In the summer heat, planted between the rolling hills of the sprawl of Sylrel, was a well. Made of stone and mortar, its base was cracked and covered in moss and mildew. On the posts holding up its weathered roof was the rune of Valor, the town’s patron deity, now faded and battered by time, and an old metal crank. Weary and worn, the crank was covered in layers of rust and erosion from years of neglect.
Ander, having completed a jaunt out to the well with the goal of fetching water, stopped to collect his breath under the morning sun. Much like the day before, the heat was relentless, burning his skin with its harsh rays. The surrounding fields, often strewn by Feylings and farmers, were barren of life, besides the dry crops that grew there. He leaned against the stone base of the well, feeling the combined stress of the sun and his pack, challenging his endurance, both physical and mental. But he had made it—that was all that mattered.
He approached the well and the crank mounted on its side. Stopping before it, he reached around his back and unstrapped a hanging glass container, placing it upon the rough stone surface of the well. With both hands, he gripped the iron crank and pulled back with the might of his tired muscles.
But the crank refused to budge. Not even a fraction of an inch.
He released the crank from his grip, rolling out his wrists as he eyed it with annoyance. It wasn’t uncommon for it to lock up, especially during the mornings when it hadn’t seen much action. Resolute, he took up the crank again, pulling with his body weight.
*Creak*
It shifted, but just barely. It appeared as though the added force of Ander’s mass was just enough to get it to rotate, and thus the young man again pulled on the crank, seeking to loosen it even further.
*Creak*
*Creak*
*Snap*
He was thrown onto his back, unable to catch himself as the crank roared to life. However, even as the instrument broke free of its rust, the rope connecting it to the bucket snapped. He could hear the sound of the cord plummet, before hitting the water reservoir at the bottom of the well. Fearing he had made a grave mistake, he bolted up onto his feet and leaned against the well, staring down its length. He saw nothing but a black abyss staring back at him from the depths of the well, having consumed the water-fetching mechanism without a trace. It groaned with the echoes of the rope’s impact, sloshing about before returning to still silence. There was a faint wind through the planes, and nothing else.
As Ander grappled with the broken well, he noticed something else amiss. His glass container had disappeared. He looked down at the parched earth but found no trace of its existence. The glass had vanished into thin air, and upon reaching around to check on his pack, he noticed it wasn’t the only thing gone.
His bag, much like the glass, was nowhere to be found.
The worry within him morphed into something darker, more akin to a foreboding sense of dread. The sky above, which had been clear not a moment prior, had become infected with dark clouds, swirling about a central eye as the wind picked up. It bled through the rows of wheat and barley, their rustling like a muted choir of voices, calling out to the young man. Ander began to sweat, confusion and unease boiling within him.
High above, there came the booming echo of thunder, crashing through the sky. The clouds grew ever grimmer, blocking out the last remaining beams of light cast down by the sun. Shadow covered the land, save for a faint glow emanating from the stone and wooden structure.
Billowing out from the depths of the well came plumes of smoke, rising up and spilling over the slanted roof. Red and orange reflections of flames danced off the wet stones inside the well. Smoke continued to crawl into the sky, and as he began to step back from the ominous sight, a bolt of lighting was thrown down from the heavens, striking the wooden roof in an inglorious display. It fractured in an instant, sending bullets of debris in his direction as he was again cast onto his back. The winds turned into relentless gails, rushing past his ears, and pulling at his hair. Shadows grew from the base of the well, looming over the boy as he cowered in fright.
Clouds of smoke roared out of the depths of the well, forming a terrifying mirage of black and red. His heart raced, teeth clenched. He shook with fear as what could only be viewed as the apocalypse fell upon him. Is this how it ends? He thought, panic rising in his chest. Am I being dragged into hell?
But then, there was silence.
The oppressive chaos of the nightmare faded into an eerie stillness, coating him in a mask of serenity. He had awoken in his bed, cocooned in the soft fabric of reality. Long gone were the fierce swirling storms, and looming clouds of smoke. All that remained was the peaceful visage of his modest room. Across it were staggered rays of gentle light, cast down between the slits of his blinds. The rhythmic beat of his heart was the only sound to greet his ears, slow and steady, a stark contrast to the chaos he had just escaped.
Had it all just been a dream, he thought to himself, his manic mind polar to the stillness of the room. He still felt the terrors of his sleep crawling up his back, but as the seconds ticked by, and all he was met with was peace and tranquility, relaxation began to replace his anxiety. It must’ve been…just a dream.
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*CRASH*
His roof shattered, collapsing in a veil of dust and smoke as flames devoured his room. He bolted upright, the haze of sleep ripped away by sheer terror. The blaze took quick hold of the bedroom, spreading onto the floor and walls as it roared in the burning wind. He was stupefied, unable to grasp the situation. A gaping hole in the ceiling offered a glimpse of the outside world. An inferno had consumed everything, tearing apart the neighboring homes. Unable to breathe in the hailstorm of smoke, he lunged for the door, throwing it open with his shoulder.
He entered the cramped hallway, which too was filled with smoke. From behind him, not a moment after he left, his room collapsed onto itself, sending a wave of dust and debris through the door. A second had separated him from escape, and certain death. His fight or flight response kicked in, and in the blink of an eye, he was barreling towards the front door, ready to flee the collapsing structure. His mind had no thought other than escape.
Reaching the door, he grabbed the handle and pulled it open. Instead of abiding by his will, the entirety of the wall began to collapse, as did the door when it fell from its hinges. The stone cracked, and before he could evade it, the grate door came falling on top of him. There first came a yelp of shock, then a terrible cry of pure agony.
“Ahh! *Singe* AAAHHHHHHHHHH!”
The red hot iron seared into his skin, marring his right arm with spiraling burns. It made contact with his forehead, cementing rows of black and char wherever it touched, tearing apart his hair, melting its pattern into his flesh. The pain was unbearable. He was overcome with shock, and in a move of pure survival, he pressed his left hand onto the door and threw it off. His hand, too, had been tattooed by the heat.
“OH GODS, NO! NO! AAAHHHH!”
Collapsing to his knees, all he could do was scream in response to the torture of his burns. They stretched from his shoulder to his wrist, lines of black oozing a dark crimson. As if knives were being thrust into the entirety of his arm, over and over without respite. He was beyond tears, far beyond tears.
His saving grace came with a loud crash as the kitchen collapsed, spurring him back into the moment. Without a way to escape, he rushed towards the rear exit, pulverizing the wooden door as he flew into it. Ander fell to the ground, feeling a sharp pain roar in his left knee. He threw the sensation away, climbing to his feet to limp into the courtyard. The inferno raged all around him, tearing apart the group's homes, collapsing one by one from the flames. That was until he turned to face the open side of the yard that overlooked Sylrel, where he met a sight that would forever haunt him.
It was all gone. Sylrel was gone.
As if a mountain had been thrown against the town, all but a few homes had prevailed. A crater was all that remained, save for the great fires, burning hotter than imaginable, reaching higher than the Vellera spirals. The destruction stole his breath, which was replaced by heaps of smoke. It was gone, all of his village was gone. Everyone was gone. All of his friends, stolen in an instant. This can’t be real! This can’t be real, it must be another dream!
*CRASH*
The home to his right collapsed in on itself, all three stories barreling down to throw debris and flames about the yard. It was the Willards’ abode. He fell down to protect himself, only being hit by a few smaller chunks of wood. As the home collapsed, a chilling realization struck him—his family had yet to escape.
“NO, NOOOO!” He ran back to his home, his left leg struggling to keep up. With but a few feet separating him from the back entrance, it began to collapse, crushing the door with the heavy wooden beam held above. Fire danced through the cracks it made, but it did nothing to deter him. He grabbed at the wood, pulling it as he cried.
“MOTHER! FATHER!”
Another collapse came, this one also from within the house.
“ELA!”
His fingers dug into the wood, drawing blood from his nails as he pushed harder. He had to make it back, he had to save them. He had to save his sister.
“ELA!”
A window to his right shattered as flames flew from it. With no progress made, he turned around to push his back into the large beam, using every ounce of strength to break back inside.
“ELA! ELA!”
Tears ran down his cheek, as did the blood from his burns.
“Don’t make me-DON’T MAKE ME LEAVE YOU!”
Roars of exertion came from the boy as he pressed into the beam, but it gave no movement in response. With emotion flooding his veins, he turned around to slam his hands into the wood, tearing apart his palms as he grabbed at the wood plank. He pounded fist after fist into the beam, and a second later came another collapse, destroying the rear entrance entirely. It birthed a new torrent of flame which whipped at his heels, forcing him back.
“ELARA!” He cried through sobs, pushing himself up yet again. Sat on his knees, he cried into the air. “YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME - NOT LIKE THIS!”
“ELAAAA!”
The flames spread to the fence: his time was running short.
Every sob left him paralyzed, unable to move as the fire crept closer. His instincts took over, forcing his frozen body to skirt backward as the flames encroached ever further. Eventually, he rose to his feet, limping desperately away from the wreck as he cried into the night.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, *Shutter*, I’M SORRY!”
With his back turned to the home, A final crash signaled its total collapse, coming down with a torrent of fire and debris. Every part of him wished to fall to his knees, to succumb to the flames. There was nothing left to drive him further. The pain had grown too powerful, both physically and mentally. He staggered, falling once, then trice, then a final time down to a knee. The remaining group home to his side began to quake, signaling an impending collapse.
In all the chaos, in all the torment, there came a pause for the young, Idris. He remembered something. Wiping the blood off his right hand, he reached into his pocket and felt the corner of a strip of parchment. It was all he had left; the remaining vestige of all of his love, all of his pain, and all of his sorrow.
The portrait.
He pulled it out, scanning it, eyes bleeding with tears. They fell onto the paint, daring to smudge or destroy his last possession. That simple glance, that one quick reminder of what he had was the boost he needed to rise again. He folded it up and stuffed it into his pocket, before resuming his lethargic escape.
His father. His Mother. Elara. The portrait was all he had left of them.
Tears never stopped falling, and as he fled down the gravel road flanked by the raging inferno, he hobbled off into the night. He had lost everything in those few short minutes. A broken boy with nothing to his name, cursed with burns and a burden far beyond what he could bear.