelessness. The last entry read: "I can't do this anymore. It's too hard and I'm so, so tired. Everything is just terrible all the time and I hate it. I don't know what to do or how to make it stop. Maybe...maybe I should just make it stop forever."

He finally felt something. He felt sorrow for the child, who reached such a dark place, their words echoing deep in despair they must have been feeling. Closing the notebook gently, the ghost floated back to the lifeless body, overwhelming sense of empathy for the kid who had felt so alone, burdened by their struggles. Sitting besides the corpse, his grief transformed into a raging storm, tearing at his chest and pouring out as a rain of tears that drenches both him and the corpse. The tears shimmer like pearls on his ghostly face. Overwhemed with a crushing sense of loss, he made wrenching sobs for this departed soul.

The night grw colder, and the sky above darkened. It crept like a venomous snake, wrapping its coils around the world and soffocating any hope or warmth that remained. The sky, once a welcoming blanket of stars, now seemed to devour any light that tried to shine through, leaving a heavy and oppresive atmosphere in it's wake.

"Whatever dream you had, whatever goal you wished. I will complete it for you. I will carry your ambition, your wishes and honor your existence. You weren't of my aware of my existence, nor was I aware of yours, but you made me feel, and that is something I can't forget." I will create a world where no one has to suffer like this.

The ghost spoke, echoing through the silent room. His tears frozen on his face, and the snowflakes began to fall from heavens, as if in response to his sorrow. The ghost rose from the lifeless body, holding the notebook close. For now, he had a purpose, he carried a goal, a dream that didn't belong to him.