Dusk had settled upon Omir, as the sun cradled betwixt the clouds along the margins of the sky. Light was slowly fading away from the town and dissolving within the tender winter-darkness that was brought upon it. The folks of Omir slowly withdrew, shops shutting, goodwives came back to their houses from shopping for groceries, and other men went about their business retreating inside their abode to retire from the stressful days of the work—some relived after clearing the dense snow which gathered frequently in respective lawns and pathways. The inns of the locality illuminated brighter by their torches and flames, attracting several to rest their bones within a warm place alongside a promise of friendly company—or solitude if it were to be desired.
Among this little town, among a little lane there stood a cottage; made of wood just like the rest in Omir, its lone gate laid covered—or rather obstructed—by an untouched mound a white snow. Clearly not a soul had stepped upon the path of this sole home, neither trodden by a visitor or the dweller of this cottage for at least a few days. There was a small hearth-fire lit inside the hall of it, providing warmth across all of the room, its heat stretching fully through the lower floor of the cottage, and among this house, among the warm hall, Uri sat in wild consumption of rum, taking a sip and resting his head upon the table banging the same with the empty glass bottle, giving a hoarse groan while his head remained dizzy from over-indulgence of alcohol, senses completely nauseated, the man was wasted; almost at the grip of slumber due to his heavy head.
Just a floor above him, inside a dark room, only illumine by the transpicuous moonlight passing through the small window, stealing the beams of the moon there was Luth, packing his things into a small sack, lacking the usual haste that he normally had when he was alone at home while his foster father drank.
As long as he had lived he had never even seen the faces of his actual parents, orphaned since birth he had cut his life in loneliness and only a few people o consider friends—if any of them still considered him their friend. For a partiality of his life, he was raised by a priest of a temple, Cline by name, that was but a bit far from the village land. He would have considered it a pleasant time compared to what penal conditions he had been living in here for a few years.
Times were pleasant from childhood, but unfortunately there was the sudden overnight passing of the old priest, for he had been growing frailer over the decades he had spent in the world. He was of age 10 at that time, it was then when the boy was taken under the protection of Uri and Elia—his dearest wife— who both took care of Luth dearly with great love as any parent of blood would.
Yet that happiness was short-lived, very much so.
Five years had gone by and Elia was prepared to birth a child, and Uri couldn't be gladder, and certainly who would not be? After all the man was an excellent sire, Luth agreed as much. It was of clear visibility that he had grown to foster whatever comes in his shade. One night, the town was caught in a fierce hail storm drowning the town in its feral fury, consuming anything which came in its path without the slightest of mercy. Uri was stuck outside the village, the wheels of his carriage strayed by a rock shrouded in the storm. Elia was inside the cottage, her stomach swollen and ready for delivery, the only person at the moment present with her being Luth who tried to help but being unknowing to what was he to do, there was much in his hands but to pray for the quick arrival of Uri. Desperately Uri was outside, walking—for it was as much as he could do in his current state—across the storm trying to reach his way back home in such an extreme blizzard the hope to save his wife still present; which inspired every step that was taken towards the house. As soon as he had stepped into the comfort of his house there was a rush towards the bedroom where Elia was supposed to be. He entered and saw the scene his eyes widened. Before him, his wife laid as still as a stone, nor her stomach conceived moment and nor did the silent lady, Elia's face was completely pale, and a bit blue on some spots, her breath had ceased to come out of her nose and there was not a sliver of motion. In the corner of the bedroom, Luth sat in complete breakdown, his face buried with his palms, his arms and head—overall the whole body—damp with sweat despite the cold weather, tears burning his cheeks behind his hands.
Realization had flushed down Uri as quickly as his sadness; trembling down his last muscle, Uri feel down the floor, breathing became jagged, sight became blurry and his heart beating faster than ever had. Grief-consumed he crawled towards the corpse of his wife, his dearest wife who passed in child-birth. Slowly, his own palm rested upon the stomach of Elia, feeling the cold body, devoid of all it's warmth and happiness now remained but an carcass of the past memories. Closing his eyes, he relished the final moments, before he would touch he no more.
Uri was never the same since, nor had he remained loving, nor had he any care for anyone else. He had blamed Luth for the cause of everything which brought forth all misfortunes, which stole his life away. Luth was told responsible for the death of Cline, so for the death of Elia, for as He spoke he was 'a charm of tragedies'. Thus had began the sessions of Uri's abuse against the innocent boy. Every day—every moment—was a garland of screams, hits, scars and abuses, which rested itself upon the neck of Luth weighing him down further below his already devouring guilt; for he too believes that he had never brought good to anyone, perhaps that was the case leading to his own blood-parents abandoning him. He bore all of this for years.
Yet in the end, it was clear that he had spent his years in cowardice, never had he once believe in his heart, never reached for the potential to seek what may be the truth. That was one thing that was cleared. All broke down to this then:
Luth, just this night before which fell behind his eighteenth birthday, made the decision to run off from the house, from this town, far away—to where he knew not, but at this point there was not a place worse than this that he could think of, after all how much of the world did he know anyways?
Luth finished packing his small sac, the beams of moonlight shining on his body, a deep, red scar on his neck from last night, which he had gotten from a heated blow from the lit pipe from which Uri struck him with in great wrath. He had but a few money with him that he had collect from the old room in the cottage, which was supposed to be the room for their—Uri's and Elia's—never-born child, that no one visited, they were not a great amount but they were what he had to make do with, for he could not risk sneaking to steal some from the hall lest waking up Uri and face problems for his attempts to escape—but it would have been surprising to find coins there which he had not already spent in buying spirits for himself. In the end he packed little things inside his small bag; including some coins—12 copper ones and a silver one that he found with much happiness—, a rusty knife also found inside the same room where there rested the coins, other basics like a tumbler of water, a change of clothes and an old book which he had never read but considered of value to perhaps use in the future. He walked at the corner of the room and grabbed a dusty cloak, giving it a firm shake to get rid of the dust, it was Uri's old cloak that he had used long ago, that was the reason it contained many patches, still tore in the lower end of it, a small slit at the place but he could still manage well with it, not like there were much other optimistic choices, considering his had grown too short for him to wear.
Wrapping the cloak comfortably around his shoulders, he clenched the fabric with a uncertainty; for he was as afraid of the future as anyone could be. With a breath of finality he stepped outside the room, down the stairs he went towards the front door of the cottage while maintaining caution; as he laid his feet upon the floor of the lower part, there was a soft creaking of the wooden tile, his heart stopping for a second, eyes and ears lifting for observation. Silence. Luth stepped on and on till he was but a heart-beat away from the front gate, opening it gently Luth leaped over the mound of snow which had collected there over time. The cold breeze grazed his face, a soft scent of the fresh winter wind calmed his senses, getting him at ease, but in turn also causing a loud sneeze to release from the mouth of Luth. Silence. A sigh of relief went out his mouth, then a tremble yet. Rumbling. Some sound resonated from the hall and Luth knew that it meant, quickly coming to his actions he tightened the cloak and ran.
"Luther!" a loud scream pieced his ears, but no voice stopped his motion.
He ran, and ran, forgetting about the direction he was heading at; he only ran with eyes shut. His boot sunk inside the snow after a while, the steps were harder to take which gave him time to get back and open his eyes, the surroundings were engulfed in darkness, the village fire completely out of sight. The moon above him shone in complete glory, in beauty did it bathe in a night such as this, cloudless and devoid of any obstruction; bestowing its benevolence to the whole firmament.
Luth let his eyes rest in the darkness, taking a calm and deep breath, the wind filling his lungs, the trees shimmering with little frost. All was obstructed by a soft voice of trotting in the distance, aimed at his direction, louder and louder as it approached with lightning pace and before Luth got any time to react he felt his senses fail. Everything went black.