John's thoughts refused to settle. They circled endlessly, drawn back again and again to the image of the boy running through the snow, terrified beyond words, with those armoured men pursuing him without mercy. Knights—or at least they looked like knights. Their armour was unmistakable, forged with the discipline and precision of a kingdom's military, their movements purposeful, their intent unmistakably lethal. But why? Why would trained soldiers be hunting a child? The question gnawed at him, refusing to let go, each possibility darker than the last.
The snow crunched softly beneath John's boots as he lowered his gaze to the three unconscious men sprawled across the frozen ground. Their bodies lay twisted where they had fallen, scattered like discarded puppets, their weapons half-buried beneath fresh snow. The cold wind bit at his skin, yet it wasn't the winter air that unsettled him. It was the silence that followed the violence. It lingered unnaturally over the forest, thick and oppressive, as though even the world itself was holding its breath.
A few paces away, the boy knelt in the snow, his frail body trembling uncontrollably. His arms wrapped tightly around himself, as though he could somehow shield himself from the terror that still gripped his heart. His head remained lowered, unable—or perhaps unwilling—to look up. Even though the immediate danger had passed, his body hadn't accepted it. Every shiver, every ragged breath, spoke of a fear so deeply rooted that it refused to loosen its hold.
"Arcos," John said quietly, his voice breaking through the suffocating silence. It was calm, steady, almost gentle, yet it carried enough weight to pull the boy from his thoughts.
Slowly, Arcos lifted his head. His face was ghostly pale beneath the dirt and streaks of melted snow. His eyes were impossibly wide, haunted by something no child should ever witness. They weren't simply frightened—they were broken, carrying the hollow emptiness of someone who had seen the world stripped of every ounce of kindness. His lips trembled as he struggled to breathe.
"Why were they chasing you?"
For what felt like an eternity, the boy couldn't answer. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came. When he finally spoke, his voice was so fragile it was almost carried away by the wind.
"The village..."
The single word cracked under the weight of his fear.
He slowly raised his tear-filled eyes to meet John's, desperation flooding them with such intensity it tightened something deep inside John's chest.
"Please... mister..." Arcos whispered, his voice shaking violently. "My village... it's in danger. You have to help them."
John remained silent, studying the boy's face. There was something painfully familiar in those frightened eyes. He knew that look. It was the expression of someone who had already lost everything but refused to stop hoping, because hope was the only thing keeping them standing.
He gave a slow nod.
"All right," he said softly. "Lead me there."
Without another word, Arcos spun around and bolted through the forest, kicking up sprays of snow with every desperate stride. John followed close behind, his movements effortless despite the uneven terrain. Neither of them spoke. The deeper they ventured into the woods, the heavier the air became. The biting cold seemed to disappear beneath an altogether different feeling—a growing sense of dread that settled over them with every passing step.
Then it reached them.
The smell.
Thick.
Heavy.
Burning wood... and something far worse.
Smoke filled the air, scratching at the back of John's throat with every breath.
His eyes narrowed.
Beyond the trees, dark columns of black smoke curled endlessly into the pale winter sky, twisting like monstrous fingers clawing their way toward the heavens.
Arcos slowed.
His breathing faltered.
"It's..." he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. "...it's just a campfire."
But his voice betrayed him.
He didn't believe those words.
Not even a little.
Neither did John.
They burst through the final line of trees.
Everything stopped.
The peaceful image of a quiet village blanketed in snow was gone.
In its place stood ruin.
Smoke drifted low across the streets like a funeral veil, swallowing everything beneath it. Homes that had once sheltered families were now little more than shattered skeletons of blackened timber and collapsing stone. Burned beams reached toward the sky like broken ribs protruding from a corpse. Fire still clung stubbornly to parts of the wreckage, crackling softly amidst the overwhelming silence.
Bodies lay everywhere.
Some had fallen while trying to run.
Others remained where they had desperately tried to defend those they loved.
Entire families lay together, forever frozen in their final embrace.
Some had been cut down where they stood.
Others had burned where they could no longer escape.
John stopped walking.
His breath caught somewhere deep in his chest.
For the first time in a long while...
He couldn't find the strength to move.
Beside him, Arcos froze.
One moment he had been running toward home, clinging desperately to the fragile hope that perhaps he had arrived in time.
The next...
That hope shattered.
His entire body became motionless, as though the world itself had turned him to stone. His small shoulders trembled violently. His wide, glassy eyes reflected nothing but fire, death, and destruction. His mouth parted slightly, yet no sound escaped. He simply stared.
Unable to understand.
Unable to accept.
Unable to wake from what had become his nightmare.
John looked down at him, desperately searching for something—anything—to say.
But what words existed for this?
What comfort could possibly reach a child whose world had just been reduced to ashes?
There were none.
Arcos finally moved.
One shaky step.
Then another.
His legs threatened to give out beneath him, but somehow they carried him forward. Tears quietly slipped down his soot-covered cheeks, falling into the snow one by one. He walked without knowing where his feet were taking him, guided only by grief.
John followed several paces behind.
Silently.
The sorrow surrounding them was so overwhelming that words would have only cheapened it.
The village was gone.
Everywhere John looked there was nothing but blackened earth, shattered homes, and drifting ash. Even the wind seemed afraid to disturb the silence.
Arcos' eyes wandered across the bodies.
There was the old merchant who used to hand him fruit whenever he visited the market.
There was the friend he'd laughed and played with only days ago.
Parents still clung tightly to their children, their final instinct having been to protect them, even when protection had become impossible.
The boy continued walking.
Not because he wanted to.
But because some invisible part of him refused to stop until he found what he feared most.
Then...
He reached what remained of his home.
Or rather...
Where it had once stood.
Nothing remained except collapsed stone, blackened timbers, and faint streams of smoke drifting lazily upward from the rubble.
Just outside the ruins...
Lay two bodies.
His mother.
His father.
"Mom..."
His voice broke instantly.
"Dad..."
His knees struck the frozen ground with a hollow thud as the last of his strength abandoned him. He crawled across the snow, his trembling hands reaching desperately toward them. Every movement became slower, weaker, as though some part of him already knew there would be no answer waiting.
Then everything inside him finally broke.
The sobs came without restraint.
Raw.
Violent.
Heartbreaking.
His small hands clung desperately to their clothing, their faces, their lifeless arms, refusing to let go.
"Please..." he cried, burying his face against his mother's chest. "Please don't go..."
His voice cracked beneath each desperate plea.
"Don't leave me..."
His fingers tightened helplessly.
"Please..."
His body shook uncontrollably.
"Come back..."
John stood only a few steps away.
Helpless.
Every sob struck him harder than any blade ever could.
He had witnessed war.
He had seen cities burn.
He had walked battlefields littered with countless dead.
But none of it compared to this.
Nothing compared to watching a child collapse beneath grief far too heavy for someone so young to carry.
And there was nothing he could do.
He couldn't undo this.
Couldn't fix it.
Couldn't give the boy back what had been stolen.
All he could do was stand there, feeling utterly powerless.
His jaw tightened painfully as anger slowly replaced the helplessness inside him.
Who could do something like this?
What kind of monsters marched into a peaceful village, slaughtered innocent families, and left behind nothing but ashes and silence?
Then his eyes caught a familiar glint of steel among the fallen.
Recognition struck him immediately.
That armour.
He knew it.
There was only one kingdom capable of such cruelty.
Only one kingdom ruthless enough to erase innocent lives without hesitation.
The very same kingdom that had hunted him for years.
Taking a slow, controlled breath, John surveyed the village once more. Smoke drifted endlessly through the broken streets, ash floated through the air like falling snow, and silence smothered everything it touched. His eyes settled once again on Arcos, who remained kneeling beside his parents, refusing to let them go. The grief etched across the boy's face was almost unbearable to witness.
John stepped forward.
He wanted to say something.
Anything.
A promise.
Words of comfort.
Even a lie.
Anything to ease the unimaginable pain crushing the child before him.
But before a single word could leave his lips—
The world exploded.
A deafening crash shattered the silence with the force of thunder. The ground lurched violently beneath their feet as something plummeted from the sky, striking the earth with catastrophic force. The impact unleashed a devastating shockwave that tore across the ruined village, hurling ash, smoke, and debris into the air. Jagged cracks ripped through the frozen ground in every direction, splitting the earth apart.
John reacted instantly, pulling Arcos behind him as the figure slowly rose from the crater.
Clad entirely in white.
Motionless.
Silent.
A smooth, featureless mask concealed every trace of identity, reflecting the orange glow of the burning village around them.
"You're a hard one to find, John," the figure said.
Their voice carried no anger.
No hatred.
No emotion at all.
Each word landed with the cold certainty of a death sentence.
They slowly raised one hand.
Dark energy gathered within their open palm, twisting and flickering unnaturally, filling the air with suffocating malice.
"Now..."
The energy intensified.
"...die."
There was no warning.
No hesitation.
A torrent of black fire erupted toward them, screaming through the air like a living nightmare. The flames distorted everything around them, their unbearable heat twisting the air itself into something unnatural.
"Hold on!" John shouted.
Without thinking, he wrapped both arms tightly around Arcos and launched himself skyward.
A fraction of a second later, the black flames consumed the ground where they had stood.
The explosion swallowed the ruins beneath them, reducing what little remained to scorched devastation.
High above the destruction, John hovered in the freezing air, breathing heavily as he held the trembling boy close.
"You okay?" he asked quietly, glancing down.
Arcos didn't answer.
His eyes never left the village below.
The smoke.
The ruins.
The place where his home had once stood.
The place where his parents now lay forever.
Finally, his lips parted.
"No..."
It wasn't even a word anymore.
Just a broken breath.
Fresh tears overflowed silently, running freely down his cheeks.
He made no attempt to stop them.
He couldn't.
John tightened his hold around the boy.
"I'm getting you out of here," he said quietly, forcing strength into his voice despite the storm raging inside him. "Somewhere safe."
Arcos never replied.
He simply buried his face against John's chest, gripping him with everything he had left, as though letting go would mean losing the last thing keeping him from falling apart completely. His small body trembled uncontrollably.
He never looked back.
He couldn't.
Without another word, John turned toward the distant horizon and flew into the cold winter sky, carrying the broken child away from the only home he had ever known, leaving behind nothing but fire, smoke, and silence.