Ash fell through the night air as the smell of smoke grew suffocating. Crackles of fire and the loud crashing of burning wood echoed through the trees as a young ten-year-old boy watched from a distance. He wore ragged clothes and worn leather shoes. Soot and dried tears covered his face. His short black hair was dusted gray with ash as he stared at the orphanage he had lived in, now burning to the ground.
The bodies of other children lay scattered around him as he gripped the short sword tightly in his hand.
Memories of the men with red eyes barging into the orphanage burned into his mind. The screams of the children as they were cut down by the ruthless men. Miss Helen's screams. One of the men had held her down, pinning her to the floor, tearing at her clothes as she screamed for everyone to run.
The other man had laughed as he slashed at the fleeing children, his laughter clashing horribly with their screams as bodies fell onto the wooden floor.
The boy had been frozen in place, watching everything unfold in what felt like slow motion.
Miss Helen fought against the man on top of her when he said something in an unknown language, drawing the other man back to help hold her down.
The boy kept watching as Miss Helen stopped screaming and only sobbed while the men were on top of her. Her clothing had been completely torn away. As he stood there, unmoving, he felt warmth run down his leg. He looked down and realized he had wet himself. Terror locked his body in place as he looked back toward Miss Helen.
That was when he noticed the sword lying on the ground behind the men.
He began walking toward it slowly, his body shaking with each step. Miss Helen looked at him with empty eyes as tears streamed down her face. Slowly, a worried expression formed, and she began to struggle harder against the hands holding her down, forcing the men to focus on her.
The boy reached down and picked up the sword. It was heavy in his hands. He lifted it into the air, the blade trembling violently. He thrust it forward, the point piercing the neck of the man holding Miss Helen's wrists.
A gurgling sound escaped the man's mouth as blood poured onto the floor. He clawed weakly at the blade lodged in his neck before collapsing.
The other man didn't notice. He was grunting as he moved on top of Miss Helen, his head tucked beside hers.
The boy pulled the sword free from the first man's neck as blood pooled across the wooden floor. He lifted it again and stepped beside the second man. Miss Helen looked up at him. Her eyes met his. She nodded and mouthed the words, Do it.
He drove the sword down through the man's neck. The man flailed for a moment before going still.
The boy looked down at Miss Helen. Her eyes were calm now as blood ran from the corner of her mouth. In a weak voice she whispered, "Thank you, Alec. You need to run before more men show up."
Alec stared at her, his hands trembling uncontrollably. She coughed, blood splattering onto her chin, and smiled weakly.
He gripped the sword's handle and pulled it free. As the body slumped aside, he saw the deep wound in Miss Helen's chest. Blood poured from it, slowly spreading across the floor.
The sword slipped from his hands and clanked against the wood. He staggered back, his hands shaking harder than ever.
"Alec, it's okay," she whispered. "It's not your fault. Hurry… go now."
Her voice faded. Her face went still.
Smoke flooded his nose, thick and burning. Outside, another voice shouted in the unknown language.
Alec grabbed the sword and ran out the front door. He hid behind a tree and watched as another man sprinted into the orphanage. Flames had reached the roof, lighting the area in a sickly orange glow. Alec saw the bodies of the other children as he clenched the sword.
Seeing the man moving inside, Alec dropped the sword and ran back to the entrance. He grabbed the worn iron handle and slammed the door shut. A broom leaned against the wall nearby. He seized it and jammed the wooden shaft through the iron handle just as the man inside shouted and pulled at the door.
The broom held.
Fire continued to spread as the man screamed, beating against the barred door. His screams echoed through the night until they finally stopped.
Alec backed away to the treeline, picked up the sword, and watched as the orphanage collapsed inward. He looked down the dirt path leading toward the town of Hillburn. The sky above it glowed with raging fire.
He turned toward the cellar beside the orphanage and hurried to the beaten wooden door. He rushed down the stairs, coughing as smoke filled the space. His eyes burned as he grabbed a burlap sack, shoving vegetables and dried meats into it before fleeing back into the forest.
Shouts in the unknown language grew louder behind him.
Alec ducked behind a tree and moved deeper into the woods, stepping lightly across moss-covered rocks, desperate not to make a sound. The weight of the sack and sword burned his arms with every step. His breathing grew ragged, his heart pounding so hard it made him dizzy.
He spotted the exposed roots of a fallen tree hanging over a small ledge. Crawling beneath them, he hugged the sack to his chest and clutched the sword tightly.
His vision blurred from exhaustion.
Slowly, Alec fell asleep.