"Eternal Branches: Chronicles of Yggdrasil"

On a cold winter night, a blizzard ravaged the town, snowflakes flying through the sky like feathers blown by the wind. Mikaelle's mother groaned hard in the delivery room, her face pale and sweat sliding down her temples. The doctor's face was stony, knowing that this night would be a matter of life and death.

'Push a little harder, ma'am!' The doctor encouraged, but his voice revealed a hint of helplessness.

With her last ounce of strength, Mikaelle's mother finally heard the baby cry. However, the moment she breathed a sigh of relief, her body suddenly trembled and her eyes gradually lost focus. The doctor rushed to check, but it was already too late. She left this world with the last vestiges of her newborn son.

Mikaelle's father, Eric, stood outside the delivery room, his face expressionless, just staring silently at the closed door. When the doctor walked out and shook his head, an inexplicable anger and despair welled up in Eric's heart. He had lost his beloved wife, and this newborn had become the source of his resentment.

Mikaelle grew up with his father's shadow hanging over him. Eric became silent and alcohol became his companion. He rarely interacted with Mikaelle and always had a cold face even in Mikaelle's presence. Mikaelle could only find comfort in a thin blanket left by his mother, which was the only item where he could feel her love.

At school, Mikael was always alone. He sits in the last row of the classroom, head bowed, concentrating on drawing the world in pencil. His drawings were full of light and warmth, a stark contrast to his grey life. Teachers occasionally praised his drawings, but Mikael never took them home. He knows that his father doesn't care.

At a class exhibition, Mikael's painting was chosen by the teacher. The painting was of a hut, warmed by a fire, with snow falling outside the window. The parents of the other children came to the event and stood in front of the paintings, praising them for their work. Mikaelle hid in the corner, expecting his father's figure to appear. But he knew that his father would not come. Sure enough, Mikael stood alone by the door until the event was over.

When he got home, his father was leaning back on the sofa with a half-empty bottle of wine in his hand. He casually glanced at Mikaelle and asked, 'Where did you go?' Mikaelle whispered about the school's painting exhibition. The father sneered, 'Can painting bring your mother back?' The words stuck into Mikael's heart like a knife. He secretly stuffed the paintings he was about to take out back into his school bag and never mentioned painting again.

As he grew older, Michael began to hide his emotions. He was afraid of being denied, afraid that his existence would disappoint others. During a class debate, the teacher named him to speak on stage. Mikael walked to the podium with his head down and his palms sweaty. As soon as he opened his mouth, his classmates began to whisper, and his voice got smaller and smaller as his father's cold words echoed in his head, 'What good are you?' Finally, he stood there motionless until the teacher told him to get off the stage. When he returned to his seat, his ears were filled with the laughter of his classmates.

Mikael never shed tears in front of others, but that night, he hid under the covers and cried like a lost child. He wanted to ask his father countless times, 'Why don't you love me?' But every time he saw his father's cold eyes, he swallowed his words. Deep down he longed for recognition, but could never find an outlet.

Mikael's world was like a winter wilderness, cold, lonely, yet silent. Instead of the warmth of the cottage, there is an endless snowfield and blurred shadows in the distance. The shadows were lonely, like himself ...

It was a grey morning, the sky hung low, like a leaden grey curtain pressing down on the town, so dreary that it took one's breath away. The shadow of war spread noiselessly, and the streets were empty, with only the sound of rushing footsteps and the occasional cry cutting through the dead silence. Artillery fires gradually roared in the distance, the muffled sound like an awakening beast, roaring and rolling on the horizon, gradually approaching the place. The pungent smell of smoke filled the air, and every breath was like swallowing a mouthful of searing ash.

Mikael curled up in a dark corner of his home, clutching the old blanket his mother had left behind. His face was buried in the blanket, as if trying to draw from it an ounce of non-existent warmth. At only fifteen years old, he had long since become accustomed to the invisible oppression that enveloped his surroundings. The sound of an explosion came from a distance, far and near, shaking the floor slightly, and the sudden loud noise, as piercing as the sound of his father dropping a bottle after a night of drinking, was impossible to ignore.

'Stay home, I'm going to see what's going on.' Father Eric stood in the doorway, his voice low and urgent, a half-drunk bottle of wine clutched in his hand. His gaze wandered to the corner of the room, as if he was deliberately avoiding Mikaelle's eyes, or as if he was desperately trying to hide an unspeakable struggle within. After a short silence, he glanced down at Mikaelle with a complex and inscrutable look, as if mixed with unknown apologies and silent repression. He frowned, and without another word, he turned and walked out the door, the sound of the door slamming silent in the stillness of the room.

However, Mikaelle did not heed his father's admonition. He stared at the door for a long time, and an unspeakable impulse suddenly welled up in his heart, perhaps because of the fragments of emotion hidden in that brief glimpse, or perhaps because he wanted to seize that fleeting connection. He got up quietly, took his mother's old blanket with him, and followed in his father's footsteps. The streets were littered with the wreckage of war, broken beams and tiles, interspersed with unextinguished soot. The rubble underfoot made a soft crunching sound on the soles of his shoes, and his pace was as light as he could make it, but his heart was beating faster and faster, like a small beast driven into a corner. He didn't really know what he could do, but he stubbornly followed his father's tired and lonely back as if it was the only direction he was heading.

Through several dark alleys, Mikael eventually came to the town square. It was filled with hasty residents, and a group of soldiers were driving them away in a rough manner, the sound of rifle butts hitting the ground interspersed with the low sobs and uneasy clamour of the crowd. Standing in the midst of the chaotic crowd, Eric appeared to be extraordinarily silent, fatigue and depression written all over his face. His hands were clenched into dead fists and his shoulders trembled slightly, as if he was desperately trying to hold back some kind of emotion, but he never took a step forward.

Mikaelle was just about to approach, but suddenly heard an ear-splitting boom falling from the sky. He jerked his head up, only to see a low-flying bomber skimming through the gloomy clouds, casting black shadows like the scythe of the God of Death, just covering the area where Mikaelle was.

'Boom--'

An explosion ripped through the air, and smoke and dust instantly engulfed the square. Mikaelle only felt a blazing white light in front of his eyes, and in his ears was a sharp chirping sound. He instinctively reached for the old blanket, yet the familiar touch slipped from his fingertips. He felt his body float lightly, like a falling leaf, swept away into the endless darkness.

When the dust finally settled, Eric fell to his knees amidst the rubble that covered the ground. His eyes locked on a wizened figure, and he stiffly moved his feet over to it. It was a thin body, with undried dust still on its face. In his hands, he clutched the worn blanket.

'Mikaelle ...,' Eric's voice was barely audible. He squatted down and gently wiped the dust off the boy's face with his rough fingers, revealing that familiar and unfamiliar face. At the moment, those eyes, which always carried a timid look, were tightly closed, as if they had finally been freed from endless fear. A suffocating pain suddenly welled up in his chest, the emotion that had been suppressed over the years breaking the bank in an instant.

'Why did you follow out?' He murmured, a hoarse choke in his voice. He looked up at the darkening sky, tears sliding silently down his face. 'She left you behind, and I let you ...' His words broke off, and he could barely continue at the end.

Eric had never realised that this child, from whom he had always been estranged, was his only link to his late wife. He hated himself for not being able to protect his wife, but had passed that hatred onto Mikaelle for no apparent reason. Now that Michael was gone, the remorse and emptiness was like an invisible shackle, locking him up tightly. His hands hung down feebly, his eyes empty as he watched the boy's face gradually blur into tears.

Meanwhile, Mikaelle's consciousness drifted in the void of space. In that endless nothingness, Mikael's consciousness receded like a tidal wave, and the world in front of him gradually turned into a soft light. His body seemed to be gently lifted up by some kind of warm power, and that warmth contained a hint of ineffable familiarity, like a long-lost embrace, which could not help but bring peace to his heart.

There was a low and melodious voice in his ears, if anything, as if it came from a distant sea of stars, but also as if it was whispering in his ears. He tried hard to recognise the voice, but only heard intermittent fragments, blurred like a broken song on the wind. Just as he was desperately trying to trace it, a silhouette suddenly emerged from the light - her outline was hazy and beautiful, as if woven by flowing starlight. She was so close to him, but never able to get close, like there was an invisible barrier separating the two.

'Vet ...' she called in a low voice, her voice mixed with a deep longing. Each syllable was like a teardrop, falling into nothingness and stirring up silent ripples. The sinister figure's shoulders trembled slightly as starry tears slid down and disappeared into the endless darkness.

Mikaelle's body, on the other hand, gradually sank, as if it was being led deeper into the void by some invisible force. His gaze, however, caught a blurry glimpse of magnificence at the moment it was close to fading away - at the end of the abyss, the shadow of an enormous tree loomed, its branches extending like veins, seemingly connecting countless unknown worlds. That magnificent glimpse was like a distant prophecy, and like an untold secret.