Historical fiction with alterations to history. Such as names of countries, empires, weapons, military structure. 

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All it took was a step out of the forest to see the world collapse. Years and years of memories decimated to nothingness, an entire lifetime burnt to ash. The village - Northon dwindling back into a time civilization hasn't graced it. It was by a stroke of luck that I was absent during the incident. Yet instead of being glad, the thought of my awaiting mother flashed, and it took all I had to not scream. 

Contrary to what I was expecting, no remorse came as I dropped the still prey in my hands- two rabbits and one fairly large pheasant- whose patterns was unmarred by the shot with the only red spot being the pierced head and its naturally occurring dots across luscious brown feathers. All the delight derived from the constancy of my aim wiped by an avalanche of fear and worry.

'Please be safe, mother.'

I ran to the source of destruction, feet sprinting as though it too had caught on fire. Everything was dancing in raucous noise. The crackling of burning wood. The chaotic screams. The patches of grass underneath. And even the gasping of my shivering mouth. 

'Please, please, please.' 

Still- by the time I arrived, all was too late. The home I used to live in. The home mother would sew clothes. The home we'd cook the games I hunted. Was a rambling mess of indistinguishable red and brown.

I looked around. But all I could see was the corpses on the floor. One struck by arrow. The other by merciless swing of the sword. From afar I can hear the gallop of horses and the flutter of a flag Castelon green flag. On it engraved in gold, the balance of justice and atop it an eagle in vermilion.

'The Driston empire is invading. Not only our petty village but also farther cities.' 

Amidst the repulsive odor of scorched meat and unharmoniously sweet scent of wood, I could only stare in hopelessness as the jaws of fire took away the minuscule buildings one by one. Reignited embers creeping up on unresisting walls and rooftops. Wood segments falling apart everywhere, making the vermilion monstrousity look like a beast slowly dismembering its prey. 

"Mother- Mother! Where are you?" I ran around the blistering streets, checking every nook and cranny. Panic running through my veins. Nearly lunging into the flaming buildings out of desperation.

It wasn't until around the exact time that was needed for newly poured tea to go cold, that I found what I was seeking in all the ways I was afraid of. My mother's river like voice joining in the chorus of screams. Her running body falling on the harsh, dirty ground. The washed down cloth on her thin torso blood red.

All because of a soldier who doesn't even know how to swing his swords right. One look was all I needed to tell that he was a conscripted soldier who just recently learned the way of the blade. At most one year of training. 

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'They are added secretly trained civilians from nearby borders to add fighting force whilst avoiding notice.'

My legs jerked forwards; intending to brace her fall, but even faster was my trained arms and eyes, that reached out for the bow and arrow hanging on my back. Two seconds of resentful aiming, a millisecond wasted controlling the anger rampaging through my blood.

In utter bloodlust- I released the shot. And relished as it hit the lanky soldier clad in bare minimum armour- right in the neck where no risks can be taken. I dyed him in the same color he afflicted on my mother with less pain. For a moment I regretted not slowly bleeding him to death.

But that regret was quickly replaced by the concern I had for my poor mother. Holding the bow in my left arm, I supported my mother's weak body with my right arm. Feeling the breath slowly leave her weak body as though she was slowly slipping through my hands.

"Everything is alright now," the hands pressing on to the wound clutched stronger, yet it did nothing against the gushing flow of blood. "You don't need to fear anymore, mother." 

And yet in the carress of her utterly thin and slowly lifeless arms, that have began to decay into emptiness ever since father was conscripted into the army- I could sense acceptance. Moths of death crawling on every spot she touched on my face.

"Oh, my poor Adriel, you are the one who don't need to fear anymore." The desire to pry of her hand emerged, but rememberance that this is most probably the last held me back. "Without me, there is nothing weighing you down. You are free to survive."

'What is a survivor without what they wanted to protect?' My throat went dry, barely containing the protest yearning to escape. 'No! This can't be the end.' In denial of the warm liquid seeping on to my skin and the smell of iron in the air, I tried convincing myself that we could still live together.

As if knowing my inner thoughts, mother simply shook her head strongly, uttering her last words, "Listen to me, Adriel. I have spent the entirety of my life in contentment and Joy. The only regret I have is not seeing you grow. Now that I am on the brink of death, all I want is for you to have the chance to grow."

"Mother-" I cut her speech of, the desperation in my eyes signaling her to stop speaking. To not let this be our last conversation. To not force me to live alone in this cold, cruel world.

But my refusal was met with a firmer refusal. There is nothing stronger than the love of a mother. As I watch mother use her death to push me into living, I understood.

"Live on, Adriel. Even if you have to walk into the mud. Even if your hands get stained and bones follow your every step. You have to live on."

The sound of footstep approaches. Reinforcement? Despite every instinct yelling at me to run, I stayed. For the last time I would be able to see mother breathe.

"The world is not a good place for the merciful people. Your father… and I, we didn't knew that. That is the reason why we suffer and get trampled on."

Despite the sound of people running to this place, I lost all my focus to her words. My parents always were an oddity in this simple, rural village. A mother who reads, a father who is a master at swords and arrows. It always made me wonder if they were truly villagers at birth.

"Monsters don't eat monsters. It's the does they're after." Her words start slurring, eyes no longer peering into me. I didn't know it at the time, but all she saw was probably darkness. I realized, the time has come, this sentence will be the last. Just as I was expecting it to be -'I love you,' an entirely different sentence came out of her withered lips. 

"Don't be that doe, my dear."

Cold air; Colder hands; colder heart. Today is the 27th day of the ninth month of year 1837 AD. Many would remember this as the day war between the Driston and Krelrya empire started after the treaty was broken. But in my heart, it would forever be the day I lost the person I cherished alongside the definition of love.