The early morning sun had yet to rise the horizon, casting a little glow over the inner territory. The air was heavy with smoke, dust, and the lingering stench of blood from the night's chaos. Arav sat slumped on the cobblestones, drenched in his own sweat, tears rolling down his face, and trembling uncontrollably. He didn't move, didn't breathe properly, just sat like a living statue, his body betraying the torment roiling inside. The sheer weight of everything he had seen—the brutal massacre, the blood, and the lifeless head of his elder sister—was crushing him from inside.
"You're all right, kiddo?" The voice was calm, yet commanding. Mesmerizing. It cut through the chaos around him like a blade of clarity, yet Arav couldn't lift his head. He just stared at the cobblestones as the tears fell, one after another, silently at first and then with loud, heart-wrenching sobs.
The man crouched beside him, his presence radiating strength and authority. He placed a firm, reassuring hand on Arav's head. "Was she your mother, or any family member? Or are you just… shocked by the cruelty of the world's survival?" His words were gentle, probing, a careful attempt to reach the boy through his stupor.
Arav didn't answer. Not yet. His small body shook violently as he knelt down further, pressing his palms over his face, and let out a piercing scream that seemed to echo across the ruined streets. His wails were raw, unfiltered, a sound that carried the agony of witnessing something utterly incomprehensible.
The man sighed softly, almost to himself, shaking his head with a mix of sadness and understanding. "So… he's fine. That girl… she must have been close to him. Losing someone so dear… it's unbearable, isn't it?" He offered a smile, warm but tinged with sorrow, a beacon of fragile empathy in the grim morning light.
From behind, a soldier's voice called out, breaking the moment. "Captain! We've eliminated every threat remaining, but…"
The captain's gaze sharpened, his eyes narrowing like blades. He rose to his full height, towering over Arav's trembling form. "But what? What excuse do you have?" His fist clenched, the veins along his forearm standing out like cords of steel.
"Sir, I… I think the God's barrier… it isn't working. Perhaps… God wants them to die. It's… their fate. This is just my assumption, sir." The soldier's words trembled as he spoke, voice cracking under the weight of fear.
The captain's face darkened instantly. "Do you… do you want me to kill you here and now? Obliterate your very existence and report it as a casualty? Listen to me, you filthy brat—I do not believe in any God. Not one. Go. Report the casualties and the missing. And make it quick. One hour. You have one hour." His words were lethal, full of anger and disdain, yet calculated, ensuring the soldier understood the consequences of speaking out of turn.
The soldier didn't hesitate. He bolted, fear propelling him forward. He knew better than to disobey.
Meanwhile, Arav's gaze was fixed on the unrecognizable, mutilated head of his sister. His small hands trembled, and even though tears blurred his vision, he could make out the faint glint of a hairpin. Recognition sparked. The captain's eyes followed his gaze, and for the first time, they widened with understanding.
"That hairpin…" he whispered, more to himself than to Arav. "I gave that to Elda when she moved back to her home." His face hardened slightly, turning toward Arav. "Is your sister… in Triamath? Does her name resemble Elda Veylorn?"
Arav nodded slowly, still sobbing.
The captain's chest tightened. He drew Arav into a careful embrace, holding the boy close to him. The gesture broke him from inside, tugging at emotions he had long learned to restrain. A smile, pained but genuine, formed on his lips, concealing his own sorrow. He would not allow himself to break entirely—not in front of Arav. Not when the boy's fragile world was already in ruins.
Morning crept slowly over the horizon. A faint golden light cast long shadows across the broken streets. Arav's face, once twisted in grief, now burned with a different flame. Anger. Pure, unrelenting rage.
"I'll take my revenge!" he shouted, voice echoing across the inner territory. "I'll kill them. Every last one responsible for my sister's death!"
The words came out in groans, muttered over and over, each repetition sharpening the edge of his fury. He was no longer just a grieving child; he was a storm gathering momentum, a force of vengeance in human form.
Varek, sitting behind him on the horse, watched in silence. Admiration gleamed in his eyes, mingled with a sense of nostalgia. He had felt this same rage once, twelve years ago, when the world had taken everything from him. He reached out and placed a steadying hand on Arav's shoulder.
"What's your name, kid?" Varek asked softly, yet with authority. "I'm Varek Gravemont. If your sister had survived… she would probably be my wife."
Arav froze. His eyes widened in shock, his lips parting, but no sound escaped. For a brief moment, confusion warred with grief on his young face.
Varek chuckled, a sound that carried both warmth and pain. His laughter was not light-hearted—it was the echo of loss, of battles fought, and of grief endured. Yet it was also a recognition of resilience, of the spark of fury and determination kindling in the boy beside him.
Moments passed before a soldier raced up on horseback, breathless. "Captain! We've gathered all information. Fifty-eight casualties, thirty-four missing, six of them children under ten. But the reason for the beasts' intrusion… still unknown."
Varek turned his head slowly, signaling the soldier with a hand gesture to continue. His eyes flicked toward Arav, now asleep from exhaustion, small chest rising and falling rapidly.
"Any more information about the civilians? Where will they stay?" Varek's voice was calm, but it carried the weight of command.
The soldier bowed and replied quickly, "Sir, for now, no further details. I'll return with updates soon."
Varek gestured toward the inner territory. Crowds of frightened civilians had gathered there, seeking refuge. The environment was tense, heavy with hunger, fear, and despair. Varek's eyes scanned the chaotic shelters, noting the exhaustion etched into every face. He was accustomed to such sights, yet he could not let himself falter. He carried Arav in his arms, moving forward through the crowd with purpose.
Arav stirred, blinking his eyes open. Varek set him down gently on the ground. "So, you're awake. Now, try to find your family," he said softly, a gentle reassurance underlining the command.
Arav's gaze darted around, searching desperately for his mother. But something drew his attention—a figure passing through the crowd, wearing a strange, old black blanket.
Varek's voice broke his focus. "Are you drunk? Can't you walk properly? And what is that weird outfit you're wearing?"
The man in the black blanket glanced back, voice flat and indifferent. "I don't care for your thoughts," he said, and vanished into the throng before Varek could respond.
Arav froze. His heart pounded. From behind, a hand rested on his shoulder, and a low voice hissed into his ear:
"Where's Elda?"
The words were thick with rage, hatred, and something unidentifiable.
Arav's chest tightened. His body trembled. He felt the stirrings of destiny, of forces converging upon him. This was not the end—it was only the beginning.
The road ahead would be filled with blood, chaos, and unimaginable trials. But Arav, for the first time since the massacre, felt a spark of defiance ignite within him. The fires of vengeance, grief, and courage blazed together, shaping him into something the world had never seen before.
And Varek… watched silently, knowing this boy, this survivor, was destined to shake the very foundations of their shattered world.
Who was that person in blanket? Will this be the beginning of his new journey? What about his family?
End of chapter 4 - To be continue