A village stood surrounded by trees that stretched as far as the eye could see.

The village was without a name, but many called it home. This home was the only thing many humans held on to dearly- they'd argue there was never a place like it in all the worlds surface.

It was a cold place, frozen in time, much like the rest of the Southern regions of the world. Many moved here in hopes of finding a final light in their last breath.

But it was home. And it was home to a man name Wayne.

Wayne was a tall, broody man, with dreaded hair and eyes of ebony. He hardly spoke, but when he did, it was softly- most finding his presence a warm welcome in their frigid hell.

Wayne had something special about him, as humans often do. He wrote stories in his mind and believed in fairy tales.

He was around the age of thirty, maybe a little younger. The tundras kept his skin frozen, too, but his spirit was a flame that refused to burn out, even in the harshest winters.

His fathers passing, even his mothers, kept him going and going until he finally stopped in the nameless village with only his Qur'an in hand and stories kept in the depths of his mind. He was young then, fifteen or sixteen, when the breeze of the earth led him to this place.

He was given his one and only book before his father passed in the frozen wastes. They were driven from their home, by order of the Queen of the nine districts. They were to be relocated in one of the capitols after their village was taken to be used as a mining district. The Queen had no use for the sick or elderly during that time. The Mindless; those who were driven mad after being tossed into the arctic wastes, spared no stragglers.

'Keep going, never stop' his father told him before he handed his son his prized possession.

'Never forget of stories and fair tales,' were his fathers last words.

Wayne cried, but never for too long. Tears turn to hail, hail brings the mindless. Be it the queens order or the wrath of the mindless, Wayne refused to be taken by either. He would outlive any storm that came to him, he had to, so he believed. So he would.

***

Wynter was named in spite, as a curse. Her mother loathed her for so much as being born, believing she was the cause of the long winter.

Her hair was as white as her skin, with her eyes a deep brown.

Her appearance alone gave her mother more anger than she'd admit. She would curse the girl, until finally one day, Wynter learned to walk.

After she learned to walk, she didn't stop. She stumbled past the frozen wastes, never fearing the mindless or the wrath of any queen or king of any district. They were the mindless to her, as was her mother. She grew without fear, then one day, stumbled down a hole.

It was there she learned of a world under the wastes called Haven.

It wasn't long until Wynter forgot, after learning so much, who she was and where she was from. She forgot the feeling of remaining stagnant; frozen in place, with something in her melting- be it her mothers curse or the warmth of real love, she finally felt something more.

She met others who cared for her and never looked at herself as being a cursed or mindless being, like her mother wished for her.

She made her way back to the wastes in due time, searching for answers of a world long forgotten.