Just before reaching the wall of fangs and horns, Wyn veered right towards the hellhound, slamming into it with all the force he could muster. It was knocked aside as the antlers of the elk tore across his side, opening a gash just below his armpit. The impact caused him to stumble to the ground, but he rolled back to his feet, kicking off the ground as he darted back towards the snake.

No time to stop, they were now free to reach the entrance of the shelter.

As he approached, he grabbed his sword from the dirt and raised it up. The snake twisted around to fight him as he stabbed the sword down towards its tail, sticking it to the dirt like a pincushion. In one movement he jumped over its lunging head onto the back of the confused elk, knocking it off balance as he pulled hard on its antlers, toppling the beast to the ground and snapping a small chunk of the ice off, which he hurled at the hellhound, piercing a few inches into its skin.

The weight of the monster threw him back across the ground knocking the air from his lungs as he slid through the mud until he slammed into something, and the structure collapsed on top of him, burying him under a small pile of wooden rubble. As he lay on the ground, his head spinning, Eia drifted down just in front of him, outside the pile, pulsing desperately. Was that a humming noise? It was impossible to tell over the ringing in his ears.

Nearby, several of the buildings had caught fire, even in the downpour. There were a few monsters in the dungeon that spit burning acid flames which were hard to put out with water, presumably it was one of those. With his blurry vision tinted purple—Eia being so close to his eyes—he couldn’t help but be reminded of the flames of Iillia, how they’d refreshed him. What he wouldn’t give for that now…

The clopping of hooves told him the elk was getting up, and neither the snake nor the hellhound was actually dead. He needed to get up, but exhaustion pressed on him, forcing him to stay in the dirt, and the wreckage above him only added to the burden. His vision began to slowly dim, watching the rain fall through the gaps in the wreckage. Still, he wasn’t attacked any further, perhaps they thought he was dead. More likely, digging him out was too much effort when they could sense a banquet on the other side of the door, but there was no use trying to understand the minds of monsters.

A banging sound came from the shelter. He used all the strength he could to shift in the rubble and look. The elk beast stumbled back from the door, which had a large splintering in its wood. It stepped back several yards, charging again and slamming into the door, causing it to shake on its hinges.

Please… get up! Wyn pushed, but his strength was all but gone, though the rubble trembled, it didn’t release him.

The elk-beast crashed into the door again, and again, until finally, after nine charges, it tore its way through, knocking the door out of its frame. The elk stumbled back, dazed from the charge, giving Wyn a view of the inside. Past the entrance, he could see the huddled forms of the villagers, trembling in fear. He couldn't find his mother and Elry in the crowd, but he knew they were there.

The village burned around him, the flames ceaselessly devouring without care for the rain.

I’ve been here before. He knew this all too well.

The smoke choking his lungs, the heat of the fire burning up the air, and most of all, the fear of watching his loved ones die, while he lay helpless to do anything about it...

In that moment, he was back, six years before, on the day his father had died.

***

Six Years Ago

Wyn smelled the fire before he saw it. In the time it took him and Corrin to get back to town, the sun had begun to set, burning a fiery orange glow onto the world as it fell below the mountains. A strong wind was blowing in from the direction of the village, and with it was carried a thick, choking smoke. It was a deathly black, and invaded Wyn’s lungs as he ran. His legs ached, his lungs burned, and his head was still ringing from the explosion caused by the firestone, but Straetum meant safety, if they just made it there, just over the top of the hill, everything would be alright…

Out of breath, Wyn reached the top of the hill and saw the village. The unchanging sight of Straetum, with its cozy streets, its quaint buildings, and the way the grass around it blew lazily in the wind, was nowhere to be seen. Left in its place was a hellish battlefield, a nightmare of fire and death. The main stone street was awash with blood, trickling through the cracks in the cobblestone as the ichor of man and monster mixed into a thick black sludge which congealed wherever it came to rest. The buildings on the outer edge of the town were in ruins, so thoroughly destroyed that the fires couldn’t even spread across the razed ground, and the grass was trampled flat, littered with corpses. Most were monstrous in nature, which raised Wyn’s spirits for a moment, but then he saw a human body lying lifeless on the ground, then another, and yet another.

The taste of bile rose in Wyn’s mouth, and he fell to his knees, choking back his own vomit at the sight. Where were they supposed to go in an emergency? That’s right, the garrison, there would be soldiers there, it would be safe.

“Corrin, we have to go to the garrison, it’s not safe here.” He began to move, but Corrin stayed rooted to his place. He was staring at the sight, his body shaking.

Wyn grabbed his friend’s wrist, realizing his own hand was shaking as well, “Corrin!” It seemed to snap him out of it, and his gaze refocused.

“Right… the garrison. Where is—never mind.” He shook his head, and they began to run.

As they grew closer, the odor of death flooded his senses. The smell of blood, so thick and metallic, almost brought him to his knees, and his eyes burned from the smoke.

Wyn tripped over a body just as a shape moved in the shadows cast by the flame, pouncing towards him. It sailed over his head, pure dumb luck saving his life as he tumbled to the ground. The beast, a cat-like creature with three eyes and two tails, stalked towards them, fangs bared.

A voice, frantic and desperate yelled out as Wyn’s father appeared from one of the burning buildings, brandishing a spear. His clothes were torn and disgusting, and a stream of blood was running down his face, but he crashed into the beast with his entire weight, ramming the spear deep into its flesh. He shoved it to the ground, but the strike wasn’t enough to kill the monster, and it gnashed and clawed at him, tearing open wounds all over his body. With an expression of ferocity, the likes of which Wyn had never seen on his usually gentle father, he drove the spear back into the monsters over and over. There was no technique to his attack, and for each blow he landed on the beast, he received two more, but eventually it fell, its mangled remains lifeless in the dirt.

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Only his father remained standing, and he turned to Wyn. For a heartbeat, Wyn was almost afraid of him, but then his father’s expression softened, and he smiled.

“Wyn, Corrin… I’m glad you’re safe. Come on, we must get back.”

A dam inside Wyn broke, and he ran to his father, wrapping his small arms around his father’s waist. His face stung from both ash and tears. A strong arm wrapped gently around his body, and for the briefest of moments, Wyn felt safe. Even in this terrible dream, so long as he was with his father, everything would be ok.

Then the moment passed, and his father took a step back, “We have to go you two. If we can make it to the garrison, we should be—" He stumbled, catching himself on the broken edge of his spear. Only now did Wyn notice how serious his injuries were, his left arm was mangled and virtually useless, and his clothes were torn to shreds, bite and claw marks gashed into his body all over. Wyn didn’t know how his father was still standing.

“Are you—”

“I’m alright,” his father smiled, “Just follow close behind me.”

Wyn nodded and trudged after him, Corrin walking next to him through the rubble of the burning village. They were held up several times, Wyn’s father had them hide after every street they passed as one monster or another would wander through, constantly warning them to avert their eyes from certain sights.

His father slammed a fist against a wall. “Damn it!”

“What’s wrong?” Wyn asked.

His father started, turning and smiling again, “I’m sorry Wyn, everything’s fine.”

Corrin spoke up, his voice trembling, “We can’t get back to the garrison, can we? There’s no safe path. We’ve been going in a circle around it this whole time.”

The grimace on his father’s face told Wyn that Corrin was right.

“I—” His father started to say something, but the wall next to them exploded as a large, scaled beast walked through it, standing on two legs it towered over Wyn’s father. A chunk of rubble hit Corrin on the head, and he slumped to the ground, a trickle of blood running down his face.

“Run!” His father shouted, and Wyn’s body obeyed without question, running through the burning rooms and out into the street. His mind froze as he processed what had just happened.

Corrin. He stopped to turn around.

“Run Wyn!” His father’s voice roared from behind him.

So Wyn ran, he turned a corner, ducking into another building, then another, jumping over rubble.

He saw a monster on his right and kept running, no time to think. He tripped over a body that he didn’t want to see, but scrambled to his feet and kept going. Wyn ran for what felt like hours, though it was probably only a minute or so. Overworked from the ash, the stress, and the running, his lungs gave out, and he fell to the ground inside a partially collapsed building, coughing on ash and sobbing uncontrollably.

“I’m sorry Corrin… I’m so sorry.” He curled up into a ball and closed his eyes tight, hoping that if he believed hard enough, everything would go back to normal.

A minute later, the snapping of a board behind him brought him back to reality, and he turned to flee. He had to live, he had to survive, for both of them.

“Wyn?” A voice called out quietly, his father’s.

“Dad… dad I’m here!” Wyn sobbed as his father came into view again, Corrin’s unconscious body slumped over his shoulder.

“Wyn, open that door behind you!” He commanded.

Wyn turned numbly, there was a cellar door built into the ground behind him. This must be the tavern, there was a cellar that they kept locked. He and Corrin had tried sneaking into it many times.

“I can’t, it’s locked,” Wyn said.

His father nodded, setting Corrin down next to it before looking around on the ground. He found a rock and began slamming it against the iron of the lock as the building began to crumble around them. The harsh clang of stone against metal rang out over and over, but the lock held firm. His father’s grunts rose into a cry of defiance and anger as he brought the stone down again and again until his hands beginning to bleed. Finally, the lock shattered, and he heaved one of the huge cellar doors open. As he held the immense door open, straining as more rubble tried to force it closed, Wyn began scrambling inside, dragging Corrin with him.

The instant his foot touched the first step, the rest of the building collapsed, sending a cloud of ash and a burst of heat into the air. The force of it knocked Wyn down the stone stairs, tumbling over himself as he tried to protect his head. He heard a cry from the top of the stairs, and his vision blacked out.

What must’ve only been a few moments later, he came to. His body didn’t want to move, but he forced it to sit up, looking around the room. It was almost pitch black, and he couldn’t see a thing, but some fumbling around in the dark found that Corrin was still knocked out on the floor next to him. He seemed to be breathing; that was good, “We made it!”

But there was no response.

“D—dad?”

His father wasn’t there.

Wyn crawled towards the entrance and dragged his broken body up the stairs, one at a time, each higher step causing more pain. Where was he?

The cellar doors had been slammed shut by the force of the collapse, and despite ramming his shoulder against them, Wyn couldn’t budge either one. Instead, he peaked out through a small crack in the wood, between the two doors.

There his father was, pinned underneath the rubble, still somehow clinging to life as he stared at the cellar doors.

“Dad… dad!” Wyn yelled out hoarsely, banging on the doors as hard as he could.

A slumped head raised up to meet his eyes through the crack. “Wyn? Are you and Corrin alright?”

“Yes… yes we’re ok,” Wyn choked, sobbing. “Get up dad, please, get up.”

A look of exertion took over his father’s face, and the rubble shifted ever so slightly, but the moment passed, and he collapsed once again. “Wyn. Don’t come out, stay in there until I say it’s safe…”

“Dad—You’re going to be ok dad, right?”

His father winced in pain, “Wyn… I’m sorry. I think—I think I might have to say goodbye a little early.”

Wyn’s heart clenched, he couldn’t breathe. This couldn’t be happening. Any moment now, he’d wake up. He’d walk downstairs, and his father would be downstairs baking the morning’s batch of bread. Everything would be fine. He couldn’t be here, stuck in a cellar while Straetum burned around him.

“Ah.” Somehow, his father was weakly smiling. His eyes seemed to be looking past Wyn, into a place he couldn’t see, somewhere beyond the fire and death. “I wanted to watch you grow up Wyn. I wanted to see what kind of man you would become… You’re going to be a knight, right Wyn? What a beautiful dream. I’m sorry I won’t be there for that; you’ll have to manage without me.”

“Dad… stop. Please,” Wyn begged. It was all he could do.

“It’s ok Wyn. You’ve already become so strong. Such a good boy… You’re the best son I could ever hope for.” He coughed weakly.

“I need to ask you something…” his father’s voice barely reached Wyn’s ears over the fire, “Could you watch them for me? Keep them safe, ok Wyn? Your mother and brother. They’re going to need you to be strong.”

Wyn nodded, his body shaking. “I will. I promise.”

“And Wyn… one last thing? I need to say this before I go, it’s important.”

Wyn couldn’t bring himself to respond.

The words were weak and staggered, each on forced out with the last of his breath. “My son. My precious son… No matter what happens, no matter where you go: please, live in a way that makes you happy.”

His father’s body slowly went limp, and Wyn could only watch as life drained from it. He was unable to watch, but unable to turn away. He could only stare in shock, a powerful silence ringing in his ears. The story had ended, the song was gone, and the child he was before slowly died, burning away in the fires that consumed the rest of Straetum.

For the entire night, Wyn sat at the top of the stairs, staring at the lifeless sight of his father’s body, trapped under the rubble.

In the morning, after the remaining monsters had died or wandered off, the villagers found the cellar doors and the two children within. When they broke through with axes, Wyn didn’t move. When they found Corrin at the bottom and carried him out, Wyn didn’t move. When they brought his mother to drag him out, Wyn didn’t move.

His father hadn’t said it was safe, so Wyn didn’t move.