ia

shattered main gates. They were a pathetic sight-once-proud nobles now wear

ains. Next to them was a broad-shouldered young man with raw, split knuckles-my brother, Owen. Huddled behind them were Aunt Jean

nding the warm bowl of c

Tears spilled over her lashes, carving clean lines through the dirt on her face. "My daughter... you sho

rd me. "Eat, Katia. You need your strength. I'll make sure you don't starve on

life, I was an orphan fighting for every scrap in a cold, indifferent world. Here, these strange

mall, reassuring smile. "Finish it. We have a long

th a mixture of sorrow and pride. "The blood of the Holland

's towering basalt gates faded behind us, replaced by the unforgiving, compacted gravel

w sacks of flour, and some thick wool pelts, all loaded onto a small, rickety woode

, ready to pull the weight myself

ing the heavy harness over his broad chest. The coa

cart. Aunt Jean and Uncle Joseph joined in, straining against the ropes. These were people who had never done a day of

the sky in bruised shades of purple and black. The temperature plummeted, the bi

ked gasp broke the rhy

self against the cart, but his legs gave out entirely. H

dropping the harness an

ic, fluttering like a dying bird. His skin was radiating a terrifying, furnace-like hea

during his interrogation, had torn open during the grueling march. T

tream. In this primitive world, without moder