The cold light of the moon cast long shadows as Safal knelt beside the bodies of his people, his hands trembling as he dug the graves. Each shovelful of earth felt heavier than the last, but it was the only way he knew to give them some small measure of peace. The child clung to his side, silent and wide-eyed, their small hand gripping the fabric of his cloak as if it was the only thing keeping them tethered to the world.
"Why did this happen?" the child whispered, their voice barely audible, fragile with fear. Their words seemed to echo in the stillness, a question Safal had asked himself over and over in the past few hours, but still had no answer for.
His heart twisted in his chest. The weight of his grief pressed down on him like a thousand stones. How could this be real? How could everything he had known be reduced to ashes? He looked at the child, whose innocent face was streaked with dirt and tears. They were the only thing left of everything he had loved. Safal didn't know how to comfort them, or how to answer their question. He only knew how to hold them close.
"I'm sorry," Safal whispered, his voice breaking. His tears mingled with the dust on his face, but he held the child tighter. "I will keep you safe, no matter what."
The first light of dawn broke through the horizon, casting the world in a pale, cold light. It should have been beautiful. But to Safal, it was just another reminder of the emptiness left behind. The village he had known, filled with laughter and life, was now silent. The faces of his family, his friends — all gone. He could still see them in his mind, frozen in their final moments. He could still hear their cries, their pleas for help, echoing in his ears. The thought of it made his chest tighten, his breath catch.
Safal's gaze drifted to the distant peaks of the Himalayas. He had heard stories about the temple of his ancestors hidden in the mountains. It was said that those who sought justice could find strength there. But Safal knew the journey would be long, dangerous, and filled with hardships. Every part of him screamed to stay, to protect the child, to grieve. But he knew he couldn't. Not when so much had been taken from him. Not when the child was depending on him.
As he stood up, the weight of his grief felt unbearable. His legs shook, but he forced himself to move, walking away from the village with the child in his arms. Every step felt like a betrayal. How could he leave? How could he leave them all behind? But he couldn't stay. There was nothing left here, nothing but pain.
The child's small hands gripped him tightly, their face buried against his chest, trembling. Safal could feel their fear, their pain, and it mirrored his own. But even in his brokenness, he had to be strong. For them. For the memory of his people.
"I'll keep you safe," Safal said again, though his voice wavered with uncertainty. The words felt like a promise he might not be able to keep. But he would try. He had to.
He could feel the weight of his loss in every step, but it was also what pushed him forward. He had no choice but to avenge them. He couldn't let this be the end. The child's soft sobs into his chest gave him the strength he needed to continue.
He looked down at them — the last living piece of his world. Safal whispered, "I'll make them pay for this. I swear it."
And as the first light of day crept over the world, Safal walked on, determined. But in his heart, the pain of his loss was a fire that burned with rage. And it would not be quenched until justice was served .