The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a dim orange glow over the grounds of the orphanage. Tyr knelt on the blood-stained grass, surrounded by silence, his body trembling with exhaustion. The fight was over, but the weight of what had happened pressed down on him like an iron shroud.
The bodies of the children lay scattered around him, each one a painful reminder of his failure. Emily's lifeless form was nearest, her freckled face frozen in an expression of fear, her doll still lying beside her.
Tyr's breath hitched as fresh tears streamed down his face. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I'm so sorry."
He sat there for several minutes, his grief overwhelming. His shoulders shook as sobs wracked his body, the adrenaline of the fight fading and leaving only the hollow ache of loss. But as the light began to fade and the air grew colder, Tyr forced himself to move.
"They deserve better than this," he murmured, his voice hoarse.
He wiped his face with the back of his hand, pushing the grief aside as best as he could. The children were gone, but they wouldn't be left here to rot. He owed them that much.
Tyr started by gathering the bodies of the children, one by one. He lifted them carefully, his hands steady despite the weight in his chest. Each step felt like a lifetime as he carried them to a shaded spot beneath the largest tree on the orphanage grounds.
When he reached Ms. Porter's body, he hesitated. The matron lay slumped against the wall of the building, her hands still clutching at the wound in her chest. Tyr stared at her for a long moment, his emotions tangled.
"She took Hydra's money," he muttered, his voice conflicted. "She knew what they were, what they stood for."
But then he thought of the way she had always looked after the children. The quiet acts of kindness, the sacrifices she had made to keep them fed and clothed. She had loved them in her own way, even if her decisions had ultimately doomed them all.
Tyr sighed, his shoulders sagging. "I can't hate you," he admitted.
He lifted her body gently, carrying it to rest alongside the children she had cared for.
The graves took hours to dig. Tyr's hands were blistered and raw by the time he finished, but he didn't stop. He dug each grave deep enough to protect the bodies from scavengers, arranging the children side by side in neat rows. When it was done, he knelt before the graves, his hands clasped tightly together.
"TOAA," he said softly, his voice cracking. "I don't know if you're listening, but... if you are, please take care of them. They didn't deserve this. Let them rest somewhere safe, somewhere good."
He bowed his head, his violet eyes closing as he fought back another wave of tears.
Tyr turned his attention to the bodies of the Hydra soldiers, scattered across the battlefield. Their blood had soaked into the ground, mingling with that of the children they had slaughtered. Anger flared in Tyr's chest as he looked at them, but he pushed it down. He couldn't afford to waste time on hatred.
He stood over one of the bodies and extended his hand, willing his telekinesis to activate. The hum he had felt during the fight was gone, replaced by a faint, elusive flicker of energy.
"Move," he muttered through clenched teeth, his brow furrowing in concentration.
The soldier's body shifted slightly, lifting a few inches off the ground before dropping back with a dull thud.
"Come on!" Tyr growled, his frustration mounting. He tried again, focusing harder, but the strain was too much. His power refused to cooperate, leaving him with no choice but to move the bodies manually.
He sighed, rubbing his temples. "Did my rage make it stronger?" he wondered aloud. The thought nagged at him as he dragged the bodies toward a shallow pit he had excavated near the edge of the grounds. Each trip was grueling, his muscles protesting with every step. By the time the last body was placed in the pit, Tyr's entire body ached, but he didn't stop.
Searching through the soldiers' gear, he found a lighter and some fuel. He briefly considered taking their weapons or communication devices but immediately dismissed the thought. If Hydra was still active in 2006, then Arnim Zola's algorithm likely existed, and there was no telling what kind of tracking mechanisms the equipment carried.
Tyr doused the bodies in fuel and lit the pile with a flick of the lighter. Flames roared to life, casting flickering shadows over the orphanage grounds. He watched in silence as the fire consumed the soldiers' remains, the acrid smell of burning flesh filling the air.
When the fire burned low, Tyr turned back toward the graves beneath the tree. He knelt once more, bowing his head.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I couldn't save you. But I promise... I won't let them get away with this. Hydra will pay for what they've done. Every last one of them."
The wind carried away his words, and Tyr felt a hollow ache in his chest as he rose to his feet. He couldn't stay here. If Hydra sent reinforcements after realizing the squad was missing, he would be an easy target.
With one final glance at the orphanage, Tyr began to run. His legs burned with each step, but he didn't stop. He didn't look back.
The orphanage was gone, the children were gone, but Tyr was still alive. And for now, that had to be enough.