The heat of the flames was unbearable, as if hell itself had opened its gates and poured fire upon the earth. The air was thick with the smell of burning flesh, mixed with the pungent odor of melted iron.
What had once been a house was now reduced to rubble and smoking ruins. In the shadows of destruction, fallen bodies were scattered, distorted and pale, like marionettes in a macabre show, their bloodstained clothes reflecting the flames still burning around them.
Shards of glass and broken wood pierced the ground, making each step a risk of falling into an invisible trap. Everything around seemed to melt into a scene of pure chaos, where time had stopped, and life slipped away like sand through the fingers.
A young boy, kneeling at the center of the chaos, was motionless. His eyes, which had seen more than any human should, no longer shone with life. The emptiness in his gaze reflected what was left of his soul, dragged into a deep abyss where pain and hatred intertwined.
His thoughts were lost, and his mind seemed like a dark prison, unable to comprehend the horror surrounding him. His hands, stained with blood, trembled slightly, but his posture remained firm, like a stone in the middle of a furious river, indifferent to the strength of the waters threatening him.
As he rose, a sense of weight surrounded him, as if the world had lost its weight, as if everything around him was irrelevant, except for what was about to happen. The uneven ground made his walk difficult, but each step seemed to lead him toward a fate already set, with no chance of escape.
The bodies, now forgotten, the houses reduced to ashes, the pain and loss… None of it mattered. He walked, almost as if he were a spectator of his own life, a puppet in the hands of something he could not control.
The boy walked until he approached a man still breathing but already on the brink of death. The man was lying, his lungs trying, in vain, to draw air that no longer belonged to him. His breath was heavy and labored, as if time were dragging along with him.
His face was contorted in pain, his eyes glazed, fixed on the void, as if pleading for something that could no longer be given. His desperate eyes tried to convey something, but the boy felt nothing but deep hatred. A blind fury consumed him, a thirst for revenge that could never be quenched, not even with the death of the man who, at some point in his existence, had been responsible for so much suffering.
He stared at him, rage burning in his chest. Each breath became harder, as if the air was getting dense, hotter, more unbearable. Beside him, a sword, rusted and stained with blood, lay on the ground. The blade seemed to glow in a macabre way under the light of the flames, calling to him, attracting him, as if it were the only thing still holding any power over him.
Without hesitation, he picked it up. The cold metal seemed to react to his touch, vibrating with an energy he couldn't understand. He raised it, the sword slicing through the air with precision, and with a quick, lethal movement, the blade tore through the man's body, ending his suffering. The man fell, defeated, his body giving in, ceasing to fight the inevitable.
But before he could move away, something stopped him. His gaze shifted to the corner of his vision, and his heart raced. Something, or rather, someone, was there. The sensation was instant, a cold shock that made his legs weaken. He didn't want to believe what he was seeing, but his eyes couldn't deny it…