A land where frost ruled and silence reigned—the North.
A vast, open field stretched into the pale horizon, its tall grass tinted faint green, shivering beneath the bite of a northern breeze. Far beyond it, jagged mountains loomed like sleeping titans cloaked in mist and the memory of frost. The wind blew and cold, whispering across the land with a voice old as time.
Four riders raced across the pale green field, their horses' hooves pounding the stiff earth as the chill wind tore past them. The ground was hard beneath their hooves, the earth stiff from lingering cold, though the true frost had yet to come. At the head rode the eldest of the group, a boy nearing manhood, wrapped in thick fur and mounted with quiet command. His hair was short and black, his face sharp as carved stone—eyes fixed ahead, silent and watchful, the kind of face men expected to follow into battle someday.
Beside and behind him rode two others, one with long straight black hair and a crooked smile, the other with short dark red waves tangled in the wind. Their manner spoke of familiarity, maybe even blood. Furthest behind was a smaller boy, his arms clenched around the reins, struggling to keep up. His brown hair was tousled and his breath came in sharp gasps as he urged the horse forward, teeth gritted against the cold.
"Keep up, bastard boy!" the long-haired rider shouted, turning in the saddle with a wicked grin. "Might as well lie down in the grass and wait for winter to freeze you if you're that slow!"
The boy grit his teeth and spurred his horse forward. The beast surged awkwardly, clearly agitated, and the ride turned rough. He bounced in the saddle, struggling to keep control. His fingers, numbed by the cold, slipped on the reins.
"Faster, damn you," he muttered to himself, just before the horse reared sharply.
With a yelp, the boy was thrown off.
He hit the dirt hard—face-first, grass and soil smearing his cheek with cold mud. For a moment, he simply lay there, wind knocked from his lungs, blinking up at the pale sky. He coughed, tasted blood, and heard the rapid clop of his horse galloping off toward the others.
The eldest noticed the fall first. He tugged his reins, slowing his steed to a halt, and glanced back. He pointed sharply with his chin. "Get his horse," he said. The red-haired rider gave a curt nod and veered off after the runaway beast.
The long-haired rider, still riding, only laughed. "Told you he couldn't keep up! Look at him, kissing the dirt like it's his long-lost mother!"
The eldest rode past the long-haired rider, swatting the back of his head with a gloved hand. "He's already fallen — don't push him further Thalen."
Thalen scoffed, rubbing his head. "I was just playing with the bastard, Edric. No need to get sour."
Edric glanced at him sideways. "Oh? Then perhaps I'll join your game. Want to see how it feels when you kiss the ground?"
Thalen rolled his eyes with a grunt. "Bah. Forget it."
The red-haired rider returned with the horse in tow and rode towards the boy, who was now sitting up, wiping dirt and grime from his face with a muddied sleeve. A scrape marked his lip, still stinging from the fall.
The boy quickly stood when he saw them approach, straightening his posture as best he could. Edric dismounted first and walked towards him with long, steady steps.
"Are you hurt?" the eldest asked.
The boy shook his head quickly. "No, my lord. I'm sorry—I lost control."
"Don't apologize," Edric replied, his tone dismissive but not cruel. "The fault wasn't yours. Thalen had no right to provoke you like that. Still, next time—grip the reins tighter."
The red-haired rider dismounted next, holding the boy's horse by the reins. "Come on then," he said gently, offering a hand. "I'll help you back up."
"I can do it. I'm not a child," the boy muttered, brushing mud from his face.
"You are a child. Now shut it and come here. And clean off that mess on your face, will you?"
The younger boy reluctantly complied, taking the offered hand. He winced as he was hoisted up, sore from the fall, his pride more bruised than his body. Still, he said nothing, settling stiffly into the saddle with a scowl and brushing the last of the dirt from his sleeve.
Edric remained beside the boy as the red-haired rider mounted his horse again and rode ahead. Edric gave a small shake of his head and said, "Don't be disheartened by his words… Wulfric's cold, but his actions speak louder."
The boy shrugged, trying to sound indifferent. "Doesn't matter," he mumbled, avoiding Edric's eyes. "I'm not weak," he added, voice tight. His tone was brittle, pride clinging to every word, as if determined to prove that he belonged among them. It was the kind of thing boys said when they didn't want to be laughed at, when they were still learning how to guard the cracks in their armor.
Edric gave a quiet smile, watching the boy's effort to hold his chin up despite the mess he was in. A bit of pride flickered in his gaze, then softened into a smirk.
"He was right about your face though," he said with a short laugh.
The boy looked away, clearly embarrassed, rubbing at a smear of mud clinging to his cheek. Edric's smile lingered as he turned back to his horse, climbed into the saddle, and pulled the reins.
"Well then," he said, glancing back, "let's ride together this time. Be sure to keep up, Killian."
He spurred his horse forward, riding ahead with practiced ease, catching up to Thalen and Wulfric. Behind him, the boy—Killian—gritted his teeth, gave one last wipe at his face, and shouted after him, "One day, I'll outride all of you — you'll see!!"
Edric glanced back, a flicker of pride passing through his eyes, and the four riders continued toward the looming silhouette of a northern stronghold beyond the field, its towers stark against the pale sky. Their mounts thundered beneath them. The boy's voice still echoed behind them in the wind—loud, eager, and unbroken by shame.
The sky hung over the northern keep, vast and overcast, casting a cool gray hue over the old stone walls. The castle stood tall and grim—traditional in build, devoid of gold filigree or flowery banners like those found in the southern courts. Its towers rose like worn fangs above the plains, weathered by wind and time.
The four riders passed through the open gates. Within the bailey, the sounds of life filled the air—blacksmiths hammering at iron, merchants calling out prices, and farmers carting in sacks of grain. The people here didn't bustle for the sake of grandeur; they worked with purpose, every movement grounded in labor and grit. This was the rhythm of the North.
High above, from a stone balcony overlooking the yard, a broad-shouldered man stood watching. His hair was thick and black, touched faintly with gray at the temples. A scar ran along the side of his lip, pulling ever so slightly at the edge of his mouth. His eyes—cold and deep blue—tracked the boys as they dismounted below.
A woman stepped beside him, her presence softening the severity of the scene. She wore a cloak of deep plum fur, and her eyes followed the children with quiet fondness.
"They grow faster each year," she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Every time I blink, they seem taller."
"Soon they'll tower over me," the man replied, though his voice lacked warmth. His gaze lingered on the youngest boy.
Below, the group began to dismount and hand off their reins to a waiting stableboy. Just then, a girl with vivid red hair burst through the archway of the main hall, her thick black fur cloak billowing behind her. She ran toward the dark-haired rider at the front—Edric—her face bright with excitement.
"You're back!" she called out.
Edric turned, lowering himself to one knee just in time to catch her in a tight embrace.
"How was the ride through the plains? Did anything happen? Did you find something dangerous?" she asked in rapid fire, pulling back to look at him with her wide, curious blue eyes.
Before Edric could answer, Thalen strolled in behind them, a mischievous grin already forming.
"Oh, something happened alright," he said.
Edric groaned with clear annoyance.
Thalen gestured grandly behind him, his voice rising in theatrical flair. "Feast your eyes, dear sister! We've tamed a rare beast from the southern wilds—one that feeds on pride and faceplants in open fields!"
Killian trudged in behind them, his face still streaked with mud from the fall, lips drawn in a tight line. Thalen's loud voice had made sure every eye was on him. As he passed the others, he gave Thalen a sharp bump as he brushing past Thalen, without a word, head low, steps brisk his face hard with frustration, clearly having had enough. Thalen only kept laughing, unbothered, while Edric turned toward him slowly, eyes narrowing, clearly tired of the mockery.
Thalen laughed loudly, slapping his knee as if he'd just delivered the finest jest in the realm. Wulfric cast him a sidelong glance, clearly unimpressed, and gave him a nudge with his elbow. "One day, you'll jest your way off a cliff, Thalen." he muttered.
The red-haired girl scowled, marched forward, and without pause, kicked Thalen square in the shin.
"Ow! That's not very ladylike, Alina," he winced.
"You're cruel!," she snapped. "Leave Killian alone!"
As she turned to follow after the boy, Wulfric passed by with a shake of his head. "Should've aimed higher," he muttered.
Back on the balcony, the woman gave a soft sigh.
"He's still just a boy," she said.
"A boy who needs to learn to harden himself," replied the man beside her, arms crossed. "If he's going to survive up here, he can't let words break him."
She glanced at him sidelong. "Harris, not every child is raised to be stone."
He didn't respond right away. Below, Killian followed the others inside the keep, his stride short but stubborn.
"No," Harris finally said, his gaze lingering a moment longer. "But the North doesn't bend for softness. Sooner or later, he'll need to find his footing—or be left to freeze, same as the rest who never learn to stand."
The wind stirred the furs on his shoulders as silence hung briefly between them. The woman's gaze lingered on the boy disappearing into the hold. She wanted to say more, but the words never found voice.
Down in the yard, the children had already scattered—Edric taking the lead, giving orders to the stable hands, Wulfric stalking off in his usual silent fashion. Thalen lagged behind, rubbing at his shin and muttering curses under his breath, while the red-haired girl Alina chased after Killian, calling his name.
The great hall doors creaked open to welcome them, firelight spilling out across the stone, and as they stepped inside, the sounds of the castle swallowed their presence.
The wind whispered no comfort, only truth — in the North, even boys must learn to stand like men.