Oh, sufferer of winter, the cold may be long, perhaps even never-ending.

When the frost and snow are overcome, the winds and tears are left behind, and the spring finally thaws, it may just be that the warm rays of the sun will only fall on your corpse.

Hone your mind like a sharp blade, therefore, and prepare for the thousand-year winter.

You must survive.

You must survive.

You must survive.

Children of the Rune: Winterer

Chapter 1

Late Summer in the Swamps

“There are ghosts on Emera Lake that snatch children away.”

At the far end of the fields was a dead lake—a swamp filled with dead water plants tangled like the hair of a witch, shaded and untouched by the rays of the sun. The nanny said he was free to go anywhere he pleased, as long as it wasn’t there.

“So don’t go anywhere near that lake, not even in broad daylight! The ghosts there are waiting with gleaming red eyes, looking for children to devour.” Her voice quickly grew louder, as he didn’t respond to her immediately. “Excuse me, Young Master, are you listening to me? They’re visible even from the manor after the sun sets. Ever since I was a little child like you, I’ve always noticed them on stormy days!”

Boris, the “young master” of the House of Jineman, wasn’t sure whether to believe his nanny, but he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. He’d gone out on every stormy night and stared into the darkness, but never once had he noticed the red eyes that she spoke of. However, the story had been confirmed by others—especially older servants—so he wasn’t comfortable dismissing it as a lie.

If the darkness that surrounded the manor only consisted of some dead spirits from the lake, he would have found it pleasant to steep himself in such tales. Boris was twelve this year. His mother had died an early death, and though that had perhaps scarred him, his childhood had been peaceful as far as he could remember. He had never seen anything that could give him recurring nightmares. But there was a palpable darkness around the manor, and it bore down heavily on the weak child’s shoulders. He was not young enough or foolish enough not to notice.

“You don’t need to worry about such things, little Boris,” said his older brother, Yevgnen, as he patted the boy’s head. Boris looked up at the clouds. The sky was visible behind Yevgnen, and his eyes were as blue as the dress that their mother wore in her portrait. Boris’ eyes, however, were gray-blue, like a rain cloud about to pour.

This place, where the brothers had been raised together, was the Longgord Fields, which belonged to their family. It was a place where the horizon was filled with a grassy green, and overgrown needlegrass stretched as far as the eye could see. The region below the Katunah Mountains, which surrounded the Seashell Peninsula, had a cool climate that made such topography common.

Boris lay down in the late summer grass, and his head sunk into its softness. A flying insect of some sort was tickling his nose. But what bothered him more than the bug was his brother’s smile—it was much brighter than usual. He wondered why he felt this way.

It wasn’t necessary. It really wasn’t. His brother was always cheery. Boris was shy and seldom smiled, and Yevgnen liked to take him by the hand and wander about. He did his best to entertain his brother and show him things that were funny and cheerful. If Boris ever laughed out loud, he would roar with laughter too, unable to hold in his joy.

Yevgnen was tall and handsome, and he was a better swordsman than any of the young men in the surrounding regions. Their father was very proud of him. Yevgnen Jineman was the only person that little Boris trusted.

“Now then! We spar, as promised!”

Boris nodded and jumped to his feet. His hair fell a little below his shoulders and fluttered as he moved.

Yevgnen enjoyed ruffling it. After handing Boris a wooden training sword, he tousled Boris’ hair until it looked like a bird’s nest. Instead of complaining like a child, Boris simply smiled.

“Off you go! Away with you! You can’t lay eggs in my brother’s hair!” Yevgnen said, pretending to chase away birds that weren’t even there.

Boris turned to look, as if to pretend he actually believed it. Meanwhile, Yevgnen’s wooden sword poked him in the side. By the time Boris looked back around, his brother would already be quite some distance away. Yevgnen playfully assumed a defensive stance, and he still had a smile on his face.

Boris suddenly felt a strange sensation wash over him. He chased his brother, trying to hit his wooden sword, only to trip and bruise his knees. Yevgnen came close, wondering if he was hurt, and Boris quickly pushed him down. They tumbled along in the grass together. And yet, the strange feeling did not vanish.

He didn’t know exactly when it had started, but odd intuitions came to Boris from time to time. It was not an ability he could activate at will, but sometimes it was so sensitive and precise that it became a precognition of sorts.

Boris was a child who didn’t even know the basics of the sword, and Yevgnen was a young man who had several years of training under his belt. They were not suitable sparring partners for each other. But Boris enjoyed swinging a wooden sword about, and Yevgnen was humoring him and tumbling around in the fields with him on the excuse of training the boy’s reflexes. Their father wished for Yevgnen to focus on stricter training, rather than playing around with his brother, but this kindly young man enjoyed seeing his brother doubled over with laughter more than bettering his skills.

Their father, Yulken Jineman, had not much interest in Boris, who was merely a child. To Yulken, the love Yevgnen bore for his brother was simply the result of his youth and inexperience, which made him vulnerable to emotion. In Yulken’s mind, a brother was not someone deserving of love. He would consider it lucky if a brother didn’t stab him in the neck, sneaking up from behind like a thief.

Yevgnen was the eldest son, the only trustworthy person in his father’s eyes. Yulken also expected much from him. As such, he believed that Yevgnen needed to show absolute obedience, doing what his father bid no matter what. But Yevgnen was still too young to understand these things. In time, he would come to see what was required of him.

A loud wooden clacking filled the air. It seemed their wooden swords had finally collided at full strength. Yevgnen pretended to be surprised and took a few steps back. He wanted his brother to follow up with another attack, carrying on his momentum.

Boris rushed in, not tripping this time. He was gripping the sword as his brother had taught him, and though it was a little shaky because of the weight, his posture wasn’t half bad. He tried to swing to the side, going for a shoulder. The swing nearly connected, but Yevgnen slid aside at the last moment. Frustrated, Boris stepped even closer. He crossed the minimum distance that his brother had taught him, and Yevgnen’s wooden sword immediately stabbed at Boris’ neck. He couldn’t react in time.

“Oh!”

Yevgnen was startled. Maybe it was because of how well Boris had just moved, but Yevgnen had counterattacked as he’d been trained to do. The wooden swords were still sharp at the ends, so a red mark appeared on Boris’ neck, and droplets of blood beaded on his skin.

“Oh no!”

Yevgnen dropped his sword and put his hands around his surprised brother’s cheeks. He patted Boris’ back with one hand and studied the wound, which, to his relief, was not serious. The droplets grew in size and then trickled down. Yevgnen wiped the blood with his sleeve, then pressed a handkerchief against it. Boris’ heart was racing, like that of a little bird.

“You must have been scared. I’m so sorry. That was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

Boris had been scared too, of course. Yevgnen’s sword had moved so quickly that Boris had forgotten who he was facing for a moment. A surprising fear—that of fighting someone who seemed set to kill him—had flitted through his mind.

“All right…” Boris murmured.

Then a voice called to them. Someone was running toward them from the direction of the manor.

“Young Master Yevgnen! Young Master Boris!”

It was a servant who tended to the younger boy. Yevgnen had been meaning to head in, anyway, so this was good timing. He started to lead Boris by the hand.

However, something seemed odd about the servant. He was waving at them as if to shoo them away.

“What’s going on?”

The servant reached them, his face pale as he tried to catch his breath. “You can’t return to the manor right now! We have trouble!”

Yevgnen waited patiently for the servant to explain, instead of pressing the man. He didn’t seem all that tense, knowing how much of a fuss the servants could raise over nothing.

Boris felt differently. He’d been alert since morning, as if something was about to happen.

“That man… Vlado Jineman… has returned!”

Yevgnen’s expression went grim. He gripped his brother’s hand tightly, just in case the boy grew scared. He didn’t realize that his own hands had gone cold.

“Oh, I see.”

Boris was having a hard time processing the servant’s words. He always felt a chill whenever his faint premonitions suddenly took on clarity, but he didn’t notice it as it came over him this time. He simply said, like he was stating some fact that didn’t concern him, “Uncle Vlado… is back?”

A misty wind fluttered like wings above their heads, and it soon dropped its feathers of rain down upon them.

A golden retriever that had been lying at the door shot to her feet and growled. She was a large dog, but a gentle one, and even little Boris could lean against her and play pranks on her without fear of reprisal. But right now, she seemed to be on edge. Her fur stood on end, and she began to bark.

“Ha! Would you look at that? Stupid dog. She doesn’t even recognize me anymore.”

The speaker was a tall man with particularly long arms. His tanned face was probably the result of the bright sunshine of the southern region, but when he stood in front of the murky window, it almost seemed as though he’d been soaked in some sort of darkness. His yellow eyes, surrounded by tiny wrinkles, gleamed like gems embedded in crocodile leather.

He stomped his foot on the floor loudly as if to kick the dog, then shouted again, “Off with you! Shoo!”

The dog continued to bark fiercely, but she was well-trained and would not bite without the permission of her owner. Footsteps approached from deeper into the living room and came to a stop. The man with the shining yellow eyes smiled, and deep creases appeared around his mouth.

“It’s been a while, Yulken.”

“Shh! Quiet, Malorie.”

Yulken Jineman quieted the dog first, then turned a cold gaze on his little brother, whom he hadn’t seen for years.

Hmph… He smiled. Both of them had aged rapidly of late. Their faces were contorted and worn, as though time was going at twice the normal speed for them.

“I’m surprised you’re still alive, Vlado.”

“Hmm? Is that disappointment I hear in your voice?”

The conversation was meaningless. There was no need to force themselves to be polite because they were brothers, like they had in the past. Their parents had died side by side two years ago. If they’d passed a little earlier, Yulken could have killed the bastard the last time he’d seen him. He felt a renewed sense of wariness at the thought that his brother was probably thinking the same thing.

“It’s been five years. The least you can do is offer me a seat,” Vlado said.

“Sit.”

They sat down with a table between them, neither letting down his guard. Thunder rumbled outside, but it wasn’t raining just yet.

Yulken suddenly wondered if Yevgnen had come back to the manor. The servants would have been scared out of their wits as soon as Vlado walked through the door, and at least a couple of them would have run out to look for the boys.

As Yulken had reiterated time and time again, if anything happened to him, Yevgnen was to be the new head of the household. The servants and soldiers would have found them by now and begun protecting them, awaiting Yulken’s command.

Vlado Jineman, my one and only brother. What are you plotting that you’ve come all this way… to your death?