"Heron!"
Haran's voice cut through his terror. Haran crossed the room in two swift strides, dropping to his knees before his son. His hands shook slightly as they gripped Heron's shoulders, eyes scanning frantically for any sign of harm.
"Where are mother and father?" Heron asked, his voice trembling. Even in his fear, the absence of Agnus and Martina gnawed at him.
Pain flashed across Haran's face. "Agnus... he joined the other men at the village center. They're trying to hold the attackers back. Martina..." His voice caught. "I met her while running towards your house. Then we saw some of the attackers and decided to split up. She was providing the distraction and led them away."
"No," Heron whispered, understanding dawning in his eyes. "We have to help them!"
"Listen to me," Haran's voice cracked as he pulled Heron close into his embrace. "Martina... your mother... she made her choice to protect you. To give you a chance to survive. We cannot let her efforts be in vain. Same for Agnus, he is doing his best out there to battle the attackers." Without waiting for a response, he took Heron by the hand.
They ran into a wheat field behind the house, heading towards an old mill. Heron was sobbing all the way through. Once at the door, Haran looked around to see if they were followed. They entered the mill, and Haran then turned on a dim light from an oil lamp. Hay was piled in one corner, an old cabinet stood against the wall, and on the floor, a small pantry.
When he lifted it, more hay lay below, which made for a good hiding place.
"Get inside," Haran whispered.
"I don't want to. We need to go back." Heron sobbed.
"This is not the time to fool around," Haran said, and then he took a deep breath.
"Listen to me, son," Haran said, his voice thick with emotion. "If you hide in here while danger passes, you get to live. We all want you to live." His hands cupped Heron's face, thumbs wiping away tears. "I will also go and make a diversion if I notice the attackers closing in."
Heron continued to sob, which made Haran shush him.
"Now, now, don't cry. You are twelve cycles old. You are almost a man!" Haran said almost cheerfully. "Now get inside."
Heron listened to him and slowly lowered himself into the pantry.
"Good boy!" Haran said, and then lowered himself next to the cabinet. Then he pulled out the small pouch that he had hidden beneath it. He turned back to the shaft.
"Heron, I will now give you some items, and I need you to listen really carefully to what I am about to say. Okay?"
Heron nodded his head.
"We'll cross paths again. In case I do not return later, you must do whatever you can to find your way to the city of Tiwaz. It is in Scallia Republic, which is a whole world away, but I am certain that you will make it. Seek out a family by the name of Bratti; they are our family."
"Father," Heron was sobbing so loud now, and Haran was tearing up, too.
"Please calm down. They might hear us. Just listen, alright?"
Heron once again nodded his head while trying to wipe away the tears.
Haran breathed, reaching into his jacket to withdraw two small leather pouches. The first, he pressed into Heron's hands. "Coins for your journey, and a pendant bearing the Bratti name. It won't let you pass Divinum borders; you'll need a passport for that. But what it will do is if you show it in the city, you will be treated as a citizen. So keep it really safe."
He placed the pouch in Heron's lap and then pulled the second one.
He held the second pouch for a moment, his expression torn. "This one..." He settled it beside Heron in the hay. "Leave it here in the mill once things settle down. Only if you are in dire need of money should you come for it. But whatever you do, never open this pouch. Understand?"
Heron nodded.
Haran cupped his son's face one last time, tears falling freely now. "You are everything to me, Heron: my pride, my joy, my reason for fighting all these cycles. Grow strong. Grow wise." His voice cracked. "Promise me we'll meet again in Tiwaz. Whatever happens, whatever you hear, hold onto that promise."
"I promise," Heron whispered as his voice was almost inaudible.
Haran pressed his lips to his son's forehead as they parted ways. Then he closed the trapdoor and covered it with surrounding hay, extinguishing the lamp before his footsteps retreated into the night.
Heron lay still in the darkness, counting his heartbeats. Then came the sound of multiple feet surrounding the mill, and voices that made his blood run cold.
"There! By the tree line!"
"Take him alive!" A voice commanded, but the tone of the voice didn't sound as if it belonged to a human. "The herald wants this one breathing!"
It was not known who was making those sounds, but the pursuers sounded as primal as demons as they shouted. Their voices faded into the distance. There was a high chance they were pursuing Haran. Heron trembled with fear, trying not to break down into tears. He lay in the fetal position, trying to keep himself together.
At some point, as fear and exhaustion struck, consciousness slipped away from him.
The smoke hid away the night sky as the majority of the village of Haugstad was burning. Flames engulfed the night, and by the time morning came, there were only ashes of what once was a small distant village.