A young boy pounded at the front door to a snow-covered house, the wood unyielding under his clenched fists. He screamed out into the cold night, begging for the door to be opened, for him to be let inside, but nobody answered.

   "D-Dad, please! I won't do it again, tell Grandpa and Grandma I won't do it again! J-just let me back in, please! I'm cold, I-I'm tired, and the snow's falling harder! So please... let me back in!"

   Even as he cried his heart out, tears spilling down his cheeks, still nothing came of it. The windows of the small stone house remained dark, and the door remained firmly locked and shut. There was no key, no unlocked windows. The boy was on his own until sunrise, if the freezing temperatures and the persistent snowfall allowed him to last that long.

   As the boy's sobs dissolved into meaningless sounds, he fell to his knees, huddling at the base of the door. His thin nightclothes didn't do a thing against the cold, and neither did the blanket he awoke wrapped in. He pulled it tight around his trembling body, hoping in vain it would do something for him, only for freezing tendrils of air to snake up under it and slither across his skin. He'd heard more than enough stories of children who'd frozen to death in the cold because they got lost in the woods, and terror flooded him at the thought that the same fate awaited him.

   The wind picked up a bit more then, the snow being blown about in a flurry that half-blinded the boy. He violently shivered and cried, becoming wracked with shaking he couldn't control. It wasn't safe here, but he didn't know where to go. Everyone had locked their doors in preparation for the storm that had been spotted off the coast earlier that day, they were prepared to be snowed in. All he could think of is going into the forest on the other side of the road and hope the trees provided shelter. But he'd also heard stories of wolves and other vicious creatures with teeth, and they kept him rooted on the stoop.

   When the boy started to lose feeling in his fingers, he gave in. He staggered to his feet and trudged across the road to the forest. He didn't care about the wolves now, some respite is all he needed. The shadows of the forest swallowed him, drenching him in even more terror. However, the wind did lessen greatly, the thick pine trees taking the brunt of the storm and providing a thick cover of frost-covered pine needles to tread on.

   The further into the forest the boy walked, the more an odd sense of calmness settled over him. He and his father always played in the woods, especially during the summer. As the boy came across a familiar frozen pond, he recalled a few rare summer days where it was warm enough for his father to teach him how to swim. But of course his father wasn't here now. He was inside, likely unaware that his son had been left outside to the cold. The boy didn't understand why it happened; he only stole a single ball of thread from the yarn store. He'd stolen so many things before, so what made this time so different?

   His eyes started stinging with more tears he didn't think he could produce, but none of them fell. He was approaching the point where his father would take him to play in the forest, so this was where he should stay until morning. The bases of trees made for good shelter, according to his father.

   But as the boy made his way to the base of a pine tree with low-hanging branches, an orange and yellow glow shone behind it. It was the glow only a fire can make, and the boy's heart leaped at the thought of getting warm. Had the hunters returned that day? They should have before the storm came, but the boy didn't care.

   The closer he got to the glow, the more sure he became that it was a fire. Distant crackling along with a smoky scent made that clear. There was also a more rich scent, like that of roasting fish. The boy couldn't remember the last time he ate since he'd been punished with no dinner earlier. But he also started to make out shapes around the fire. They were hulking black silhouettes vaguely shaped like people. One person seemed to be standing, though, gesturing occasionally with his hands as he spoke to the others around the fire.

   "Tomorrow morning, we will make our way to the mainland and visit the coastal cities. If we are unable to find what we seek, we will move inland towards Nautilus."

   A light went off in the boy's head as he recognized the accent the man was speaking in. It was northeastern Nortevan, and the place he spoke of was the country's capital city. Nautilus, a huge city made of brick and stone, powered by steam pumped through pipes and electricity, nothing like the sleepy island town the boy grew up in.

   The more the man spoke, the more the boy found himself drawn into it. He wasn't even interested in getting warm now, he was more enthralled by the voice. It was deep and rich with odd chops on some words. His "w"s sounded somewhat like "v"s, the "r"s rolled slightly while "d"s were clipped into "t" sounds, almost. It was a fascinating dialect the boy had only heard from a few mainland visitors, but the way this man spoke it was even more fascinating.

   When the boy was no more than a few yards from the group, the man stopped speaking. He turned to face the boy, and it was then the boy realized the man had no face. It was hidden by a black mask that covered his whole head like a helmet. The mask had no features aside from a purple line of light that vertically sliced down the center, and the light pulsed when he seemed to meet the boy's gaze. Momentary fear shot through the boy, and he turned to run, knowing he shouldn't have approached strangers like this.

   "What are you doing out at this time of night, child?"

   The boy froze when the man spoke again. He hesitantly turned back to the main, pointing a shaking finger at himself. The man nodded and started approaching him, and the boy began backing away. But then he stopped when he noticed the whistle hanging around the man's neck. Even in the dark, it stood out against the man's all-black attire, at least the boy believed it was a whistle. It resembled a pair of skeletal hands clasped together in prayer, the part where one would blow into the instrument positioned at the cut-off wrists.

   "Where are your parents?" The man stopped a couple feet from the boy and got down on one knee before him. "No child your age should be out at this time, let alone be by yourself in such a harsh storm."

   At that, the boy's cheeks puffed out in indignation. "I'm not a baby, I turned five last week! I'm a big kid!"

   A slight chuckle escaped the man, just as rich as his speaking voice. "I'm quite sure you are, but the forest is more than frightening for anybody. After all, I have my delving team with me, and I'm an adult."

   Hearing the word "delving," something clicked in the boy's mind. "You're one of those people from the big pit!" And it further clicked what it meant to have a white whistle, that this man was basically a knight of the city around the pit. Not knowing how to react, the boy bowed on instinct. It was something people do to important people in the stories his father read to him, so he hoped this important man wouldn't be offended.

   "I indeed am," The man spoke in a more amused tone, and the boy was relieved. "I am known as Bondrewd the Novel, the Sovereign of Dawn." The boy's mouth fell open a bit in awe of the man's name. It sounded like something from a book, the name of a great hero. And with what he'd heard of the ones with white whistles, they truly were heroes. "Do you mind telling me your name, young man?" Bondrewd asked.

   The boy hesitated, knowing he shouldn't be talking to strangers, but he was in the presence of somebody truly great. He couldn't help but blurt it out. "I-Iann! I'm Iann."

   "It's a pleasure to meet you, Iann," Bondrewd said. "Can you tell me where your parents are?"

   Iann's face fell. "I-I don't know my mom, it's just my dad and grandparents. But... my grandparents don't like me, they put me outside because I stole from the yarn shop today. Dad doesn't do anything about it." His eyes started to well up again as he said this, and he tried to wipe the tears away.

   "I see... Some people can truly be cruel, especially if children are involved. If you have no way to get back inside, you may stay with me and my delving team until dawn. We were out studying the nightlife in these woods. I'm a scientist as well as a Delver, pushing to blaze a path towards the depths of the Abyss."

   Iann didn't understand many of Bondrewd's words, but the way he spoke them enthralled Iann again. "I-I'm scared to go back to my grandparents though... They tell me my dad doesn't want me, and he takes care of me because he has to."

   "Do you believe that?" Bondrewd asked.

   At that, Iann hesitated. He didn't want to think about that right now, not as he shivered even more. "I-I don't know!" All he wanted was to get warm and not be alone in the cold. He startled when Bondrewd placed his hand on Iann's shoulder, but then he couldn't help but relax. It reminded him of what his father did sometimes.

   "Again, you can join us if you'd like," Bondrewd offered. "I only insist because I can't bear the thought of a child being out in the cold like this."

   Iann hesitated a little longer, still fighting his tears, but he eventually nodded. "I-I'm just so cold... Please don't let me die!"

   Bondrewd took his hand back and stood. "I won't, Iann. Now come along, you can have a seat by Enri and Lisa." Iann nodded, following Bondrewd to the fire. All his cohorts wore masks as well, etched in glowing blue lines instead of purple, and two people with more feminine figures invited Iann to sit with them. Iann was nothing but nervous, but he was also relieved as the fire soon started to warm him.

   A few moments later, Bondrewd returned to talking about going to mainland Norteva, but Iann was more focused on the fire. Crackling, spitting, the smoky scent filling the air. He watched the sparks fly up, mingling with the smoke before fading out in the dark, becoming one with the blizzard raging just above the treetops.