The village lay cloaked in mourning, its once vibrant streets now strewn with the debris of a brutal conflict. The survivors, their faces etched with profound grief, wandered through the ruins with vacant eyes and heavy hearts. The air was thick with the acrid smell of smoke, mingling with the iron tang of blood and the charred scent of ashes. The familiar comfort of home had become a haunting reminder of their immense loss.
Arnolt, weary and shattered, trudged through the desolate landscape, each step a battle against the crushing weight of his sorrow. His mind was numb, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the tragedy that had unfolded. He searched for Xiona, who had fought bravely but now needed solace as much as he did.
He found her near the village hall, sitting on the cold ground with her shoulders slumped in defeat, as if the entire world rested upon them. Her eyes, red from hours of crying, conveyed a profound desolation that struck Arnolt deeply. As he approached, Xiona lifted her gaze, and the moment their eyes met, her composure shattered.
Tears welled up in her eyes once more, and she sprang to her feet, running to him with a desperate, heartfelt cry. She threw her arms around him, clinging tightly as though she feared he might vanish. "I'm so sorry, Arnolt! I couldn't protect them. I couldn't—" Her words dissolved into a torrent of sobs, her body trembling uncontrollably.
Arnolt embraced her, his own tears mingling with hers as he gently stroked her hair, trying to offer what comfort he could. The finality of his parents' deaths hit him anew, waves of grief crashing over him. The strength he had fought with earlier was gone, leaving only raw sorrow. Through choked whispers of reassurance, his voice was thick with the weight of their shared pain.
They clung to each other for what seemed like an eternity, two souls united in their suffering. Meanwhile, the village chief, Bergyn, began to take action. His voice, firm yet heavy with sorrow, directed the survivors to start digging mass graves in the open field on the village outskirts, a grim task that underscored the devastation they had endured.
With the assistance of an Earth Mage—one of the adventurers who had come to their aid—the process was hastened. As the graves were prepared, Bergyn turned his attention to the next critical step. Hingr Wynd was no longer safe; the nearby Omen nest posed a constant and growing threat. Grennyn, ever practical, had already set plans in motion for the villagers' safety. He had sent an urgent plea to the Lord of the Land, requesting immediate assistance and the establishment of a refugee camp. The plan was to evacuate the survivors to a nearby town, offering them at least temporary safety.
Hingr Wynd, once home to over 300 people, had been reduced to a fraction of its former self. Nearly half of its inhabitants had perished, leaving families in deep grief, their homes destroyed and their possessions ruined. The safety they once took for granted had been replaced by pervasive worry and fear. Faced with the grim reality of their new existence, they were forced to make the heart-wrenching decision to leave behind the haven they once called home.
Arnolt, taking it upon himself to honor his parents, chose to dig their graves beneath the old willow tree where he had spent his childhood playing and resting. He carried their remains there, ready to lay them to rest in a place that held deep sentimental value to them—a place his parents had cherished during their youth as well.
Arnolt stood over the graves of his parents, Xiona by his side. They stood motionless, their tears already spent, able only to mourn in silence. Not long after, Xiona's parents, Erleed and Meredynn, arrived to mourn with them. Xiona immediately embraced her mother, and Erleed placed a hand on Arnolt's shoulder.
"My older brother, your father, always spoke highly of you, Arnolt," Erleed said solemnly. "You were his pride and joy—both of your parents' pride and joy. Never forget that."
"Thank you, uncle," Arnolt replied, his voice thick with emotion.
As they stood there, lost in their grief, two figures approached. It was Grennyn, and beside him, a striking figure clad in gleaming armor—Alastir, the knight adventurer who had fought beside them in the battle. Grennyn stepped forward, his voice steady as he introduced her to the group.
"Sorry to disturb you, but I've brought someone who wanted to meet you all. This is Lady Alastir, the knight who aided us during the battle," Grennyn said, his tone respectful.
Arnolt's eyes lit up with recognition as he stepped forward. "Lady Alastir," he said, bowing his head slightly. "I owe you our deepest thanks. Your timely intervention saved many lives."
Alastir inclined her head, her expression solemn but kind. "I'm glad I could be of assistance, though I wish it were under better circumstances."
Xiona's eyes widened in surprise, and a spark of excitement flickered in her gaze. "Lady Alastir? The famous adventurer we were talking about this morning?" Her voice, though still tinged with sorrow, held a note of the cheerfulness she had once possessed. Seeing her light up, even for a moment, brought a fleeting warmth to those around her, a brief respite from the grief that weighed so heavily on their hearts.
Arnolt's lips curved into a small smile, and even Grennyn's stern features softened at the sight of Xiona's fleeting joy. He had requested Alastir's presence knowing it might lift their spirits. For a moment, amid the devastation, it felt as if the village had glimpsed a sliver of hope.
Grennyn cleared his throat, drawing the attention back to him. "Arnolt, I've been meaning to talk to you. You've proven yourself to be quite the fighter, much more than I ever imagined. By next spring, I think it would be a good time for you to join the Guild officially."
Arnolt met Grennyn's gaze, the resolve in his eyes clear. "I'm ready. Whatever it takes to prevent something like this from happening again, I'll do it."
After a brief exchange with Grennyn, Arnolt turned to Xiona, his expression softening. "Xiona, after everything we've been through… I'd understand if you wanted to step away from the world of adventuring. You've seen how dangerous it can be, and if you prefer to stay with your parents, no one would blame you."
But Xiona's eyes, still red-rimmed from tears, held a new fire. "Arnolt, I've never been more certain of anything in my life. The Omen Crisis is growing worse, and I want to help. I want to fight alongside you, to make a difference. We've lost so much… I can't just stand by and do nothing. I want to be with you, to make sure we can stop this from happening again."
Her determination was clear, and her words brought a flicker of pride to both Arnolt and her parents. Meredynn placed a gentle hand on Xiona's shoulder, her eyes brimming with emotion.
"We don't want to stand in the way of your ambitions, Xiona," Meredynn said softly. "If this is what you truly want, then we support you. And we're glad that you'll have Arnolt by your side. We know he'll keep you safe."
Erleed nodded in agreement, placing his hand on Arnolt's shoulder once more. "You two are stronger together. Whatever comes next, face it as a team."
Arnolt felt a surge of emotion at their words. He had always felt a deep responsibility for Xiona's safety, but now, seeing her resolve, he realized that they were equals in this fight. He smiled at her, a rare moment of shared understanding passing between them.
"Well, I guess I can't argue with that," Arnolt said with a small chuckle. "But you're still fourteen. It's going to be another two years before you can join the Guild officially, so follow my lead for now, okay?"
Xiona nodded eagerly, her earlier sadness giving way to a renewed sense of purpose. "Yeah, we're going to make a difference in the world," she said excitedly.
Arnolt's heart swelled with pride. He stared at his hands, his own spear on one hand and his father's spear on the other, he then answered "Yes, we are." And in that moment, amidst the ruins of their shattered village, they both found a glimmer of hope for the future.