The day after the massacre was heavy with sorrow. The air was thick with the weight of loss, the kind that settled deep in your chest and squeezed tighter every time you breathed. Alysia clung to George, her tiny body shaking as she cried, but even the strongest arms couldn't protect her from this kind of pain. George's face was stoic, his expression carved from stone, but his eyes betrayed the agony that consumed him.
We buried Ethan and Alice by the garden, the one place where they had often sat, watching the sun set in peaceful silence. Now, the garden was nothing but a scar on the earth. The dirt felt like it was suffocating them, as though even the soil itself mourned the loss of two of the bravest souls to ever walk this land.
As we moved through the village, the sight of death became unbearable. There were human bodies scattered everywhere, left to decay under the cruel sun or burned to ashes. The streets were littered with the remains of those who had tried to flee, their lives snuffed out in an instant. Some had died protecting their homes, others in the middle of a desperate escape. There was no dignity in death here. The bodies lay in twisted, unnatural positions, some unrecognizable from the brutal force of the attack. The smell of death hung thick in the air, a constant reminder of how easily life could be taken.
People raced to the cemetery, scrambling to bury their loved ones before the stench of decay took over the village. The ground was already scarred with freshly dug graves, but it was never enough. They kept coming, desperate to find a place for the dead, fighting over what little space was left. It was a scene of madness, grief, and desperation, the chaos reflecting the state of the world outside our village.
I stood in the cemetery, staring at the grave markers, my fists clenched so tightly my nails dug into my palms. I could feel the fire of rage burning deep inside me. My heart pounded in my chest, every beat fueling the hatred that bubbled to the surface.
The people we loved, the family we had, were gone. They were burned to nothing, and all that was left were memories and ash. I couldn't let it end like this. I couldn't let those monsters win.
I turned to George, the rage in my voice barely contained. "I'll kill them. I'll hunt down every last demon and make them pay."
George's face twisted in a way I couldn't read. His lips parted, but it wasn't anger or encouragement that came from him—it was a weary sadness. "You can't," he said quietly. "Not like this."
"What do you mean?" My voice was shaking, the anger spilling over now. "I won't let them get away with this! My family's dead! Our home is destroyed! I can't just sit here and do nothing!"
George's eyes softened, but the pain behind them was raw, searing. I could see it now—the deep wound of loss that he, too, was carrying, but he buried it under a mask of resolve. "You'll die if you try to avenge them now. You're not ready, and neither am I. The world is far darker than you think."
I glared at him, my blood boiling. "You're just going to sit there and tell me to wait? Let this happen? Let them win? We're supposed to be heroes!"
"Heroes don't fight for revenge," George said, his voice quiet but strong. "Heroes fight for justice, for the future. We don't burn ourselves out chasing shadows of the past."
The anger surged through me, but I knew he was right. Deep down, I knew I wasn't ready. But it didn't make it any easier. I wanted them gone. I wanted their blood spilled. I wanted to feel like there was something we could do.
But Alysia's crying pierced the air again, dragging me out of my rage. She was still in George's arms, sobbing uncontrollably. She didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve to grow up in a world where everything was taken from her.
I knelt beside her, my heart aching as I whispered, "We'll get them. I swear, we will. But not today."
George sighed, his eyes closing briefly. "We need to go. It's not safe here anymore. There are more of them out there, and this village…" He trailed off, his words hanging heavy in the air.
I looked around at the devastation, the burned-out houses, the bodies of the fallen villagers who hadn't been able to escape. The stench of death still clung to the ground like a foul presence.
"We're leaving?" I asked quietly.
"We are," George said firmly. "The capital of Elvadoreth is our best chance. We can regroup there, find allies, and start over."
"Elvadoreth?" I repeated, trying to commit the name to memory. It was hard to focus with everything still spinning in my head, but I knew this was the only way forward.
"Yes," George said, his voice hollow. "The capital of Elvadoreth. The kingdom's heart. If we're going to stop this, we need to find out what's really going on and why the demons are attacking again."
I nodded, even as the anger still twisted inside me. This wasn't over. This was just the beginning. But it was time to take the first step.
"Let's go," I said. "Let's get out of here."
As we left the village behind, the weight of what we had lost pressed down on all of us. But there was more to George's silence than just the loss of his daughter and son-in-law. He was carrying something much heavier. His own fury. His own thirst for vengeance.
Deep inside, I knew George was burning with the same rage I felt. The same drive to destroy those demons and make them pay for what they had taken. But his duty to protect Alysia, to ensure she survived, had to come first. As a father, he couldn't afford to give in to that anger—not yet. Not until it was safe.
But I could see it in the clenched muscles of his back, the tension in his jaw. He wanted revenge as much as I did. More, maybe. He had lost his daughter. His family was gone.
We walked for hours, the weight of our grief pushing us forward. There was no time to grieve, no time for anything but survival. And as the shadows of the world grew darker around us, I knew one thing for sure:
This wasn't the end. This was just the beginning. And we would find those demons, and we would make them suffer.
We had no choice.
We had nothing left to lose.