The village was already dead by the time Kael opened his eyes.
Smoke clung to the sky in thick, black coils, blotting out the sun. The ground was a jagged ruin of scorched earth and broken stone, still smoldering from divine fire. Bodies lay twisted and lifeless—neighbors, friends, and family—reduced to charred husks or frozen in their final screams.
Kael's small hands trembled as he pushed himself upright, coughing violently. His ribs ached where debris had pinned him, but he forced himself to stand. Blood matted his blond hair, streaking his forehead with sticky warmth. His breath came in uneven gasps, the sharp tang of smoke burning his throat.
And then he saw them.
His mother's arms were still wrapped around his younger sister. Their bodies were fused together, blackened by the divine flame. His father lay a few feet away, his chest impaled by a spear of radiant light—the mark of the gods. The holy blade still crackled faintly with energy, defying the stillness of death.
Kael stared, his eyes wide and vacant. For a long moment, he felt nothing. Just cold. Empty.
Then the weight of it crushed him.
"No… no, no!" His voice cracked into a ragged wail. He stumbled forward, clutching at his mother's arm. Her skin crumbled beneath his touch, disintegrating into ash.
His legs buckled. He clung to her remains, rocking back and forth. His throat burned from screaming, but he couldn't stop.
The gods had done this. The very beings they worshiped, pleaded to, and trusted. They had called this village unworthy—declaring it tainted by some unspoken sin. No trial. No mercy. Only fire and ruin.
The sky, once a canvas of blue, was now veiled in darkness. And as Kael stared at the heavens, he no longer felt fear or sorrow. Only hatred.
He clawed at the dirt with bloodied fingers, his nails splitting as he gripped the holy spear still buried in his father's chest. His arms shook violently, his muscles weak and malnourished, but he wrenched the weapon free with a cry of rage.
The divine blade thrummed with radiant energy, its golden edges stained with his father's blood. Kael's reflection flickered in its gleaming surface—a weak boy with hollow eyes. But he didn't look away.
"I will tear you from the sky," he whispered, his voice broken and raw.
The gods would pay.
For his family.
For his village.
For every life they had stolen.
With the divine spear clutched in his trembling hands, Kael limped away from the ruins. His legs were weak, his breaths shallow, but his eyes were steady—fueled by vengeance.
The gods had made one mistake.
They had left one survivor.