Introduction: Dear Reader,Whoever you are, wherever you are, whenever you are, It would do you some good to remember that a piece of literature is not so different from a song, specifically if that piece of literature is named after said song.A long time ago, I was like you. Bored, clueless, and looking for something to read. Perhaps those first two may not apply, but I have a sneaking suspicion that the last one does.Depending on who you are, whether you came upon this work completely by accident, or are currently sitting down at your desk with a warm cup of coffee, flipping through pages, or maybe just scrolling, you may very well already know the contents of The Ballad of Winter. That's a pretty name, right? I wish I had thought of it. However, perhaps you are just as clueless as I once was. And if this is the case, then I both pity and envy you. And if this is the case, then I must congratulate you for ending up here, at the beginning of the beginning, where it all began with one boy.A long time ago, there was a boy. And then he was a man, a man that I love very much. But a man that I will, sadly, never see again. Bell Benson's story begins in a little forest in southern Galar known as the slumbering weald. He awoke with not a clue as to who he was. Just a boy, A Dwebble, and an insurmountable amount of questions burning in his mind. Burning as those questions may be, they provided no warmth. But, he was not the only person in Galar with a story to tell. A grieving sister, a girl who yearns for freedom, a trainer in the dark, a misguided reporter, and a naive florist. They all have names, of course, and if you continue reading, you will learn about all of them in due time.An even longer time ago, there was a song. A song, so beautiful it was said to make gods shed a tear. A song so infamous it made it's creator one of those most powerful beings in existence. Until, it was forgotten. For a long time, I wondered, how does something so significant, so era-defining, become a relic of the past? Well, as much as I would like to say nothing lives forever, I know that's not true. So, instead, I must ask you, reader, do you really believe the histories taught to you?I did, Bell Benson did. And as much as I would like to talk about myself, this is not my story. It is his. And I have a sinking feeling that history will be kinder to him that it will be to me.My fears aside, I only have one thing to ask of you reader. When the curtain closes, and I am forced to take my final bow, learn my story, and enjoy the show. Maybe, just maybe, you will find that the truth isn't so bad. Or maybe, you'll find it worse than you could have ever imagined.I have left this message at the beginning of the beginning. Another awaits you at the end of the beginning, and another at the beginning of the end. And if somehow you make it to the end of the end, then the end is surely near.From the inside of Pok茅star Studios, A...