The Place Between Worlds

Two days of snow. No break. No sun. Just white sky and thick silence.

The wind screamed once—on the first night—and then nothing. Like the storm had buried the sound itself.

Now, the village felt boxed in. A trap of frost and weight. Even the birds had gone quiet.

Vince sat near the main fire, wrapped in layered furs and a thick blanket knotted around his shoulders. He didn't move much. Didn't speak unless necessary. His stick rested across his knees, one hand loosely curled around it like a scepter.

Around him, the survivors shifted in quiet patterns—feeding the fire, checking the roof beams, tending to coughs and cracked lips. No panic. Just a worn alertness. A shared understanding: the siege had begun.

The fire in the eastern shelter hissed and dimmed. No more wood.

Vince tapped the ground with his stick. Once. Then pointed to two young men huddled near the door. Made a turning gesture.

Eldan, seated beside him on a woven mat, nodded and translated with a few sharp words.

The men got up. Took a half-burned log from the center flame and jogged off into the white haze.

Vince watched them go.

"Fire isn't comfort," he said, voice low.

Eldan looked over.

Vince made a tightening gesture, a noose of fingers. "It's control. We control the fire…"

He twisted his hand.

"…or it controls us."

Eldan didn't smile, but the edge of his eyes crinkled. He relayed the words in clipped phrases to the others gathered close enough to hear. Heads nodded slowly. No questions. No debate.

Near the door, two small shapes sat with knees pulled to their chests and sticks across their laps—Joran and Anelka. Not guards. Just shadows. Watching.

Joran saw Vince's eyes flick toward him and straightened his back slightly. Anelka mirrored him, her chin lifted.

Not soldiers.

But they were learning from him. Even without words.

Even without war.

And Vince—Veshan, to them now—didn't stop them.

He simply nodded once. Approval was quiet.

Everything was quiet.

And outside, the snow kept falling.

The crackling fire near the back wall gave a final hiss—and died.

Loris, a teen with soot-dark hair and long arms, stood and spoke a few quiet words to Eldan. His face was pale, not from fear—but from the creeping cold in his bones.

Eldan turned to Vince. "Fire. Gone."

Vince's eyes didn't blink. He sat still for one more second.

Then moved.

"How long?" he muttered. Not a question to anyone—just to himself. His hand tapped against his leg, counting.

Frostbite came fast in still air. Faster in damp. Kids first. Then elders. Fingers, toes, breath turned sharp as blades.

He glanced at the wood pile—shrunk to a few split branches, none thick enough to last an hour. Then at the roof beams. Too wet. Too essential.

He pointed to the side wall and raised two fingers.

Eldan barked toward the young adults gathered near the inner hut wall. Six of them stood. Vince drew a structure in the dirt—a hut—and crossed part of it out.

"Only old," he said. Then mimed falling, collapse.

Eldan translated, adding sharp gestures. The teens nodded. Moved fast. No hesitation.

But then someone—Brenik, strong-shouldered and usually quiet—held up an old sled. Rotted but still in one piece.

He said something. Eldan paused.

Then Vince stood.

"We burn the sled," he snapped, "we die later."

His voice cracked the air like a whip. Even the wind outside seemed to hush for a breath.

He jabbed a finger toward the storm door. "Pick your death. Warm now, or move tomorrow?"

Brenik dropped the sled.

No one argued.

Eldan didn't need to translate that one.

Vince sat again, slower this time. Pain in his back. Weakness creeping in like the frost. He ignored it.

"Shift," he said. Then pointed—two fingers for rest, one for guard, three down to the floor for kindling. He repeated it. Then looked to Eldan.

"Make it flow."

Eldan understood. Divided the teens and young adults fast—some to break old planks, others to chip frozen roots from the edge of the trench. Not much, but better than nothing.

It wasn't efficient.

It wasn't warm.

But it was motion.

The kind that staved off death.

No begging. No shouting. Just action.

Because in this frozen siege, movement was life.

And Vince—Veshan—was still leading.

Even if he couldn't walk far.

Even if his voice was all he had left.

The shouting woke him.

Vince sat up slowly, ribs sore from cold and coughing, but the urgency in the voices outside pierced the fog in his head. Eldan appeared at the entrance, breath showing in the air.

"Marva," he said, voice tight. "Cold. No fire."

Vince didn't hesitate. He grabbed his walking stick, pulled on his coat, and followed, limping through the snow-dusted dark.

The shelter was dim. Inside, Marva—the elder woman who had first stared him down when he arrived—lay slumped beside a dead fire pit. Her skin looked too pale. Her hands curled loosely, unmoving.

Two younger villagers hovered nearby, frozen with fear. One held a broken reed torch. Another clutched a pot with cold ashes inside.

Vince knelt beside the mat, eyes sharp.

He didn't ask what happened.

He pointed at the fire pit. Then at one of the teens. Open palm, then fingers flicked upward.

"Fire," he said. "Now. Not big. Small. Start here."

The teen blinked, then nodded. Ran.

Vince turned to the girl holding the pot. Tapped the rim.

"Coal?"

She opened the pot. Empty.

"Bad." Vince pointed to the main shelter. Made a running motion with two fingers. "Get hot coal. Fast."

The girl bolted.

Eldan crouched beside him. "She... go?"

Vince placed two fingers on Marva's neck. Slow pulse.

"No. Still here."

He motioned with his hands—flat like boards, then stacking them. "Wood. Dry. Not big. Slow warm."

Eldan understood. He called over his shoulder, using more fluent local words. A third villager—broad-shouldered teen—nodded and sprinted into the dark.

Someone held out a thick wool blanket to Vince.

He shook his head. Pushed it toward Marva instead.

He kept his own.

He couldn't afford to be weak again.

The coals arrived in a shard bowl. Eldan placed them carefully into the pit while Vince arranged split bark above, angled to breathe but not flare.

The fire caught.

Not much. But enough.

Vince leaned back against the wall, breath shallow.

Marva stirred.

Her fingers twitched. A breath rattled from her lips.

Not saved.

But not lost.

Eldan looked at him. Pointed to Marva. Then made a slow lifting gesture.

"She live?"

Vince looked at the small flame. At her face, lined and cracked like the hills beyond Breden.

He gave a small shrug.

Then a flat hand. Level. Not high. Not low.

"Maybe."

That was all he had to offer.

But in that moment, it was enough.