Prologue

The river did not care that he was only a child.

Cold gnawed at his skin. Fire still burned beneath it. His body floated half-submerged, dragged wherever the water pleased, bumping against stone and ice without resistance.

His fingers twitched.

Not to swim.

Not to fight.

Only to cling.

The river did not care.

Smoke filled his lungs every time he gasped for air. Each breath scraped his throat raw, carrying the taste of ash and iron. Somewhere behind him, his home still burned, or perhaps it no longer existed at all.

Something was wrong.
Even through the cold, something inside him still burned.

It didn't matter.

His vision blurred. Darkness crept in from the edges.

So this is how it ends.

A child's thought.

Fragile.

Fading.

Then something seized the back of his torn clothes.

Not the river.

Hands.

Strong. Steady. Unyielding.

The boy coughed violently as his body was wrenched from the water, cold air ripping into scorched flesh. He dangled there, barely conscious, dripping river water onto stone.

"Still alive?"

The voice was calm.

Not kind.

Not cruel.

Simply observant.

The boy's eyes cracked open.

A man stood above him. Old, weathered, wrapped in plain robes. His expression was flat, his gaze sharp, like he was examining a broken tool rather than a dying child.

"…Tch," the man muttered. "You should be dead."

Two fingers pressed against the boy's chest.

Pain exploded.

The boy convulsed, choking on a silent scream as something inside him trembled. Fractured, scorched, barely holding together.

"Hm," the man said. "Burned lungs. Cracked channels. Meridians twisted like rotten rope."

He released him.

Most people would have let go.

The river would have finished the rest.

Instead, the man tightened his grip.

"…Annoying," he said. "Your body is ruined."

The boy's lips moved. No sound came out.

But his fingers clenched weakly around the man's sleeve.