The earth shook with a bone-rattling force as the shadow of a monstrous dragon flew over the village circling it like a vulture atop its prey. It's scales glistened like blood in the moonlight and it's enormous shadow blotting out the night sky. All I could do was cower in the remains of my house as it laid waste to my village.
I forced my breath to steady, gripping the edges of my mind as the roar of destruction raged around me. The chaos blurred, but no matter how hard I tried to shut it out, the images of my family came rushing back— my wife, her body crushed underneath a burning beam, my daughters lifeless eyes staring straight into my soul. A wave of grief buckled me to my knees as tears roll down my cheeks. My son, yes my son; Ramone he is still alive. Untouched by the beast's fury, and for that fragile sliver of hope I kept my sanity.
But then, through the smoke and terror, something jerked me back to the present— a small figure, ragged and covered in dirt he stood still in the middle of the village square. A child. My blood ran cold. I ran, I didn't think, didn't hesitate I pushed down the panic and grabbed the trembling form into my arms. My heart pounding as I sprinted for the shadows of the woods, desperate to escape the looming threat that towered above us.
I ran and ran, for God knows how long. The forest blurred around me, my every step a jolt of pain through my body as my bare feet struck the jagged earth, unprotected, raw with each desperate stride. I had fully accepted my death— this was not a fight I could win— but the thought of leaving this child to die alone, terrified, was something I couldn't bear. I didn't know where I was going, only that I had to protect him, even if it meant my final breath was spent shielding his.
After what felt like an eternity, my legs gave way, and I collapsed into the ruins of what once had been a home. The building was little more than skeletal walls now, crumbling stone and shattered wood, abandoned in haste. I set the child down gently, my heart still hammering my chest, my breath ragged from exhaustion.
As I looked at him more closely, something tugged at the back of my mind. His straight black hair, the frightened amber eyes— it hit me with a jolt. This child was the grandson of chief Anton Forrest, the man who had once been the pillar of this village.
"Where's your family?" I asked, my voice hoarse and rough, desperate for answers. "What's your name? Do you rem—"
But the boy just stared at me, wide eyed and silent. No words, no sound. My throat tightened.
He was mute.
I don't know whether he had been born this way or if the attack had stolen his voice, but either way, it didn't matter. In that moment he was all that was left of the village.
As the adrenaline died down my exhaustion hit me like a wave, and I slumped against the cold stone, my body finally giving in to the toll of the run. The child sat there, his tiny form trembling, but for the first time since the chaos had begun, I allowed myself to breathe. We were safe, for now.
I closed my eyes for a brief moment, the weight of relief settling into my bones, but when I opened them again the sound of distant hooves reached my ears. The faint murmurs of soldiers. My heart leapt. They had arrived— reinforcements from the capital. The boy will be in safe hands soon.
But even as that thought comforted me, another feeling lingered in the pit of my stomach. I looked at the boy again, his innocent face, and felt the sharp sting of what I had lost. My wife, my daughter— gone in an instant. The pain of their absence still gnawed at my insides, an ache that no amount of safety could soothe, I had saved the child but I couldn't save them.
With the sound of the approaching soldiers growing louder, my breath became shallow, each exhale a little more labored. I could feel my body slipping, the cold creeping in, but I couldn't let go— not yet. Not until i said what I needed to say.
I turned to the boy, his wide eyes staring at me with confusion and fear. I reached out my hand trembling as I grabbed his shoulder, forcing myself to speak despite my difficulty.
"Listen… Ramone…" my voice cracked, thin and weak. "My son… his name… Ramone."
I swallowed, trying to push the words past the tightness in my chests. "In the… capital… find him."
The pain in my chest grew, but I couldn't stop. "Tell him… I… I tried…" my voice faltered, tears running down my cheek. "Tell him… I love him…"