The world around him was heavy and still, yet for a fleeting heartbeat, Cael's mind slipped away from the smoke and chaos. Ash and screams faded into nothing, replaced by a warmth that felt like sunlight in his chest.
Eldhollow.
Golden sunlight spilled across cobblestone streets, dancing on the edges of wooden roofs. The faint scent of bread, baking slowly in the baker's oven, mingled with lavender from the gardens behind the cottages. Children darted through the square, barefoot, laughing, their shrill voices carrying across the market stalls where merchants called out in cheerful banter. The clink of the blacksmith's hammer struck in the distance, steady and comforting, like the heartbeat of the village itself.
Cael ran through the streets, weaving between villagers and friends, his heart swelling. Miren, her dark hair whipping behind her as she raced him to the fountain, looked over her shoulder with a grin. "You're getting slower, Cael! Try and catch me!"
He sprinted harder, dirt kicking up beneath his boots, laughing despite the morning chill. He caught her at the fountain, both of them collapsing into the grass, gasping for breath, their laughter mingling with the chirping of birds overhead.
Eldhollow had been more than walls and streets. It had been his world. Every corner held memories: the hollow oak where he and Miren carved their initials, the stream where he first learned to fish, the bakery that always left a warm roll out for him, the blacksmith who had taken him under his wing, teaching him how to swing a wooden sword with precision. These were the threads that wove his childhood, the people who made life feel worth living.
And then there was Alys, his mother. Kneeling in the garden behind their modest cottage, she tended herbs with gentle care. Sunlight caught in her loose braid, illuminating her worn but serene face. Her hands, calloused from work, moved with a grace and tenderness that fascinated him as a child. She looked up, saw him, and her eyes lit with warmth.
"Cael," she called softly, beckoning him over, "come help me with these herbs. You're growing too tall to hide behind me now."
He ran to her side, his chest swelling with a mixture of love, pride, and comfort. She brushed the dirt from his cheek, her hand lingering as if to imprint the memory in him. "There," she said gently, "always a little dirt on you. It shows you're alive, that you're growing."
"I've got it, I promise," he said, smiling.
Every corner of Eldhollow breathed life into him. Miren's playful taunts, the baker's warm eyes, Garrick the blacksmith's patience, and the elders' quiet smiles—they were all part of his heart. The village had protected him, nurtured him, and in turn, he loved it fiercely.
The sun's warmth kissed his face as he lifted a basket of herbs, balancing them carefully, just as Alys watched, smiling with a soft pride that pierced his chest. This peace, this rhythm, was everything. It was home, in its purest form.
But even in perfect light, shadows whispered. A shiver ran through him, instinctive and unnameable. Something was off—a subtle tension in the air, a whisper carried on the wind—but he pushed it aside. Not yet. Not now.
Then it came.
The sky darkened unnaturally, bruised shades of purple and gray swallowing the golden sunlight. A low, guttural roar rolled across the village, vibrating through the stones beneath his feet. Children's laughter curdled into screams. Shadows stretched unnaturally across familiar streets, contorting homes and stalls into monstrous shapes.
Cael froze. His heart thudded violently as the creature appeared—a vast, impossible thing, teeth like jagged stone, eyes burning with malevolence. Wooden beams splintered, roofs collapsed, and villagers ran, screaming, some tripping over one another in desperate flight.
"Miren!" he cried, but she vanished into chaos, her scream piercing his soul.
"Cael! Run!" Alys's voice broke through the terror, sharp and unwavering. She shoved him behind her, shielding him with all her might. His chest constricted as he saw her eyes, filled with fear and love, meeting his one last time. And then the monster claimed her.
Time fractured. Laughter, warmth, the smell of herbs and bread—gone. Replaced by smoke, ash, and the metallic stench of blood. Villagers he had grown up with, the people he loved—obliterated in moments.
Pain and grief slammed into him, but beneath it, something colder, sharper, and unyielding emerged. Hate. Focused, precise, a living fire within him. Not blind rage, but a fuel for survival, vengeance, and remembrance.
When his eyes opened again, he was surrounded by the Hunters' camp, the present replacing Eldhollow. The warmth of Alys's hand was gone. Ash and cinders filled the air instead of lavender. Blood replaced laughter.
But the fire inside him had not gone. Every swing of a sword, every step forward, every survival would carry Eldhollow with him. Every laugh, every touch, every stolen, fleeting moment of joy. Every loss.
He was Cael. He had lost everything. And he would never forget.