Prologue – Rising from the Ashes
It was the eleventh hour; the cold north wind carried the sound of bells across the city. Marc desperately tried to squeeze himself further into the space between the crate and the wall in an attempt to keep the wind at bay; his threadbare blanket seemed to help little. Everything felt cold, even his bones felt cold. A sardonic smile crossed his lips, he sounded like his grandpa before he died at the age of seventy. Marc was only twelve.