It was a cold, unforgiving night. The chilling wind howled through the darkness, so fierce that no one dared step outside their homes. The gusts echoed like the mournful song of a snow maiden, sending shivers down the spine of anyone who heard it.
Through the storm walked a woman, wrapped in warm but tattered clothes. Her steps were unsteady, her face pale and drained of colour. Her slightly swollen belly showed that she was well into her pregnancy. Despite the unbearable pain wracking her body—pain that would have broken an ordinary person—she pressed on. She had to find shelter, a place where she and her unborn child could be safe.
After what felt like an eternity, the outline of a village emerged from the snowy haze. She paused at its edge, eyes scanning for any sign of refuge. Then, suddenly, she felt a movement within her.
"Don't worry," she whispered softly, caressing her belly. "Mom will find a safe place for us soon. Somewhere we won't have to keep running. Somewhere we can finally live in peace."
After whispering those words, she resumed walking toward the village, her steps slow but determined.
Eventually, she arrived at the outskirts. The flicker of lanterns through the windows gave a faint warmth to the otherwise frigid night. She approached one of the houses and, mustering the last of her strength, gently knocked on the wooden door.
Tak! Tak! Tak!
A few moments passed before the door creaked open just a crack. A middle-aged woman peeked out cautiously, her eyes narrowing at the unfamiliar figure. But when she noticed the stranger's bulging belly and trembling form, her expression shifted from suspicion to shock.
Without hesitation, she swung the door open.
"Who are you, girl? And why are you out here on such a cold night?" the woman asked, her voice laced with both worry and confusion.
Before the woman could respond, her vision blurred. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the ground with a dull thud.
The middle-aged woman gasped in panic.
"Hey! Girl, what's wrong? Wake up! Please, wake up!" she cried, kneeling beside the unconscious figure.
But there was no response. The young woman lay motionless, her breath shallow and weak.
"What's going on? Is something wrong?" a hurried voice called out as a middle-aged man stepped out of the house, his eyes scanning the scene.
His wife turned to him, her face pale with concern.
"Husband, it's the girl who knocked earlier—she collapsed," she said anxiously. "She must be sick... and being out in this cold only made it worse."
The man's expression grew serious as he rushed to kneel beside the unconscious woman. He placed a hand near her face, feeling the faint, uneven breaths.
"She's burning up with fever," he muttered. "We need to get her inside—quickly!"
After carrying the woman inside, the middle-aged couple laid her gently on a straw mattress near the hearth. The wife quickly lit a fire in the chimney, and warmth slowly began to push back the cold that clung to the room.
The crackling flames cast a soft glow over the woman's pale face. Her breathing remained shallow.
"Husband... what should we do?" the wife asked, her voice trembling. "If we leave her like this, she'll die. And she's pregnant... If something happens now, both the mother and child—" Her voice cracked. "Please... you have to do something."
She turned to her husband with pleading eyes, desperation clear in her tone.
"Alright. I'm going to the church to get Father Orsi. Maybe he can help her," the middle-aged man said firmly before hurrying out into the cold night.
Left alone, the woman clasped her hands tightly and looked toward the ceiling with tear-filled eyes.
"Oh, dear God... please help this pitiful child," she whispered, her voice soft and trembling.
She moved closer to the unconscious woman, whose breathing remained faint and uneven. Gently, she fetched a blanket and draped it over the girl's fragile body, tucking it around her with care.
"Hang in there... help is on the way," she murmured, brushing a strand of damp hair from the girl's face.
Soon, the man returned—this time with two others by his side.
Walking beside him was a middle-aged man with short grey hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. He wore a long black robe, marked by wide white bands at the hem and cuffs—a symbol of his position in the church.
Beside him was a young woman, her skin pale and her long dark blue hair flowing gently behind her. Her eyes held a quiet intensity, as if she could sense something others could not.
"Where is the girl you mentioned?" asked the middle-aged man—Father Orsi—his voice calm but laced with concern.
"Here, Father! Please, help this child," the woman said hurriedly, guiding him toward the unconscious figure lying near the hearth.
She pointed to the young woman, now wrapped in a blanket, her face pale and breathing still faint.
As Father Orsi caught sight of the woman lying by the fire, his eyes widened in shock. He rushed to her side and quickly checked her pulse. His expression turned grave.
Without hesitation, he looked toward the young woman standing beside him.
"Sister Lily, this girl needs immediate treatment," he said firmly. "For now, you and I will do what we can to stabilize her with healing magic."
Sister Lily stepped forward and knelt beside the unconscious woman, settling on the opposite side from Father Orsi. She extended her hand over the woman's body, and a soft blue glow began to radiate from her palm. In the same moment, a glowing blue grimoire floated beside her, its pages fluttering in the air.
"Water-Healing Magic: Healing Water."
The grimoire's pages flipped rapidly before stopping on a specific one. As her chant ended, a shimmering sphere of water formed and gently enveloped the woman's entire body.
There was no immediate, dramatic change—but slowly, the sickly pallor on the woman's face began to fade. Colour returned to her cheeks, and her breathing steadied just slightly.
After some time, Sister Lily withdrew her hand. The water sphere slowly dissipated into the air in a fine mist, and the glowing grimoire gently closed itself before floating back into the book holder at her waist.
"Father," she said softly, "I've healed what I could. Her complexion has improved... but as you know, her fever is caused by illness, not injury. My magic can only go so far."
She looked at Father Orsi with concern in her eyes, clearly wishing she could do more.
"It's alright, Sister Lily. You've done well," Father Orsi said, sighing in relief. "I'll give her the medicine she needs."
Sister Lily nodded, stepping back to give him space.
Father Orsi opened the satchel at his side and carefully took out a small bundle of herbs. Placing them in a wooden bowl, he began to grind and mix them with practiced hands, creating a warm, aromatic syrup.
Once it was ready, he gently lifted the woman's head and brought the bowl to her lips, carefully helping her drink the mixture.
"Come now… just a little. This will ease your fever," he whispered softly, as if speaking to both the mother and the unborn child.
After the woman drank the syrup, Father Orsi gently laid her head back down on the mat, adjusting the blanket to keep her warm.
"Father... how is she? Will she be alright?" the middle-aged woman asked anxiously as she stepped closer.
Father Orsi turned to her with a calm smile. "She'll be fine. But it will take a few days for her to fully recover. Her body is weak from exhaustion and illness, but the worst has passed."
And yet… there was something else—something hidden deep within the woman's body. Something dark. Something unsettling. A presence that felt cold and unnatural, though faintly buried beneath layers of exhaustion.
After a long pause, the middle-aged woman finally spoke, recounting how she had found the girl collapsed outside their door.
Father Orsi and Sister Lily listened carefully. When the tale was done, both of them fell into a thoughtful silence.
Her condition… her sudden appearance in the middle of a deadly winter storm… and now, this creeping darkness—none of it seemed ordinary.
"This woman's origin… isn't simple," they both thought in unspoken agreement.
Even now, as she lay unconscious, there was nothing to identify her—no name, no pendant, no crest… nothing but the tattered clothes on her back.
"It'll be okay... probably," Father Orsi thought to himself. Her injuries didn't appear to be the result of any magical attack, which was at least some comfort.
"For now, we just need to wait," he said aloud, letting out a quiet sigh as he looked at the middle-aged couple. "Once she wakes up, we'll finally have some answers."