The darkness of the night had taken from Kellan everything he held dear, his mother, his village, his sense of safety, leaving him with nothing but the void of his grief. As dawn broke, the clouds of sorrow still hung heavy, obscuring the sun's light. The rain fell steadily throughout the day, mirroring the tears that flowed from Kellan's eyes. He sat beside the massive Ashvathaa tree, his mother's lifeless body resting against its roots, the weight of their shared loss pressing down on him.
In the quiet solitude, Kellan's mind wandered back to brighter days, to moments of warmth and joy that now felt like a distant dream.
The sun shone brightly over the fields of Emberfall as a younger Kellan and his mother worked side by side. The soil was rich and dark, a testament to years of hard labor and care. His mother, with hands weathered but steady, carefully tended to the crops. Her face, lined with the marks of countless days under the sun, was softened by a constant, loving smile.
"Kellan, dear," she called out, her voice warm with encouragement. "Look how well the beans are comin' along! We'll have a good harvest this year if we keep workin' like this."
Little Kellan, no more than six years old, was focused intently on his task. His small hands fumbled with the soil, trying to mimic his mother's deft movements. Every now and then, he would look up with a grin, his face smeared with dirt but beaming with pride.
"Look, Mother! I found a worm!" he said, holding up his prize with excited laughter.
His mother laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "That's a fine worm, Kellan! It'll help the soil stay healthy, so let it go. And remember, we've got to finish this row before lunch. Maybe we'll even have some apple pie if we're quick."
As they worked, she would tell him stories of the old days, tales of the village and its people, weaving a tapestry of their past into the present. She spoke of the joys of harvest festivals, of neighbors who had become friends, and of simple pleasures like the sound of a crackling fire or the taste of freshly baked bread.
Evenings were a time of relaxation and laughter. They would sit by the fire, her hands knitting a new scarf while Kellan sat beside her, his small face glowing in the flickering light. They shared stories, her voice a gentle balm that made the world seem safe and full of promise.
"Someday, Kellan, you'll grow up and build your own life," she would say, her eyes full of dreams for him. "But always remember where you came from and who you are. The land, the people, and the love we share—that's what truly matters."
As Kellan grew older, his passion for the forge became clear, and his mother supported him in every way she could. The blacksmith's workshop, with its clanging hammer and glowing forge, became a second home for him.
On many occasions, his mother would visit him in the workshop, her presence a comforting reminder of home. One crisp autumn day, she arrived with a basket of freshly baked bread and a hearty stew. She set the food on a nearby table, her face brightening as she watched Kellan's eyes light up.
"I thought you might be hungry, working so hard," she said, her voice tinged with affection. "It's been a long day, and you deserve a good meal."
Kellan wiped his brow with the back of his hand, a smile spreading across his face. "Thanks, Mother. I've been so focused on finishing this sword that I nearly forgot to eat."
She laughed, her eyes sparkling with warmth. "Well, I'm here to remind you. And don't think I don't see those tired eyes of yours. Take a break and eat. I want to hear all about your progress."
They sat together in the workshop, the flickering light from the forge casting a warm glow around them. The sound of the hammer striking metal was a steady rhythm, accompanied by their conversation and the occasional clink of utensils. It was moments like these that made Kellan feel truly content, his mother's love and support a constant source of strength.
The memory faded as Kellan's gaze returned to the present. The forest was eerily quiet now, the rain having washed away the evidence of their flight and provided a temporary respite. The pain of the past hours was raw, but there was a sense of resolve in Kellan's heart. The time had come for him to say his final farewell.
As the sky darkened, the stars slowly emerging through the clearing clouds, Kellan gathered pieces of wood and kindling from the forest floor. He worked in somber silence, his movements methodical and deliberate. The evening air was cool, carrying with it a hint of the earlier rain.
To light the fire, Kellan used a technique he had learned from his father long ago. He carefully struck two flint stones together, the sparks flying into the dry kindling. It took several attempts, his hands trembling from cold and grief, but finally, a small flame caught and began to grow.
Once the small pyre was ready, Kellan gently moved his mother's body from the base of the Ashvathaa tree to the center of the makeshift funeral pyre. The sight of her, so peaceful and still, brought fresh tears to his eyes. He arranged the wood around her, creating a proper pyre for her final journey.
Kellan took a deep breath, fighting against the tide of sorrow that threatened to overwhelm him. As the flames grew from the kindling, he stepped back, his heart heavy with the gravity of the moment.
The fire crackled and roared as it consumed the wood, the smoke rising in thin, ethereal tendrils toward the sky. Kellan stood in silence, his eyes fixed on the flames that now enveloped his mother. The memory of their past, of the days filled with laughter and love, mingled with the harsh reality of their present.
As the fire burned brightly, the stars above seemed to shine a little more brightly, as if in sympathy. The gentle breeze carried away the last traces of smoke, and the forest stood witness to Kellan's final act of love and respect.
The night deepened, and Kellan remained by the fire, the heat against his face a small comfort in the cold darkness. His mother's spirit seemed to linger in the warm glow of the flames, a last, bittersweet reminder of a life that had been full of both joy and sacrifice.