The moment Bron's words left his mouth, Einar felt his world tilt. "I heard an explosion from the direction of your house," Bron had said, his voice uneasy, eyes full of concern. But Einar’s mind couldn’t comprehend anything beyond one word—home.

Before he could even think, his legs moved. His body hurled forward, racing down the path without any sense of direction beyond the primal need to get back. His breath came in sharp gasps, heart pounding a deafening rhythm in his ears. His muscles screamed with every step, but he pushed harder, ignoring the burn, the agony. He can’t even feel the drops of the rain, that have just started. Behind him, he heard Rina and Bron calling his name, but their voices were distant, drowned out by the rush of blood and terror.

As he neared the cabin, the sickly stench of smoke filled the air. Not the comforting kind from a hearth. This was darker, more menacing—thick, choking smoke, rising in swirling, chaotic clouds. He could already see it. The cabin, his home, in flames which are getting dim by the rain.

"No… no… please." The words fell from his lips like desperate prayers. His feet barely carried him the last few steps as the cabin came into full view with the dense woods as its entrance, trees greeting him, but not with the usual cheering with its branch, but with grief.

The left side of the cabin was engulfed in roaring flames, windows shattered, beams crumbling under the heat. Fire licked greedily at the remains, consuming everything in its path. But it wasn’t just the destruction that twisted Einar’s gut into knots—it was the blood. In fact the prints which were near the doorway, with blood stains.

He stumbled through the doorway, the smoke burning his eyes, searing his throat. His vision blurred, but he forced his legs to keep moving. The smell—charred wood, burnt flesh, blood—wrapped around him like a suffocating blanket, clawing at his senses.

He looked on the left where once a hall and the kitchen stood, now two corpses were lying there, both burnt to the crisp. As he moved inside, he turned to the right where Alice’s room was. That’s when he saw her.

His mother, crumpled on the floor, still and lifeless amid the wreckage. The flames danced around her, casting eerie, flickering shadows over her broken body. Einar’s knees buckled, and he collapsed beside her, his hands shaking violently as they hovered over her form. No. This can’t be real. This can’t be happening.

“Mother?” His voice cracked, barely more than a whisper. His fingers brushed her cold skin, sending a jolt of despair through him. Her body was limp, her face pale, the warmth drained from her flesh.

“Mother, please…” His hands trembled as he gently cradled her head, pulling her into his arms. Her body was light, too light, as if life itself had been stolen from her. The blood seeping from the wound in her side soaked through his clothes, but he barely noticed.

The tears came fast, blurring his vision as he rocked back and forth, holding her close. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.” His voice broke, the words catching in his throat. “I should have been here. I could’ve stopped this.”

The guilt gnawed at him, tearing through him like a beast, ripping away any shred of reason. He clutched her tighter, as if somehow, if he held on long enough, she would come back to him. But her eyes were closed, her chest still. She was gone.

A scream clawed at his throat, but it was too raw, too painful to let out. All he could manage was a broken sob, his body trembling uncontrollably. Memories of her laugh, her smile, her voice—all of it crashed over him, sharp and unbearable. This isn’t real. This can’t be real.

“Einar.” Bron’s voice was softer now, more urgent. He had entered the house, standing just behind Einar, his face drawn with pain. "There’s no sign of Alice."

Einar’s body stiffened. He slowly turned his head, his hands still gripping his mother’s cold body. “What?”

Rina stepped into the hall, her face ashen. “Alice… She’s not here.” Her voice was quiet, fearful. “If this was a monster attack… why is Alice missing?”

Einar’s heart plummeted into a pit of cold dread. He laid his mother’s body down gently, his fingers brushing over the gaping wound on her side. It was clean, too clean. His blood ran cold.

“This wasn’t a monster…” His voice was shaky, but the realization sharpened his words. He stood slowly, his legs weak beneath him. “The wound… it’s too clean to be a monster attack.”

His eyes darkened, rage bubbling beneath the surface. He looked around at the destruction, at his mother’s body, at the blood staining the floor. This wasn’t an accident. This was an attack.

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“They took her.” The words came out as a growl, low and furious. “This was planned. They took Alice.”

His fists clenched tightly, his nails digging into his palms until blood dripped from his knuckles. Rage boiled in his chest, replacing the grief, the helplessness. He wouldn’t let them get away with this. He would find them. He would make them pay.

“I’ll kill them,” he snarled, his voice full of venom. “I’ll tear them apart.”

But as his eyes drifted back to his mother, the fury wavered, replaced by the crushing weight of loss. He knelt beside her one last time, pressing his forehead against her cold skin. His breath was ragged, the tears streaming freely down his face now.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. "I'm sorry, Mother."

The grief was too much, too raw. And then the scream tore out of him—a sound so full of pain, it echoed through the burning wreckage like the death cry of something broken beyond repair.

The rain poured in relentless sheets, cold and unfeeling, as if the sky itself wept for what had been lost. Einar stood over his mother’s lifeless body, his clothes soaked, his hair plastered to his head, but he barely noticed the rain. The world around him seemed distant, muffled, like he was trapped inside a cage of grief and fury, too deep to climb out.

Behind him, Bron and Rina stood in quiet reverence, the heavy silence shared between them broken only by the steady patter of rain on earth. They watched Einar, sensing the shift in him—something dark, something dangerous had settled into his bones, replacing the light that used to be there. His crimson eyes, once full of life, were now twin embers, glowing with a burning rage.

Each step toward the graveyard felt like dragging his soul through the mud, each memory of his mother a fresh wound. Her laugh, her voice, her warmth—gone. All of it stolen in one cruel moment. Now, there was nothing left but the void and one singular need that consumed him: revenge.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” he thought bitterly, staring down at her pale face, now slack and cold in death. The words echoed hollowly in his mind, useless against the crushing weight of guilt. He’d failed her. He hadn’t been there when she needed him most.

They reached his father’s grave—an old, weather-worn stone half-forgotten under the heavy rain. Einar knelt beside it, gently lowering his mother’s body next to the resting place of Aeron Lambert. His heart clenched painfully, the guilt thick as he whispered, “I’m sorry, Father… I couldn’t protect her.”

His voice cracked, barely audible over the rain, his body trembling with rage and sorrow. “But I promise you this…” He paused, his eyes darkening further, filling with the cold fury of a storm about to break. “I will find them. Whoever did this... I’ll kill them all.”

Rina stood a few feet away, watching quietly. She said nothing. There were no words that could break through the wall of grief Einar had built around himself, no comfort she could offer that wouldn’t feel empty. She understood now—he was on a path that could only end in blood.

“Rina,” Einar said, his voice strained, “use your magic. Please… dig the grave.”

Rina hesitated, her heart aching for him, but she stepped forward, kneeling beside him. She pressed her hands to the soaked earth, murmuring an incantation. The ground responded slowly, the wet soil shifting and parting, creating a grave for the woman she once called a friend.

As the rain drummed against his skin, Einar knelt beside his mother’s body once more, his fingers trembling as he brushed a lock of hair from her face. Her features, once full of life, were now still, peaceful in a way that tore at his heart. He wanted to believe she was at peace, but all he could feel was the overwhelming weight of failure.

Will I lose everything again? The thought gnawed at him, as if the universe was mocking him, forcing him to relive the same tragedy over and over. Will I walk this path all over again?

He thought about the memories, the flashes of his past life, and the growing certainty that had taken root inside him. He couldn’t deny it anymore. He was more than Einar Lambert. He was Einar Emberheart, the Prince of Mythoria. And if he wanted to find Alice… if he wanted to find Celestia… he would have to embrace that truth. His past. His future. There was no room for denial anymore.

Rina’s spell finished, and the earth closed over the grave with a soft thud. His mother, gone, now lay next to his father—two lives stolen by forces beyond his control. For a long time, Einar stood there, staring at the freshly covered ground, feeling a hollow ache inside him. The rain poured down, but he didn’t feel it. The world around him blurred, lost in the storm of grief and the cold, biting promise of vengeance that pulsed within him.

Rina’s soft voice cut through the silence. “What will you do now, Einar?”

He didn’t look at her, his eyes still fixed on the grave. His voice was quiet but unyielding. “I have to leave. My mother would have wanted that. I have to find Alice.” He paused, a name burning at the back of his throat. “And Celestia.”

Rina frowned. “Why don’t you come with us? We can help.”

Einar shook his head slowly, the weight of his decision clear in his voice. “I can’t burden you with this. It’s something I have to do alone.”

Bron, who had remained silent, stepped forward, his voice rough but sincere. “What about Lord Thorvald? He was a friend of your father’s. You’ve met him before. He might be able to help, especially with Alice.”

Rina raised her brow. “The local lord?”

Bron nodded. “He’ll want to know what happened here. You might get answers... maybe even support.”

Einar’s mind flickered with recognition. Edric Thorvald. It had been years since he’d last seen him. Since he’d last seen Rowen. But maybe... maybe that was the lead he needed. It felt like grasping at straws, but what else did he have left?

“When do you leave?” Einar asked, his voice distant, as if his mind had already begun to drift away.

Rina exchanged a look with Bron before answering. “As soon as we’ve cleared the village. We have to escort the merchant back, but... you should come with us.”

Einar nodded, though his gaze never left the horizon, lost in the promise he’d made to himself and his mother. I will find Alice. I will find Celestia. The weight of the pendant around his neck was unfamiliar but grounding, a reminder of what he had to do.

The rain fell harder, soaking through his clothes, but he didn’t feel the cold anymore. There was only one thing left inside him now.

Revenge.