Chapter 3: Seven Years Old.

Vigil Calendar Year 825, February, the Month of Prayer.

The long winter finally showed signs of retreat.

The sun rose above the horizon. Its warmth spread thinly over the snow. Though it lingered only briefly each day, light had returned.

Iceberry Village relied on dwindling cellar stores and steadfast faith in the Holy Lord. They endured the cold in silence, praying for spring.

Last year, two elders caught corruption sickness. They died in isolated agony and were buried on the windy northern ridge cemetery. In borderlands touching the Black Domain, corruption sickness was everyone’s lingering nightmare.

Last year, nine infants were born in Iceberry. One stillborn. One with heartbreaking deformity. Before tasting mother’s milk, the father—face cold as frost—took it into the forest.

Like all villages on the survival line, Iceberry women bore children endlessly to offset high infant mortality.

Last year’s harvest was decent, but winter colder than usual. Food consumption rose. Thanks to Chief Mocus’s diligence, no one starved.

Cary was seven this year. Under Renat’s devoted care, he was the village’s healthiest child.

None of this would be possible without Priest Finn’s efforts. Three hundred kilograms of grain—the retired Lantern Bearer pension—arrived solidly each year.

Plus Renat’s early savings and the village fund’s token subsidy. It let the landless pair eat nutrient-rich foods most children only dreamed of.

Why had Renat wandered? Even her name might not be real. But neither revered Priest Finn nor shrewd Chief Mocus ever asked.

Lantern Bearers were the continent’s brightest blessed. Across the empire’s six million souls, active and retired Lantern Bearers totaled just over three thousand. Scattered among church, noble lands, the Lantern Bearer guild, and mercenary bands.

Most of a Lantern Bearer’s year was spent venturing the Black Domain. Seeking hope to end the nightmare while inevitably tangled in dark power struggles and conflicts.

In the short daylight, villagers worked frantically. Repairing pens and homes, tending livestock, gathering firewood. Older children, organized by militia, learned basic hunting skills.

Upon adulthood, all would take the Lantern Bearer trial. Success odds were slim. Failure risked varying corruption sickness or death. Yet it was the only chance poor families had to change fate.

For nearly a century, Iceberry sent several youths to the trial each year. All failed. Sura seemed to withhold favor from this barren land. No chance to break destiny’s chains.

Thus, Renat’s son Cary became the village’s sole burning hope. That distinctive black hair was the most direct proof of the Holy Lord’s great mercy.

…

…

Early morning, Renat sent Cary to the clearing by the cow pen. He practiced dull sword swings again and again.

Renat—tiny as an eleven- or twelve-year-old—sat on a small stool milking the family’s only cow. The winter dress, clearly too large, wrapped her petite frame. Yet she managed the household like an adult.

In Iceberry, fresh milk went only to young children and the bedridden. Surplus became long-keeping cheese. Sold for coin or stored for harsh winters.

“Cary, focus. Arms higher, shoulders level!” Renat milked while turning her head. Her gaze always caught her son’s wandering moments precisely.

“Mom, I’ve swung a thousand times!”

Cary finally snapped. He threw down the custom small wooden sword and plopped onto the frozen ground. His flushed face steamed with sweat.

Renat’s sternness melted into a loving smile. She beckoned. “Fine, rest. Go fetch some hay.”

Cary bounced up, lively as a young deer. He darted around his mother, stuffing hay haphazardly into the cow’s trough.

“Mom, they say you were a Lantern Bearer. You could talk to giant berries and wheat! Is it true?” Cary teased the cow, looking up. His bright eyes sparkled with curiosity.

Renat wiped her hands and pulled him close. Like all mothers, she fed his wonder with gentle words. “Mom can only vaguely sense a little… They’re living things too. They strive to grow, feel joy, fall sick, grow old slowly…”

“Will I become a Lantern Bearer too? As strong as you?” Pure child eyes shone with longing and innocence. “Then I can defeat the demons in the black fog!”

The black fog barrier—a thick, impenetrable wall—lay dozens of kilometers south in Nightdew Valley, blocking heaven and earth.

To adults, it was a deathly abyss. To some naive children, a place of mingled curiosity and fear.

“Yes, you will become a Lantern Bearer.” Renat’s tone was firm. Fingers combed his soft black hair. “Maybe the Holy Lord will favor you more. You’ll have a greater, more remarkable profession than Mom.”

Encouragement was essential. Especially for the black-haired son everyone expected. Downplay fear, highlight glory—that was Renat’s only choice.

“But… Brother Eric said it’s scary and painful…” Cary’s excitement faded. He fidgeted with hay. Real fear flickered on his face. “Mom, will Brother Eric get better?”

Eric, Chief Mocus’s eldest son, took the Lantern Bearer trial full of hope last Month of Endless Day. He passed the first two rounds but failed the final awakening rite. He caught corruption sickness.

The other four youths of his group failed even the first test.

Fighting corruption had little to do with piety. Each year, the village fund’s meager coins mostly bought holy water, holy oil, and treatment drugs.

For poor villages, full expensive treatment was impossible. Drag it out without death, survive the worst phase—that counted as treatment. Then wait for slow self-healing.

If no severe aftereffects, one could live normally. Even gain some corruption resistance after recovery. Valuable for Black Domain edge exploration.

“He will. This year will have a good harvest. Priest Finn will bring more holy water and medicine from Degbrun Monastery… Later, go study letters with him. Bring our cheese too.”

Renat stroked his soft black hair. Her tone was gentle and sure, but worry flickered in her eyes.

Cary was born in the Black Domain. By logic, he was far from full-term in his mother Hilda’s womb. He bore not just Sura’s envied black hair blessing. Perhaps… something else imperceptible.

Mother-son warmth was always fleeting. Under Renat’s stern guidance, Cary picked up the wooden sword for another round.

But less than five minutes later, commotion and noise rose from the village entrance.