BlackSwan

On a cold winter day, the village was wrapped in legends of a mysterious hero said to wander its streets. Dressed in black, with hair as dark red as blood and long enough to be gathered, he stood out unmistakably. His enigmatic eyes — one white, one black — and the burgundy shawl adorned with golden embroidery only deepened the mystery. While some newspapers perceived his icy gaze as a threat, the villagers believed he was a true gentleman who helped others. But who was this man?

“What?”

The woman’s voice rang sharply through the house, echoing against the high walls.

“Again? Alex got into another fight?”

“Please, try to remain calm, Lady Hugh.”

She closed her eyes and drew in a slow, weary breath. The situation felt painfully familiar.

Hugh had tried—countless times—to correct Alex, to guide him, to temper that reckless streak of his. But Alex had never truly changed. He was stubborn, impulsive, and possessed an almost uncanny talent for finding trouble.

Was he careless?

Without a doubt.

Thoughtless?

Often.

And yet, there was a truth Hugh rarely admitted, even to herself: she cared deeply for that untamed spirit of his. Still, affection did little to quiet the persistent knot of worry tightening in her chest.

She wanted a safer future for him. A quieter life. One free from needless danger.

That was why she kept warning him.

Why she kept urging caution.

But Alex…

Alex was a storm that refused to be stilled.

“By the Great Protector…” Hugh murmured, exhaustion softening her voice.

“When will that boy ever learn to stay out of trouble?”

Blekan’s weather was as it always was: a stubborn cold that seeped into your bones and refused to leave.

In the name of the Great Guardian, a warm day in this village would have been considered almost blasphemous.

The strange part?

It never snowed in Blekan.

The sky denied the village its white, yet handed out the cold with merciless generosity.

On one of the frozen streets, a sixteen-year-old boy stumbled forward, not quite awake yet.

Alex.

Hair a mess. Eyes half-closed.

And on his lips — a matter of utmost importance:

“Soup, soup… let’s eat sooooup…

I haven’t had nearly enough soup lately.

I hope the little soup buddies aren’t mad at me for neglecting them…”

He stopped.

Actually thinking.

“…Wait for meee, my soup buddies!”

Despite Blekan’s lethal chill, Alex’s cheerfulness seemed to defy the laws of physics.

As he swayed lazily toward the training grounds, that familiar expression rested on his face:

Carefree. Innocent.

And disturbingly peaceful.

Until—

His steps halted.

The grin faded.

His brows pulled together.

Alex tilted his head slightly, as though trying to catch something hidden within the wind.

“…Come on,” he murmured.

“What was that feeling?”

Then it came.

A scream that tore through Blekan’s silence.

“AAAAAAAAAA! SOMEBODY HELP!”

Alex’s eyes snapped open.

Sleep vanished without a trace.

Without hesitation — not even for a second — he ran.

When he reached the village square, the scene was painfully clear.

In the middle of the street, one of Blekan’s so-called “respected men” — a massive, broad-shouldered brute — was beating a boy no older than fourteen or fifteen.

The child’s face was pressed against the ground.

The man’s fists had no intention of stopping.

A circle had formed around them.

But no one moved.

No one spoke.

Blekan watched.

Fear hung heavier than the cold.

Something boiled inside Alex.

*Why is nobody helping?*

*Why is everyone just standing there?*

To him, there was only one answer.

“Ridiculous.”

Alex stepped forward.

“Hey!”

No response.

Another step.

“Hey… you idiot!”

This time, his voice echoed sharply against Blekan’s stone walls.

Heads turned.

Eyes narrowed.

Silent, familiar thoughts passed through the crowd:

*There he goes again.*

*That fool is going to get himself killed one day.*

The man turned slowly.

First confusion.

Then a deeply unsettling amusement.

“Well, well…” he rumbled.

“The red-haired brat.”

He grabbed the boy on the ground by the hair, lifting him slightly.

“I’m disciplining him for that exact reason.

Because, as you said, he’s an idiot.”

The man grinned at the crowd.

“He blocked my path when I was walking.

If he doesn’t learn his lesson now, how could he ever grow into a virtuous man?”

He laughed.

That laugh was colder than Blekan’s winter.

Then he fixed his gaze on Alex.

“Isn’t that right… red-haired boy?”

The crowd held its breath.

Slowly, a smile crept onto Alex’s face.

But this wasn’t his usual foolish grin.

Alex raised his hand.

Pointed at the man.

And spoke in a voice so calm it was almost frightening.

“I’m talking about you.”