As darkness pranced within her subconsciousness, it wasn't the comforting embrace of sleep. It was a whirlwind of horrific memories – the chaos of the battle, the clashing with those vicious little green devils, the chilling laughter of the goblins, the overwhelming despair as the ogres closed in, and the death faces of her friends, Ava and Gørg and those fought alongside her.
As she fidgeted in her dreams, she began to grunt gibberish and sweat drenching her uneasy body.
All while persisted until…
*Gasped*
She jolted awake, gasping for air.
As her heart pounded frantically when she woke, she glanced around her surroundings which had transformed utterly.
Gone were the crimson-smeared cobblestones and the rotten smoke of the battlefield. Instead, she found herself nestled in a makeshift bed inside a tent, the telltale sounds of a bustling refugee camp filtering through the canvas walls.
"Where… where am I…" she muttered as she tried to rise, but faltered when a jolt of pain ripped through her bandaged stomach. She hissed and winced in pain as she reacted to the unpleasantry.
In an instant, a young maiden, presumably tasked with cleaning her wounds and the tent, walked in and stumbled back in shock at the sight of Cassandra stirring. She dropped her bucket of water with a clatter, then rushed out of the tent, her voice calling for someone.
"She awake! The woman from the fire was awake!" the maiden hollered repeatedly.
Moments later, a man in a rusted and dented armor entered the tent. It was Hank, the lieutenant of the guard. Relief flooded his features as he saw Cassandra awake.
"You're awake! By her Divineness!" he exclaimed.
"How long… have I been out?" Cassandra rasped, her voice weak.
"Moons," Hank replied, his voice heavy. "How are you holding up?"
"Terrible," she admitted, wincing as she touched her throbbing head, "But… where am I?"
"You're in what was left behind from the massacre at Hughen's Road…" his voice trailed off, disheartened shown within his note.
"But don't worry," he resumed, "you're safe here," Hank clarified reassuringly. "We have healers, foods that keep your belly fed, and makeshift roofs that keep us safe from the wilds, gales, and storms."
"Anyway, a healer should be arriving any minute now to check on you. So… take it easy, okay? We don't want to lose any more man here–," he stumped, before correcting, "Oh, I meant 'woman'..." He said before placing his hand by his holstered sword and turning to leave, "Take care, alright?"
But before he did, "Wait!" Cassandra called out, halting Hank's step by the flap, dread washing over her.
"What happened after…?" Her voice trailed off, failing to finish the question in one go due to her score, but continued never after, "After that… massacre…"
Hank was aware of her question, his gaze lowered, spoken before she finished, "It wasn't pretty," he said in a downhearted voice. "Lives were lost and desperation claimed those who pulled through, it was a tough time for such an unaccounted event."
Then, his tone lightened up, "But we're lucky to be alive, aren't we? Especially you, considering the amount of punishment you took. It's a miracle I would've said."
"What about… Gørg and Ava?" she pressed, her voice a mere whisper, the memories of her losing friend were still fleeting at the moment, completely forgotten the watershed, or perhaps it was denial rendered her concurrent state.
"Are they safe? Are they alright? Where are they now?" she continued.
A frown creased Hank's brow. "Who?" he asked, confusion laced in his voice. "I don't recall any such names… Not that I know everyone in town, mind you…" he tittered, awkwardly correcting his cluelessness.
"But after the healer checks on you, maybe you can stroll around the camp and take a look, or maybe check with the survivors. Surely you'll find them around here if they were to escape."
While Hank explained, Cassandra, drifted away mid-sentence, as a terrifying thought began to form in her mind.
What was it again? What was the thing that was so paramount yet fleeting at the time, something she could confront if only she could remember...
But before she could dive deeper, she could recall the fragments of her lost memories, she snapped back.
She turned to Hank, realizing her disregard, and stiffly nodded to answer, "Okay…" she muttered, as a cold dread settled in her stomach.
However, despite her trying to cope with her fluctuation. Her face told it all, the frank depiction of someone conflicted, teeming with thoughts of wanting the silent time.
Hank, understood the situation and pulled up his palm, bidding his farewell, "Alright then, I'll not take up your time any further… Rest well, you deserve it, and… see you." he expressed before gliding out from the tent's flap.
Right after Han's departure, the tent was left hushed with sheer articulations of thoughts muttering within.
***
***
***
As time flew and an hour or so passed…
The healer eventually finished tending to Cassandra's wounds, and Cassandra offered a grateful nod. "Thank you," she said, her voice still weak.
The healer smiled warmly. "Please don't push yourself too hard, girl," she cautioned. "You're a courageous one, I assured you that. But your wounds are still healing, and any strenuous activity might reopen them. I suggest you stay here for another few moons at least. And… Try not to commit anything threatening, will you?"
Cassandra gently touched the bandages wrapped around her stomach. "Yes… Thank you," she repeated.
The healer smiled again and nodded before patting Cassandra's hand, "Please, rest. You've been through hell recently, you needed it more than anyone else. So, please refrain from committing anything excessive, okay?" with that, she was satisfied with her work, gently tugged her flowing dresses and rose from the stool she perched. With a final glance at Cassandra, she gave up an assured smile before she turned and left the tent.
Despite the warning, as soon as the healer was out of sight, Cassandra wasted no time. She pushed herself up from the bed and stumbled towards her armor and sword, which lay discarded on a nearby table.
Her body protested with every movement, but she ignored the pain. She needed answers, and she needed them now.
With labored breaths, she pulled on her armor, the cold metal stroke against her warm skin.
The sword felt heavy in her hands, but she gripped it tightly, this was no time for her weakness to flaunt.
With a few maneuvers of her stiff body, she finally managed to stand upright.
But just as she loosened up her body, the world seemed to tilt, dizziness threatened to claim her, and she swayed precariously, landing on the desk her equipment formerly discarded.
Her head throbbed with sheer pain, painting her vision with a canvas of blurry lines and her body demanded rest, but… no, she didn't succumb to it, not this time.
With a round of protesting and gasping for air, with a sheer effort of will, she fought herself to be balanced again, pushing herself upward and coupled with a few deep breaths, landing herself back to her feet in no time.
She straightened her posture, wiping the cold sweat with her arm and sheathing her sword by her belt, and proceeded to leave the tent while exerting her body to obey.
As her feet were adjourned before the flap, her hands eased the flap open, and the sunlight was blinding, a sharp contrast to the dim interior.
She raised her forearm to shield her eyes, wincing at the sudden pain of the blinding light. Slowly, her vision flickered, beginning to readjust to the brightness of the scorching day.
As her vision readapted to the bright sunlight, Cassandra took in the grim reality of the refugee camp. The people were gaunt, their eyes hollow with grief and exhaustion, exactly a frightful theater.
A heavy pallor hung over the camp, a cruel reminder of the devastation that had befallen their town. Each face bore the scars of loss, some more visible than others.
Meanwhile, stood amid the despair, Hank, stood a few paces away, engaged in a tense conversation with a young woman barely out of her teens. Her shoulders shook with sobs.
"I'm sorry, Jenny," Hank said, his voice thick with pity. "No one has left the town since the time we departed, aside from that one survivor."
The woman's sobs abruptly stopped, replaced by a chilling fury. "No! Why is everyone dead, and you're still alive?! You're the lieutenant, second in command! You should have been with them!"
Before Hank could respond, the woman slapped him hard across the face. "Instead of living, you should've died with them! Fight with them! Not sitting here, cowering here like a baby! You pathetic, white liver!" she cursed, a storm of anger and grief clouding her judgment, as she turned and stormed away, leaving Hank standing alone, his face stinging from the blow.
As Cassandra was engrossed by the heated drama with her brown fondled into a curve of dejection, a random gruff voice cut through the air,
"What a sorry state we're in now, aren't we?" startling her.
Startled and blinked, Cassandra turned around a few times only to confront nothing, as if the air just played tricks with her still unwell senses. With that, her frantic search continued only stopped when the commensurate voice erupted from a lower spot, "Down here, lass," said the gruff voice.
Followed by the voices, she found an old dwarf leaning against a nearby post. Realizing she wasn't the only onlooker.
The dwarf's beard was a tangled mass of gray, and his eyes held a world-weariness that spoke of countless ages.
As she calmed down, the words from the dwarf from prior finally sank in, and a sense of understanding washed over her. She nodded her voice barely a whisper. "You're right, times like these are mud to our face…"
The old dwarf sighed, crossing his arms, "When times are tough, people often lash out in anger as a way to cope; a way to feel something else other than despair. A good ol' way to escape while poisoning our sensible mind, I would say. But truth be told, even if we shifted blame, pointing fingers at others, we can't bring back what's already lost, and heal what's been broken. How… pitiful…"
Cassandra lowered her head, his words, the weight of it, settling heavily on her shoulders. He was right, she seen the raw anger in the young woman's eyes, a desperate attempt to channel her grief into something tangible, a way to cope with her reality.
"Chin up, lass," the dwarf said gently. "Aye, we got nothin' holding up against the odds of facing despair… and probably lose ourselves to it. But hey, the best we can do is to honor those we lost by living strong. Think about building something worthy of their sacrifice and not to lose our head for it. Making their death to be commendable."
With that, his words offered a glimmer of hope to Cassandra, a smile as her mood was brightened a little.
As Cassandra was about to respond to those elevating succors, a recurrent thought suddenly resurfaced, the purpose of why she was standing here to begin with.
Cassandra wasted no time, turned to the dwarf, and asked, "Do you happen to know anyone here named Gørg or Ava? A dwarf with a big grizzly mouth and a young human mage with red hair?"
The old dwarf startled by the question, scratched his chin, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Can't say I've seen someone fit those descriptions, perhaps can you be more specific," he replied.
"They were with me during the attack," Cassandra explained. "They fought alongside me."
The dwarf's expression turned grave. "Well… did they manage to escape or perchance came here?" he asked.
Cassandra's heart sank as she began to recall. "No, they fought until the end," she said, her voice barely audible.
Just as the words left her weary lips, a wave of grief suddenly washed over her. The memories of the battle, the clamor of the sadistic glee, and the faces of her fallen friends.
The screams, the cries, and the deaths came crashing down in her thoughts like a tidal wave, rendering her completely numb.
She choked, tears welled up in her eyes as she froze…
As she remembered…
"Lass, are you alright? You look like you just saw a ghost," the old dwarf asked, concern evident in his voice.
Cassandra shook her head, her voice only a whisper. "I'm sorry…" she mumbled before sprinting away.
Her boots were heavy, as heavy as her hope, crumbling into despair the more it prolonged.
With her frantic sprint spiraling across the camp, each of her steps resonated with her despair, her failure, her weaknesses, and her defeat. The meticulously crafted portrait of her failure as a fighter, as a savior, as a friend.
These hectics continued like a melody on repeat, perpetually clouding her mind.
Until…
Hank posted near the entrance, she spotted, his face still flushed from the slap and a few disappointed grunts at the stink.
Her mind riled up, she needed answers, more answers, answers that may change the gospel truth, the truth that denied her failure.
As she abruptly stopped before Hank, and lashed out at him, "Do you remember how I got here? How I got here?!" she asked, her voice bursting with urgency.
Hank was startled by her abrupt appearance and question. "Oh, didn't see you there," he began, his voice trailing off as he tried to be polite. "How are you holding—"
But Cassandra didn't give him a chance to finish. "Answer me!" she demanded, her voice rising in desperation, "ANSWER ME NOW!"
"Woah!" Hank was shaken, but his shoulders slumped. "Well… you... you walked all the way here from the town alone before collapsing right there" he explained, pointing at the spot a few feet away from the entrance.
"There must be someone else! Someone else beside me!" Cassandra declared, desperation filled in her tone.
"Look… I'm sorry, okay?" he waved his hands dismissively, "We didn't see anyone else come back from the town, besides you… So, it's only fair we assumed you were the only survivor of the attack."
Cassandra's breath caught in her throat. "No," she whispered, disbelief and horror washing over her. "No… not like this…"
Her mind raced, trying to grasp the impossible reality. Gørg and Ava were gone. They were truly gone.
"I have to go back," she declared, she still needed more answers, answers that may only be justified through her own eyes.
"I have to go back to them…!" she repeated.
Cassandra lunged forward, toward the pathway that led to the ravaged Hughen's Road, completely disregarding Hank who was posted by the entrance.
Hank reacted swiftly, grabbing her arm. "Wait! It is dangerous–" he shouted, but Cassandra had already fixated her mind on the ruins, shoving Hank aside with her desperate uncanny strength, sending Hank perching onto the ground, before dashing onward.
"Wait…!" Hank hollered as he struggled to his feet, agitatedly stressing himself upward before chasing the silhouette of hers.