"How's it going ?""Oh it's you. Didn't hear your footsteps. Were you shadow walking, trying to sneak up on me?""O no no nothing like that. It's just that I was so intrigued by what you were sculpting for the past hour that I did not want to break your concentration.""You have been standing there for the past hour ... what the hell! ""Yes Marco. Now, can I have a sneak peek at that!""Yeah sure. Here you go!.""Are these your parents?", said Sandler while carefully running his fingers through the statuette, examining its minute details."Yes Sandy! My parents, John and Trina.""You really do miss them don't you?""Sure I do. Even today, their thought lingers in my heart. I joined the King's regimen with the sole purpose of relieving myself from the misery of staying alone in my house. Even today, I vividly remember everything; all those memories I had playing with my mother, helping my father in the stables, having a unique dinner-time chat almost every day.But no matter how far I run, no matter how many battles I fight, no matter how much I try to engage myself in other activities, their absence is an unyielding shadow that follows me everywhere. I still hear my mother's laughter echoing in the corridors of that empty house. I can still smell the sweet scent of her perfume that used to fill the air. I still see my father's gentle smile as he guided me through life's trials, believing I could be something more. Every corner of that house haunts me, Sandler, like a ghost that won't let go.And then that night... when everything changed. The night when almost the entire village came to my house to celebrate my birthday ... only to find my father's mutilated boy in the fields few hours later. That night devoured every last piece of my father, every memory, every trace. I wasn't there, Sandy. I couldn't save him. I couldn't hold him one last time, couldn't tell him how much I loved him, how much I needed him. He was gone before I could even say goodbye.And even my mother... She was always so protective of me, always so quick to shield me from the harshness of the world. But in the end, I couldn't do the same for her. If only, on that day, I had been a little more sharp, had I not paid heed to my false imaginations, she would still be alive. I could've stopped that fire.It haunts me, Sandler—the memory of that moment. I was so caught up in my own world, in my daydreams of adventure and heroism, that I ignored the signs. I remember seeing a faint glow from the corner of my eye, hearing a distant crackling sound, but I dismissed it. I convinced myself it was nothing, just the tricks of a restless mind. But it wasn't nothing. It was the beginning of the end.I should have gone back. I should have been there, at her side, protecting her like she always protected me. But I wasn't. I was too wrapped up in my own fantasies to see the danger, too blind to recognize the reality until it was too late. And by the time I realized, by the time I rushed back, it was over. The flames had already swallowed everything, leaving behind nothing but ashes and echoes of what once was.I can't stop thinking about it, replaying that day over and over in my mind, torturing myself with the 'what ifs' and 'if onlys.' What if I had been more attentive? What if I had acted sooner? If only I had listened to my instincts, had trusted that something was wrong, maybe—just maybe—I could have saved her. Maybe I could have saved them both.But instead, I failed them. I failed her. And now, every time I close my eyes, I see her face—her beautiful, loving face—disappearing into the flames, and it's all my fault. The weight of that failure, the crushing guilt—it's more than I can bear, Sandler. It's a pain that no amount of time or distance can ever dull.I carry it with me everywhere I go, like a wound that never heals, a scar that burns fresh every day. It's there in the silence of the night, in the quiet moments when I'm alone with my thoughts. It's there when I look at this statuette, this cold, lifeless reminder of the warmth I lost, of the life I let slip through my fingers. And it will be there until the day I die, a constant, agonizing reminder of the family I failed to save, of the love I'll never feel again.I'd give anything—anything—to go back, to do it all over again, to make it right. But I can't. I can never go back. All I can do is live with the regret, with the knowledge that I was too late, that I wasn't enough. And that, more than anything, is what breaks me."And now, all that's left is this cold, lifeless statuette. This tiny piece of stone is all I have to remember them by. It's all I have to keep them close, but it's not enough. It will never be enough. It's like trying to hold onto sand in a storm—the more I cling to it, the more it slips away, leaving me with nothing but emptiness and regret. And the worst part? Knowing that no matter how much time passes, the pain will never fade. The weight of their loss, the guilt of not being there—it's a burden I'll carry for the rest of my days, a wound that will never heal.Some days, I wonder if joining the King's regimen was a mistake. Maybe it was just another way to run from the pain, to distract myself with blood and battle, to drown out the silence of my empty heart. But no matter where I go, no matter how many enemies I face, I can't escape it. I can't escape the reality that I am alone, that I will always be alone. The world took everything from me, Sandy. It took my family, my home, my life. And all I'm left with is this unbearable sorrow, this crushing loneliness that eats away at my soul every single day.So yes, I miss them. I miss them more than words can say. And there's nothing in this world that can ever fill the void they left behind."Sandler watched Marco, his heart heavy with the weight of his friend's sorrow. He had seen Marco's face countless times with unshakable courage, but this—this grief—was a different kind of battle, one that no sword or shield could protect against. Slowly, he reached out, placing a hand on Marco's shoulder, squeezing gently, hoping to offer some semblance of comfort."Marco," Sandler began, his voice soft yet firm, "you carry so much on your shoulders. More than even any grown man should have to bear. But you can't blame yourself for what happened. You were just a boy, and no one could have known what that day would bring. You've been punishing yourself for something that was beyond your control, something that was never your fault."Marco remained silent, his eyes fixed on the statuette, as if it held the answers to all the questions that tormented him. Sandler continued, his tone gentle but insistent."I know it feels like there's nothing that can ever heal this pain, that the emptiness they left behind will never be filled. And maybe it won't—not completely. But that doesn't mean you have to face it alone. You have people who care about you, Marco. You have me. You have so many good friends here. The villagers know you and they respect you. And we are not going to let you carry this burden by yourself."He could see the tears welling up in Marco's eyes, the tears his friend had fought so hard to keep at bay. Sandler knew Marco was strong, but even the strongest hearts need someone to lean on."I miss them too, you know," Sandler added softly, surprising even himself with the admission. "I didn't know them like you did, but I could see the way they loved you, even if to some extent after listening to your description of them. They would never want you to suffer like this, to blame yourself for something you couldn't prevent. They would want you to live, Marco. To find some kind of peace, even if it's just a small piece at a time."Marco finally looked up, his eyes meeting Sandler's. There was a raw vulnerability there, a pain so deep it seemed endless. But there was also a glimmer of something else—something that Sandler hoped was the first flicker of acceptance, of understanding."I don't know if I can, Sandy," Marco whispered, his voice trembling. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to let go of this.""You don't have to let go," Sandler replied gently. "Not all at once. But you can take it one step at a time. And I'll be with you every step of the way. We'll face it together. You're not alone in this, Marco. You never have been."For a long moment, they sat in silence, the weight of Marco's grief hanging in the air between them. But Sandler didn't move, didn't pull away. He stayed there, a steady presence, letting Marco know that he was there, that he would always be there.Finally, Marco let out a shaky breath, as if he were releasing just a fraction of the pain that had been suffocating him for so long. It wasn't much, but it was a start. And sometimes, a start is all that's needed."Thank you, Sandy," Marco murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.Sandler nodded, giving Marco's shoulder one last reassuring squeeze. "Always, my friend. Always.""Come on now. Let us head for dinner. King Henry will himself be coming to the dining room today, as I heard.""Why?""Have you forgotten? Tomorrow is the day when the scouts will set off for Bleakridge. So, I am guessing it will be something quite important.""Yeah. You're right. Let's go!"