THE ICE WALL
## Chapter One — Shroud
Finally, after six months of learning, taking courses, spending a lot of money, and sacrificing a lot of my free time, I was finally able to write this novel.After all the criticism you gave me about the old version, I decided to make a difficult decision—one that I don't think many writers would be willing to make.But I want to succeed.So, please, give me a chance and help me improve.Also, if you come across any weird comparisons or unusual descriptions, they're intentional. I'm not trying to show off my English or pretend I have some crazy vocabulary. There's a reason behind them.Anyway... I hope you enjoy the story.
THE ICE WALLChapter One — Shroud
There is no color here.
Only white.
White that does not comfort you.
White that eats you.
The wind does not blow.
The wind rules.
It takes hold of everything and squeezes until everything is silent.
Even sound dies before it can reach you.
Six men walked through the snow.
Their faces were hidden behind frozen scarves. Their bodies were massive, their steps heavy, as though they already knew they were walking toward a place that held nothing worth reaching.
They carried a shroud.
And the shroud was strangely heavy.
Heavier than a single body should have been.
At the front walked a boy.
Small enough to stand out among the six men.
As though someone had simply forgotten to let him grow.
His eyes were still alive.
His feelings still had a pulse.
His tears froze before they could fall.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
A tear would leave his eye, then harden against his cheek like glass.
One of the men glanced at him from the corner of his eye.
"Don't cry, boy."
Ice did not answer.
Another man spoke, his voice sharper.
"Are you mocking us?"
"Did no one ever teach you that there is no place for crying here?"
Ice slowly lowered his eyes to the ground.
Ice beneath his feet.
Nothing but ice.
And inside his head, there was only one question.
A question that kept turning and turning without ever finding an answer.
Don't I have the right to cry for my father?
The father he had never seen until now.
Inside his shroud.
They stopped.
Set the shroud down.
Then left.
Without a word.
Without looking back.
As if the task were finished and there were more important things waiting for them.
They left Ice with a hole to dig.
And a father to bury.
Then they disappeared into the snowfall.
The boy dug slowly.
His fingers went numb.
He could no longer feel them.
But he kept digging.
And when he spoke, the words seemed to force their way out of him.
"I always wished I could see you."
"But why did I have to see you in your shroud?"
"Why didn't you ever care about me?"
"I want to see you."
"All I ever knew about you was that you went searching for secrets."
"Mother used to say you were a scholar."
Ice laughed.
A short, dry laugh.
The laugh of someone who had grown accustomed to disappointment long ago.
Then he looked at the body.
"A scholar who went looking for secrets and left me behind."
He pulled the scarf away from his mouth.
His lips were frozen.
Then he opened the shroud.
The scene reflected in his eyes.
His father's face.
White.
Everything was white here.
But this white was different.
It was quiet in a way he could hardly bear.
His hair was black, dry as straw from the cold.
Ice pulled away the heavy wool blankets covering the body.
He lifted him.
Heavy.
Far heavier than Ice had expected.
A human body carried a weight unlike anything he had ever held before.
He lowered his father carefully into the grave.
Very carefully.
As though afraid he might hurt him.
Even though he was dead.
He adjusted the position of his head slightly.
Brushed some dirt away from his face.
Then sat in silence.
He stared at him.
As though waiting for him to wake.
He gave him one last look.
There was only one thing in his eyes.
Hope.
Impossible hope.
That the body would move.
That his eyes would open.
That he would say something.
Anything.
Even a single word.
But the body did not move.
The dirt came down.
The shroud was empty now.
Ice searched through it.
Clothes.
A few belongings.
He took whatever he could find.
Then his hand touched something.
A notebook.
Its leather was nearly crumbling apart.
Black.
Old in a way that made you feel it had lived far longer than it ever should have.
Something flickered in Ice's eyes.
The first spark he had shown since arriving here.
Finally.
Something that belonged to him.
Something no hand but his father's had touched.
Something that remained.
He opened it quickly.
The pages were blank.
He turned one page after another.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
With every turn, something in his face faded.
He turned another page.
Then another.
Then went back to the beginning.
As though the words were hiding from him.
As though they simply did not want to appear yet.
He reached the final page.
Nothing.
He closed his eyes for a second.
Then he heard it.
A sound.
It was not the wind.
Ice looked around.
Nothing.
He returned his attention to the notebook.
The sound came again.
Closer.
Something between an eagle's scream,
the dying neigh of a horse,
and the sobbing of a child behind a locked door.
All of it came out at once.
Muffled.
As though it were being forced from inside something being slowly slaughtered.
His hands trembled.
Not from the cold.
He stopped for a moment.
Breathed.
Tried to calm himself.
Then he took only the notebook and the clothes.
He turned his back to the shroud.
And walked.
His steps grew faster.
Then he heard the sound behind him.
This time, it was heavier.
Footsteps.
Wide and deliberate.
Spreading across the ice like the tread of a camel.
His body went rigid.
He turned.
Three meters away.
A body shaped like a human being.
But there was nothing human about it.
Its face was scribbled.
As though a child had been handed a sheet of paper and told to keep drawing until there was nothing left to draw.
Green symbols surrounded the scribbles.
They glowed like a lamp in an empty house.
No lips.
No ears.
Silver eyes.
And vapor poured from a hole where a face should have been.
Like cigarette smoke in the dead of winter.
It stopped.
For one moment.
Then raised a hand to its face and scratched at the green symbols with its fingers.
Once.
Then again.
As though trying to tear something loose from beneath its skin.
Then the sound came from it again.
Louder.
More painful.
It walked toward Ice.
Long, slow steps.
As though it already knew he would not escape.
Ice did not move.
His body refused to respond.
But his face...
His face was strange.
Something was fighting inside him.
A coldness trying to take control.
And beneath it, something else.
Anger.
Disgust.
As though there were someone else behind his eyes.
Someone who looked at this creature and felt nothing but revulsion.
Then it changed.
Slowly.
Like a curtain being drawn aside.
His eyes returned to normal.
Watching.
Observing.
But not understanding.
A laugh escaped him.
Against his will.
He froze.
Raised a hand to his mouth.
He did not understand.
Why was he smiling?
At a time like this?
The creature reached toward his neck.
Blackness.
A missing moment.
A blank space.
Something Ice could not remember.
Then...
Blood.
His eyes were open.
The dagger was in Ice's hand.
He did not remember picking it up.
Blood poured from the creature's neck.
It dropped to its knees.
Ice stood over it.
The creature lifted its face.
Its silver eyes trembled.
There was no fear in them.
Only relief.
The relief of someone whose suffering had finally come to an end.
"I..."
It coughed blood.
"Finally..."
Its lips trembled.
Then it smiled.
A small, peaceful smile.
"I'm dying."
It said it like someone who had waited a very long time for this moment.
A very, very long time.
Then its eyes widened.
The smile froze.
As though it had seen something behind Ice's face.
Something that should not have existed.
"No..."
It recoiled.
Even as it died.
"No..."
Its voice trembled.
"You..."
The words broke apart in its throat.
Its gaze remained fixed on Ice's eyes.
As though they were the last thing in the world it wanted to escape.
"You're a monster."
The wind.
Only the wind.
And Ice stood there.
The dagger in his hand.
Blood against the white ice.
In his other hand,
the notebook.
Three words written in blood.
Be as you are.