Steel Beneath the Winter Snow
Winter falling on steel. The giant knight sat there as if asleep. I gazed at the trace left by the hero who had brought everything to a close. Everything in the world must have an end, and surely it would be a happy one. Whether I win or die, from the opponent's perspective, they'd claim victory, and the story would end. I wondered what the other heroes had left behind, but soon I turned my eyes to Trust Union itself, the legacy of those heroes.
The largest nation on the Chronicle Continent, home to all sorts of kings, bound together in alliance under the names of heroes and gods, a land of peace upheld in their name. This was what the heroes had left behind, and even after hundreds of years, they were still respected, revered, emulated—immortalized in history as great figures worthy of eternal worship. Even if they weren't heroes. They had achieved their feats. After all, the gods wouldn't summon just anyone to save the world. Simple "talent" wasn't enough. This adventure would be grueling, painful, full of clashes with things beyond imagination. Above all, what made them strong was their unbreakable stubbornness—their unyielding convictions, selves so firm they could never be bent, even in death. Their assertions were etched into this world indelibly.
As I stepped out of the restaurant, pure white snowflakes began to pour down. Looking up at the snow intent on blanketing everything in white, I felt the first winter this world had brought me. How many more winters would I see? A nagging premonition that something was coming pricked at my head as I scanned the surroundings.
A dwarf mother and daughter in magical girl outfits held hands as they strolled by. A bearded old dwarf sat lost in reminiscence, sipping tea served by an android waiter. It was peaceful. Adventurers picked up trash from the ground without complaint and tossed it in bins. People called androids to help vendors struggling to pack up their stalls in the snow. No one ignored those in need. What I'd realized since coming to this city: I'd never once seen a homeless person or beggar.
Come to think of it, if you wanted to eat and survive, you could always head to the mountains... but maybe there was some other welfare system? Mortis had told me orphans all grew up under the gods' blessings at the All Gods Temple. A warm world. Absurdly so, like a fleeting dream. Had the heroes fought to create a place like this? Seeing races mingle without discrimination, did Trust Union whisper to Captain Eagle, "You're right!"? What had driven them? What thoughts propelled them forward? What resolve did they hold in their final moments?
Would I succeed like the four heroes? Or end up like the one who left no name, a cold corpse? How had they felt when their comrades died? The pure white snow always muddled my thoughts now and then. Careful on icy roads—even a kind old soul could slip and die pointlessly after a lifetime of goodness. Still, they were already out sprinkling salt or whatever to prep the paths.
I adjusted my hood and scooped Leona into my arms. I bought her mystery meat skewers from a cart, handed her some candy, and picked up clothes from a shop, thinking of how fast she was growing. Hmm, anything else? So I stopped at a toy store too. Leona picked a cylindrical doll that looked like a sandbag.
Hyacinth said pups get teething urges, so we grabbed some gum-like chews. Best were animal bones, but pricey—he said as a kid he'd hunted and brought them back to chew on. "My little sis loved 'em too." "Then let's get some for your family." "You sure you're not spending too much, bro? I can buy my own." "Gotta spend when you go out together like this."
I was shocked seeing animal bones on display like something out of a cartoon. When Hyacinth asked if human kids needed calcium too and why they didn't gnaw, I shoved a bone in his mouth, saying we didn't. He chomped down—his jaw strength was insane; bite marks sank in like he was devouring ice cream, shaving off chunks. Leona went at hers hamster-style, nom nom, battling the bone. She seemed to like it more than the doll... Guess I needed to learn what young beastkin liked.
"Leona's gonna turn into a pig at this rate." Her arms were stuffed: doll, bone, snacks—a whole box. Hyacinth had a point, but kids needed to eat big while they could. Cravings hit hard if you couldn't satisfy them. Best to gorge till you're sick of it.
"Mmph!" Leona's cheeks puffed like a chipmunk's, glaring at me like I was her grandma. Can't eat more, she whined, rubbing her bulging belly. But it'd burn off quick, so I grabbed extra snacks. In the end, she overdid it, passed out, and Hyacinth—pigging out himself—shoved them all in his mouth.
"You're the pig." "Guh..." At this rate, he'd be a fluffy mutt, not a wolf. Stuck studying in the library for C-grade, surviving on sweets—his gut was a handful even for Leona.
"So squishy." "Gotta exercise..." "You will?" I joked about rigging a squirrel wheel; both Hyacinth and Leona lit up like it'd be fun. ...Wild kids, I swear.
The city was vast—walking everywhere was impossible. Buses, streetcars zipping on roads, mechanical horse-drawn carts... No unity, just vehicles bursting with personality. We hopped whichever suited, touring the city.
What kingdom's the size of Seoul? You could walk all day without spotting the walls. Exhausted from wandering, we rented a bike-cart for Hyacinth's "exercise." Roads were neatly divided—no crash risk. Well, some happened, but adventurers' reflexes were nuts: snatching debris mid-air, smashing through windows to leap out like a movie stunt. Even Leona could grab my neck and bail if it flipped. Probably fine.
"...Huh?" A vast plaza with hero statues. I approached the heroes' sculptures. Four together—no fifth. Pity. They must've spoken of him; just lost to time. The last hero died accomplishing nothing, leaving no mark.
One in underwear festooned with swords. One with eagle-head mask, fist to the sky. A mage with staff and sword. And the bespectacled one, bronze polished shiny from too many pats. Nearby, musicians held intimate concerts, sound barriers keeping melodies separate. Magic or tech? Step to one you like, and the others faded.
"A Levitfoot." Leona was thrilled—her first besides Riko. The long-haired one with flame-like locks played violin quietly. Her case brimmed with coins—masterful enough that I tossed some in too. Our hooded eyes met; she bowed politely.
"...Your playing's as good as last time." We'd crossed paths in the forest gorge before. Like me, she'd stick in passersby's memories. Her droopy rabbit ears perked straight up. She set down the violin, scribbled on her board. I waited.
[Thank you.]
Up close, a scar ringed her throat.
"Whoa, bro, snow's dumping hard now? Head back?" The snow intensified—our first flakes turned blizzard. The Levitfoot bard bowed, packed her coin case, and left. By hotel arrival, it knee-deep buried us: human, Canidie, Feridae snowmen. Fireball thawed us just enough to stagger in.
"Others make it back?" In our room, Po'runga was a stiff burrito in her blankets—like a tragic iguana frozen by cold snap. Leona approached; she yanked her in, swaddling tight.
"Radamu, in!" "I'll crank the heat." "Lick." Her tongue coiled my neck, yanking me in. Devoured by chameleon cuddle, I watched pitiful Hyacinth handle cleanup alone. Po'runga's ice-block chill gave Leona a cold. She sneezed snot, flailing delirious. Hero perk? I was fine, but Leona burrowed into my clothes for warmth—another clinger.
"Mortis, good look at the armor shop?" Eyebrows frosted white, she entered. Without a word, she dunked her head in warm sink water, then signed.
Hyacinth: "I don't know sign!" But I caught enough to translate.
"On the way back, snow piled so deep, Larirure got dragged off by friends to shovel."
"She's the pro..."
Larirure missed dinner too. I Fireball-melted paths, grabbed food and booze for the hotel fridge. Snow tortured everyone. Mortis dangled like a headless doll—body on bed, head in sink. Po'runga turned Hyacinth into a heat-pack teddy from tail-tip up. Leona conked out on meds.
"Gah! Those bastards think I'm some construction grunt?! Late shoveling!"
"Dinner for you, Larirure. Figured you couldn't refuse and we'd wait, so I got it ready."
"Ah... Husband material, love it..."
She had that fantasy? I could make fire, so no chill. She griped about near-freezing deaths over booze—downed seven, slurring. I played along. Forecast hadn't predicted this; lobby staff confirmed. Ominous anomaly?
"Floods, now blizzards?"
Distracted, she spotted "watermelon" in the sink—tried splitting Mortis's head with shovel. Handle snapped; hit by spade, Larirure reeled, puked on bathroom floor.
Bandaged her groans, fed potion, washed face, gargled, tucked in bed. Cleaned mess, blanketed party, sat on balcony overlooking cityscape.
"...What's coming?" That weather was anomalous too. Tell the guild. I watched snow paint the city white, standing vigil through night. Thankfully, nothing happened. Dozed all next day—Larirure piggybacked me. She liked princess-carry, but... questionable.