John's mind was restless, haunted by questions he couldn't shake. Why had those men been chasing the boy? They wore armour that looked like the kind used by knights of a kingdom—who would send knights after a child? He glanced down at the three men sprawled unconscious on the snowy ground, the frigid air around them thick with silence. His gaze shifted to the boy, Arcos, who knelt nearby, head bowed as though trying to gather himself after narrowly escaping death.
"Arcos…" John's voice was steady, firm but not harsh, drawing the boy's attention. "Why were they chasing you?"
Arcos froze, his wide eyes betraying the fear that still lingered in his mind. His breathing quickened, and he whispered, "The village…" The word trembled from his lips, thick with dread. His eyes met John's, filled with pleading desperation. "Please, mister. Help my village. They're in danger."
John didn't miss the way the boy's fear deepened as he spoke. He recognized that look—the same haunted terror he had seen before in those who had lost everything. He drew in a breath, steadying himself. There was no time to waste.
"Lead the way," John said simply, straightening to his full height.
Without hesitation, Arcos spun and began running through the forest, feet crunching through the snow with hurried urgency. John followed, easily matching the boy's pace. Despite the cold, a tense heat began building inside him, anticipation mixed with concern. Whoever had sent those knights wouldn't stop at one attempt.
As they drew closer to the village, the smell of smoke hit them first, thick and acrid in the icy air. John's eyes narrowed as he spotted it, dark plumes rising steadily into the sky, a grim signal of trouble ahead.
Arcos saw it too. His breath hitched, fear flashing across his face. He quickened his pace, panic driving his small legs faster.
"It's just a campfire… it's just a campfire…" the boy muttered to himself, though his voice wavered with doubt.
John remained silent but alert, his mind already preparing for what might lie ahead. He knew better than to dismiss the smoke as something harmless. Whatever they were about to face, he would be ready. For now, he focused on keeping close to Arcos, ready to protect the boy, and whatever was left of his village.
As they approached the entrance to the village, a wave of dread washed over them. The air hung heavy with the acrid stench of smoke and charred wood. What lay before them was a vision of pure horror, homes reduced to ash, smouldering ruins casting shadows over the ground littered with lifeless bodies. Some villagers lay sprawled where they had fallen, others cruelly impaled or strung up, and too many bore the unmistakable marks of being burned alive.
The child stopped in his tracks, unable to move. His breath caught in his throat, his wide eyes reflecting the devastation. He stood frozen, his small frame trembling as he took in the gruesome sight of the people he had known and loved, gone, their lives extinguished in a nightmare he couldn't fully comprehend.
John stood frozen, watching the horrifying scene unfold before him. His gaze drifted to the child beside him, and for a moment, he struggled to find the right words, if there were any words at all.
The child took a shaky step forward, his small frame trembling under the weight of sorrow too heavy for someone so young. Tears welled in his eyes, spilling silently down his cheeks as he looked around. Without a word, John followed him into the ruined village.
Everywhere, the aftermath of violence lay strewn across the ground. The child's eyes flicked to a familiar body, that of a friend who would never play with him again. He saw parents who had died trying to shield their children, their lifeless forms lying beside the very ones they sought to protect. Yet the boy kept walking, as though drawn by an unseen force, his footsteps carrying him toward the place he once called home.
When they reached it, the boy stopped. Before him, his house lay in ruins, reduced to blackened rubble. The air still carried the acrid scent of smoke. Just outside the charred remains, his parents lay motionless on the scorched ground.
"Mom... Dad…" the boy whispered, his voice trembling, fragile. A shadow of despair fell over his young face, an expression far too heavy for a child. His knees buckled as he stumbled toward their bodies, collapsing beside them.
Tears streamed down his face as he clung to them, his small hands gripping their lifeless forms tightly. "Don't leave me," he sobbed, his voice raw and broken. "Please… come back…"
John stood a few paces behind, heart aching as he watched the boy beg for something he could never have again. In that moment, he felt utterly powerless, knowing that nothing he could say or do would ever fill the void left by the loss of the boy's family.
It was a grief too immense for words, too real to be soothed by hollow comfort.
John's mind raced, thoughts tumbling over one another in a frantic blur. Who would do this? What kind of kingdom would send its own soldiers to destroy a quiet village in the middle of nowhere? He clenched his fists, his gaze darkening as realization dawned. He knew he had seen that armour before. Of course… there's only one kingdom corrupt enough to burn down an entire village without hesitation. And it's the same kingdom that won't stop hunting me.
Taking a deep breath, he scanned the ruined village again, the charred remnants of homes, the smouldering ash filling the air, and the eerie silence that hung over the place like a suffocating shroud. His eyes fell on the boy, standing motionless, still clutching the lifeless bodies of his parents. Grief etched deep lines into the child's face, a haunting sight that made John's heart ache.
He stepped toward the boy, wanting to say something, anything, to ease the weight of the moment. But before he could speak, a deafening crash shook the ground. A figure descended from the heavens, landing with such force that the impact scattered ash and smoke in all directions. The very earth trembled beneath their feet, cracks spidering outward from where they had landed.
John and the boy, Arcos, as he'd turned to face the new arrival. The figure was clad entirely in white, their face hidden beneath a featureless mask that glinted in the dim light.
"You're a hard one to find, John," the figure said, their voice cold and impersonal as they stepped forward. Their hand lifted slowly, palm facing John, an ominous glow forming around it. "Now… die."
Without warning, a blast of black fire erupted from the figure's hand, surging toward them with terrifying speed. The air around it hissed and warped, the sheer heat and malevolent energy threatening to consume everything in its path.
"Hold on!" John shouted, grabbing Arcos tightly. In a split second, he launched himself into the air, flying with such velocity that it seemed as if they had been obliterated by the blast. Behind them, the black fire crashed into the ground, leaving nothing but scorched earth in its wake.
High above, John glanced down at the devastation below, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. The boy trembled in his arms, too stunned to speak.
"Are you okay?" John asked, his voice low but steady.
Arcos nodded weakly, his wide eyes still fixed on the destruction beneath them, Seeing the charred remains of his home and the lifeless bodies of his parents, Arcos's heart clenched in fear and disbelief. His eyes filled with tears as his voice trembled. "No…" he whispered, barely able to get the word out.
"Don't worry. I'll get you to safety," he said gently, his voice calm but firm.
Arcos didn't respond. He simply clung tightly to John, burying his face against him, unable to bear the sight of the smouldering ruins any longer. Without wasting another second, John took to the sky, the wind rushing past them as he carried Arcos toward his hidden refuge. The boy held on tighter, too shaken to look back at what he had lost.