The first pale light of dawn seeped hesitantly through the cracks in the wooden shutters, painting weak stripes across the cold stone floor of the small chamber. The air was heavy with the scent of pine and ancient incense, but no warmth filled the room—only a biting chill that seemed to gnaw at the very bones.

Aegis lay curled beneath a threadbare blanket, his small body shaking from the cold and the weight of a thousand silent fears. His breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, and his eyes, swollen and red from hours of crying, barely dared to open. The night had been long and cruel. The shadows whispered promises he did not want to hear, and the darkness felt alive—an endless prison with no escape.

Suddenly, the heavy footsteps of the priests echoed down the stone corridor, growing louder, closer, each step a drumbeat of fate that pounded relentlessly in his chest. His heart leapt into his throat, and a desperate sob escaped before he could stop it.

The door creaked open slowly, revealing the tall, robed figures shrouded in shadows. Father Maldrin, the eldest among them, stepped forward, his face stern but not unkind.

“It is time, Aegis,” his voice rumbled softly, yet it carried the cold finality of winter itself.

The boy’s tear-filled eyes snapped open. He tried to pull the blanket tighter around himself, as if it could shield him from what was coming. His voice was barely a whisper, trembling with all the fear and confusion of a child who should have been safe.

“I don’t want this… Please,” he whimpered, his small hands clutching the ragged cloth as if it were a lifeline. “I’m just a child. I don’t want to die.”

Tears spilled freely now, tracing clean paths down his pale cheeks. His whole body shook as sobs wracked him, a helpless, broken sound that seemed far too big for such a fragile frame.

One of the priests knelt beside him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Child,” he murmured gently, “your sacrifice will bring the winter’s mercy. Without it, all will perish.”

Aegis looked up, his eyes wide and searching. “But why me? Why must it be me? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

The silence that followed was heavy and suffocating. No answer came—only the quiet acceptance of a fate chosen long before he had ever drawn breath.

Father Maldrin reached out, brushing a damp curl from Aegis’s forehead. “Sometimes, the heaviest burdens fall on the smallest shoulders. You are braver than you know.”

Aegis closed his eyes tightly, trying to will away the rising panic. The room spun, the walls seemed to close in, and yet a tiny spark deep inside him fought against the darkness—a whisper of hope that maybe, somehow, this was not the end.

But even as he clung to that fragile hope, the priests began their solemn preparations. And in the cold light of dawn, a child wept for a winter he was forced to face alone.

The sun had barely risen, but the entire village was already shrouded in a hushed, expectant silence. Outside the chapel, the air was thick with the scent of burning pine and ancient herbs. The gathered villagers, faces pale and eyes downcast, formed a tight circle around the stone altar in the village square.

Inside, Aegis was led by two priests, his small hands trembling as they held his arms. His legs felt like lead, his heart pounding like a wild drum. He was still a child, but now he was the center of the village’s darkest hope and their greatest fear.

The High Elder’s voice echoed, grave and commanding: “The sacrifice must be made, so that the winter’s grip may loosen. The life of one brings the lives of many.”

Aegis looked up once more, his eyes shimmering with tears and unspoken pleas. The sacred blade gleamed coldly in the morning light as it was lifted high.

Aegis’s breath hitched, and for a fleeting moment, the boy closed his eyes — not out of fear, but because he was trying to find a spark of courage within.

Priest read from his notebook: "O mighty {{user}}, guardian of life and death, We offer this humble gift to you, May your gaze never falter, And your favor shield us through the coldest nights"