The village stared at Jack and clapped vigorously. Amid the crowd, two men, who looked exactly alike except for a small birthmark on one, stood watching. Both had brown hair, were slender, and rather short for their mature age. While clapping, one of them seemed to whisper to the other.
"Hey, why are we clapping?"
"It seems like Nicholas invited that kid here," the man with the birthmark replied.
"Nicholas invited someone here!?"
The other man looked at him cautiously.
"Hey, bastard, someone will hear you!"
The other man shot him an angry look.
"Hey! You're the one people will hear, dumbass!"
A second later, the man without the birthmark muttered to himself, "Wait… Did he say... Frost!?"
The claps slowly faded as Nicholas walked toward his lodge, Jack right behind him. Nicholas had transformed his belt back into its ordinary shape, and the hammer was now gone. Jack spoke in a subtle tone to him.
"You could have gone softer on me, old ma—"
Before he could finish, a scream pierced the air, creating an instant silence in the village.
"HEY, KID!"
A figure pointed at Jack, his eyes burning with strong emotion.
"Are you Grace's son!?"
Jack's very own mind shook. He remembered his mother, and the thought he wanted to ignore the most pushed itself forward, but he tried to push it aside. Jack stared at the man, raising his gaze. Finding strong conviction in his heart, he let the words leave his mouth without tears.
"Yes, I am."
A hint of relief could be seen in the man's eyes.
"REALLY!?"
"Grace—your mom, how is she?"
"I swear, if Roan isn't taking care of her like I told him to, I will—"
Nicholas stepped in front of Jack, his boots shaking the snow beneath him. Jack, right behind him, widened his eyes, suppressing a frown. Nicholas's voice resounded in the snow.
"Enough, Rodrick!"
"Me and him have a lot to discuss."
He stared at Jack and spoke in a commanding yet endearing tone.
"Let's go, Jack."
Rodrick sat there, confused by Nicholas's attitude. His mind echoed.
Does he not want to know about Grace?
As they walked to the lodge, the air was sharp with cold, and the snow crunched beneath their boots. The towering lodge loomed ahead, windows glowing warm against the evening chill, while the surrounding trees, heavy with snow, whispered in the wind.
Nicholas paused in front of the lodge and turned to Jack.
"Hey, how about you go to the lake next to here and fish to clear up your mind? Take your time, but don't take too long. I don't want to have dinner late."
Jack nodded silently as Nicholas addressed the villagers heading home.
"Remember, everyone," Nicholas called, his voice carrying through the cold air.
"The festival is in two days from now!"
With that, jack took a shower in Nicholas bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror.
His pale skin contrasted with the ice encrusted on his body.
His dark hair now lay wet over his eyes.
He pulled the strands back, revealing a pale, sharp face.
He stared into his reflection, focusing on his eyes—remembering how they looked when they used to glow.
He ran his hand across his now frozen chest.
I guess I don't really feel cold.
I thought there would be some effect… but now I realize, it feels like… it's a part of me.
The thought echoed through his mind as he continued to stare at his chest.
Well, time to go fishing, I guess.
Jack got ready, slipping on only a shirt to cover his body this time. No coat. No scarf. Just the bare minimum.
He grabbed the fishing equipment Nicholas had left behind in a black leather bag.
Opening the door, the chill air hit his face—but didn't faze him.
The night sky stretched out above him, stars glimmering, the moon shining down like a silent guardian.
He walked toward the nearby lake.
Once there, Jack unfolded a wooden chair and placed it near the frozen surface.
"Here should be fine."
He took out his silver dagger and carved a hole in the ice, revealing the dark, still water below.
He baited the fishing rod, then cast the hook into the opening.
And waited.
His gaze drifted upward, wistful eyes locked on the starlit sky.
A soft sigh escaped his lips.
So, it's come to this, huh?
I end up in some far-off northern village… without knowledge of nearly anything.
"Mom… Dad."
These past couple of days… have been rough.
That man… my uncle.
I don't understand why he did this. Not that I want to.
But first… I need to see if you're okay.
And for that, I'll do…
Anythi—
His thought was abruptly cut off.
Someone grabbed his arm from behind.
Startled, Jack turned to find a small girl with dark hair and wide, black eyes staring up at him. She wore a large fur coat, her ears protected by a fluffy white cover. Her gaze wasn't aggressive—just quietly empathetic.
Jack's eyes widened in shock.
"Ahh!"
He stumbled a step backward.
The girl simply blinked at him, then gave him a sharp, almost judgmental look.
"Mister, you won't catch anything here, you know?"
Without waiting for a response, she turned her head toward a tree a short distance behind them.
"Aos! Brother!"
Her voice was innocent, full of curiosity and warmth.
Jack followed her gaze, his eyes settling on the tree—
—and then, a blur of movement.
From behind it, a figure sprinted into view. Footsteps echoed sharply across the ice, fast and deliberate, as a young man rushed forward, boots slapping the frozen surface.
"Mila! I told you to stay hidden, dammit!"
The young man Jack had seen earlier—peeking at him before he entered Nichoals's workshop—was now standing right in front of him.
His hair was brown, slightly curly, and tousled by the wind. His dark eyes, wide and expressive, were filled with emotion—though Jack couldn't quite place which.
The boy quickly reached for the little girl, grabbing her gently by the shoulders and pulling her behind him.
Then, without hesitation, he bowed deeply.
"I-I—I'm sorry, sir!"
His voice trembled with nervous energy.
Jack blinked, taken aback by the sudden apology.
"...Sir?"
He tilted his head, brow furrowed.
What does he mean by sir?