Melchizedek woke with a start.

He lay in darkness, unable to comprehend what had happened mere hours ago. For a fleeting second, the boy thought it had been a terrible nightmare. However, reality crashed into him when he felt something sticky coating his hands and his mother's cold, stiff body beneath him.

Tears sprung from his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. With a shuddering breath, Melchizedek wrenched himself from his mother’s corpse. His pale, freckled skin was coated with maroon, and his clothing was stained red. A shuddering breath escaped him, his gaze drifting through the darkness. He stared at where his father lay next to his mother, blood coating his throat. Elisheba lay several feet from their parents, her glazed eyes staring at the ceiling.

His family was dead.

He would never see them again.

Never play with them again.

Never hear them speak again.

Never.

Melchizedek couldn’t draw away from their bodies. Not yet. Even when light filtered through the slot below the basement door or the barely noticeable sensation of hunger gnawed at his stomach. Not even the burning pain in his arms could draw him away.

He couldn’t leave them.

Melchizedek cried until he had no more tears. He lay among his family’s slain bodies, staring blankly into the darkness. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but by some urge, he pulled himself away from their bodies.

Melchizedek shakily stood to his feet, biting back a yelp. His legs trembled as searing pain washed over him. The dried blood covering much of his body tugged at his fragile skin and hampered his movements.

All he wanted to do was lay down and die with the rest of his family, but something was urging him to move forward. The basement was a toxic place. What good would it do to lie among the dead if he could keep living for them? They were dead. He could not bring them back.

Nothing could.

As Melchizedek approached the steps, he paused. His mother’s pendant lay cold on his skin. He turned back to where his parents and sister lay. He could just see the outline of Elisheba. Next to her lay Lily. Swallowing back the lump in his throat, the boy approached his fallen sister and picked up the bloodstained doll. He tucked it under his uninjured arm and limped back to the staircase.

Ever-so-slowly, Melchizedek climbed the creaky wooden steps.

Everything hurt.

Everything.

He barely had enough energy to climb the stairs. With each step, a memory surfaced. One stuck out from the others. It was something his parents always told him and Elisheba. Whenever someone died, it was respectful to leave the body during the night to let their soul travel through the Veil and to Judgment in peace.

A twinge of worry flickered within Melchizedek’s soul. It grew until his heart leaped to his throat, fluttering like a trapped bird. Tears sprung from his already bloodshot eyes. What if their souls did not pass through the Veil? Their death was violent. Souls with unfinished duties, or whose deaths were violent, clung to the realm of the living. They would not pass through the Veil but settle within it. The Veil was a realm that sat on a different plane yet overlapped the realm of the living. It was where lost souls lingered — those unable to pass onto Judgement because something held them back.

Even worse, what if more demons come? What if soul-eaters seek them out? He had heard stories of Savis that ate the strangest of things. The worse were those who ate souls. They could smell a soul miles away. Would they get to his fallen family and devour their souls before they passed into the Veil? Would he ever see them in the afterlife?

Melchizedek squeezed his eyes shut, his breaths shallow and head light. He tried to push the thoughts down, but they only bubbled back up. The boy opened his eyes, only to gasp at what lay on the top stair. He had forgotten about the deer-skulled Xikanenoa slain by her partner. He nearly tumbled down the stairs but caught himself. Still, he cried out in pain as more skin tore, his grip too tight on the railing.

Everything hurt.

It was almost too much for the boy. He sat down on the stair, curling up into a ball. Minutes passed before he looked up from his knees. He stared at the lifeless body. The woman’s red eyes stared blankly at him, dark blood encrusted around her shredded chest. He stared at her body for another few minutes, his mind empty.

Everything was numb.

The boy dragged himself to his feet. He stepped over the corpse and approached the door. The dining room table lay vacant, but he couldn’t help but envision Sariah wailing on it before the wolf-skulled Xikanenoa took her.

With a shuddering breath, Melchizedek stepped outside his home.

The village was ruined beyond recognition. Smoke wafted through the air, thick and dark, pungent with the smell of burnt flesh. A few bodies lay strewn about the streets. More still resided in their homes, killed where they sat. No valuables were left in the village. Nothing could be sold for more than a few coins. Even the necklace that hung around Melchizedek’s neck would not fetch more than a pretty penny. His mother’s necklace was a simple glass pendant stained red and strung on a slim nickel chain. Beautiful but cheap. No worth to the Xikanenoa.

The necklace was a family heirloom passed down from mother to first-born daughter.

Elisheba was meant to have it.

Now, Melchizedek was the only one left of his family. He stroked the glass charm between his fingers as he gingerly sat on the grass.

His entire body burned. Much of his skin had been torn away throughout the skirmish, leaving tender wounds. Knowing he had to keep them clean and not wanting to think about what had happened, the boy busied himself.

He set Lily down and unwrapped his blood-soaked bandages. Soiled linen piled at his feet. Most of the blood had not been his, and most of the patches of missing skin were already scabbed over. With a soft sigh, Melchizedek heaved himself to his feet. The boy hobbled back into his house, avoiding looking down the basement, not that it was hard to do with the Savis woman’s body sprawled in front of the doorway.

The boy stopped at the kitchen faucet. He turned it on, and cold water gushed from it. Luckily, the plumbing had not been damaged by the raid. He carefully washed the dried blood from his delicate skin. Once done, Melchizedek hobbled to the bathroom, where his family kept the antiseptic salve and rolls of bandages. He sat on the toilet, applying the salve to his wounds before bandaging them. When he finished, he found a change of fresh clothes in his room, leaving his bloodied clothes on his bedroom floor.

Melchizedek ventured back outside. His gaze swept over the ruined village once more. He picked up Lily and gripped his mother’s pendant in his other hand. With a soft sigh, the boy walked down the dirt-paved street. He kicked up loose rocks as he went, not wanting to look at the dead bodies that lay ahead and recognize a face. He did not want to see his best friend sprawled across his porch, lying in a pool of still-wet blood, or his cousins’ bodies strewn across the grass with their throats ripped out.

The boy kicked another rock. His mind whirled with memories and thoughts of his parents and sisters. He was terrified for Sariah. He knew she was still alive, but for how long? Melchizedek had watched the wolf-skulled demon take her. He had heard the woman speak of making Sariah a slave. How long would a Meek infant survive with a horde of demons? How long would she survive as their slave? Would she die within the first few years of her life?

Melchizedek figured he would never see his little sister again.

A dog barked, drawing the boy from his thoughts. He looked up to see a long-haired, brown-and-white collie trotting toward him. She approached him with a whine, head lowered, and tail tucked between her legs. She pressed her wet nose into Melchizedek’s hand, a quiver of a wag running down her tail. He stared down at her, mouth agape. He never expected to see another living thing in the village, let alone an uninjured, happy dog.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Melchizedek patted the collie on the head, unsure what to do with her. Soon enough, he knelt beside her, burying his face in her shaggy coat. He was just happy to have another living thing with him. “Whose dog are you?” he mumbled through her fur. She licked his face, her entire body quivering as her tail wagged.

Melchizedek drew away, only for the collie to nudge her narrow snout against his cheek, her tail wagging harder. She knew the boy was alive and well and not an evil demon. She stepped away from Melchizedek, barking excitedly. The collie trotted down the road a few paces before looking over her shoulder, waiting for Melchizedek. She gave a sharp bark when he did not follow, tail wagging. Still, he did not move.

The boy did not want to follow a strange dog through his ruined village. He wanted to stay where it was most familiar. The collie whined and trotted back to him. She tugged on the hem of his shirt, growling softly.

“I don’t know….” Melchizedek pulled his shirt from her mouth. He stared into her dark, doleful eyes, feeling something break a little inside. She was begging him to follow; wherever she would lead him, it was where her owner was. Holding Elisheba’s doll closer to his chest, he patted the collie’s fluffy head and stared down the street. “I don’t want to see another dead person.”

The collie whined again, nudging her nose into his palm. She ran down the pathway she wanted Melchizedek to follow. She looked back, whining and barking at the boy, tail wagging in encouragement. With a loud exhale, Melchizedek followed.

Maybe, just maybe, someone else survived.

He kept his gaze on the ground like he had done before. The boy had no intention of seeing more dead bodies. He nearly stumbled over the collie when she halted. She barked and looked over her shoulder at Melchizedek, whimpering as she wagged her tail.

The boy feared the worst. He did not want to see some poor family dead, sprawled across the lawn. However, the collie was persistent. She barked and weaved around his body, tail thumping against his legs. With a breath, Melchizedek looked up. Blinking in the late afternoon sunlight, he stared at the house before him. No bodies were in sight. Nothing appeared disturbed. However, the stench of death wafted from within.

Swallowing back his fear, Melchizedek approached the house. “H-hello? Is anyone there? A dog brought me here.”

Rustling came from the thick bushes beside the house. A boy a few years older than Melchizedek crawled out from the foliage, a ghastly wound marring the right side of his face. The dark bronze skin around the wound was crusted with dried blood, and bright red blood still oozed from the three-clawed gash.

“Mel?” the older boy questioned, voice hoarse with disbelief. “Mel? You’re alive? I thought you would be….”

Melchizedek stared at the black-haired, bronze-skinned boy, trying to remember his name. “Davian?”

The older boy’s face lit up with a grin. His dark eyes twinkled with delight at seeing another person. He crawled out from the bushes, standing to his full height, only to be knocked down by the collie. She barked, tail wagging a mile a minute as she licked his face. Davian laughed, wrapping his arms around the shaggy canine. “I’m glad you’re alive too, girl. And you found another person. Good job.” He ruffled her fur. He laughed as she continued to lick his face.

“Is anyone else alive?” Melchizedek asked, eyes darting from house to house. “Are we the only ones?”

Davian looked up from the collie and smiled sadly at the other boy. “I think so, Mel.”

At the older boy’s words, Melchizedek looked down, scuffing his feet on the ground. “What are we going to do?”

Davian shrugged. “Orphans are taken to a monastery when no one else wants to care for them. Remember Ralph? That kid no one liked? He would always wander around the streets and steal stuff. Men dressed in dark robes took him. I asked Mom about it, and she said they took him to the monastery.”

Melchizedek stared at Davian, confused. The younger boy did not know what a monastery was or remember a child named Ralph. He did not know about men dressed in dark robes taking children. And he did not want to be taken by strangers.

“Don’t worry.” Davian stepped closer to Melchizedek, placing a hand on the teary-eyed boy’s shoulder and giving him a reassuring smile. “They’re not scary. They’re really nice and will take care of us until we find another family to care for us or until we’re old enough to live independently. At least, that’s what Mom always told me.”

Melchizedek sniffled, a tear rolling down his freckled cheek. He stared up at Davian, eyes filled with fright and sorrow. “I want my mom and dad back. I want my sisters back.”

“I know, Mel. I do too.” Davian wrapped the younger boy tightly, his own tears resurfacing. “I want my parents back, too.”

The two boys cried together as they mourned for their deceased families. The pair ended up on the ground, the collie curled between them. She whimpered and licked them as they cried, wanting to comfort the distressed boys. They embraced her, happy to have the dog.

The glowing orange disk in the sky had dipped below the horizon by the time the boys recovered from their crying. They sniffled and exchanged watery-eyed smiles. As they helped each other stand, the collie whined before letting out a sharp bark as she stared at Davian with pleading brown eyes.

“What is it, Sheila?” Davian knelt in front of her.

She whined, giving another bark. The brown and white collie then shot off down the street.

“Come on.” Davian waved to Melchizedek. “Let’s follow her. Maybe she found another survivor.”

The younger boy hesitated momentarily, considering the possibility of finding another dead family rather than survivors. However, Sheila had found him and led him to Davian. She must have found living people, and she would know the difference between a demon and a villager. Clutching his mother’s pendant, Melchizedek followed Davian and Sheila.

The boys followed Sheila through twists and turns of the dirt street. Sometimes, they were only following her by the sounds of her barks when they could not see her over a hill or sharp turn in the road. They jogged after the collie until she stopped at a house. It was half encircled by trees, built on the outermost residents of the village.

Sheila sat by the door, scratching it as she whined. The boys reached her a few seconds later, panting from their run. Without hesitation, Davian knocked on the door. When no one answered, he jiggled the doorknob. The door swung open with ease. His heart nearly stopped at the sight before him.

A woman sat weeping over another woman held in her arms. Blood stained their clothing. Kitchen cutlery was scattered about, and furniture was turned over and strewn around the house. A Xikanenoa man lay slumped against an overturned chair, a large kitchen knife lodged in his chest.

The woman looked up from where she cradled the other. Tears streaked her tanned cheeks, and her long, dark brown hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat and blood. “Go away.”

The boys did not move, still stunned by the sight before them. Sheila whimpered beside them, pressing her cold, wet nose into Davian’s palm. The dying woman in the other’s arms turned to stare at the boys, her honey-brown eyes sad and pleading. She moved her arm to reach out to them, attempting to beckon them closer.

“No, Bethany. They can’t help you. Just rest.” The other woman pressed a hand to Bethany’s stomach to stanch the blood. “Bethany. They can’t help you.”

At her name, the dying woman looked up at her older sister. “Katherine, please. I will not last much longer. Just let them come in. They are just boys. They survived, just like you did.”

“And see you like this?” Katherine hissed.

“I’m sure they have seen worse. Just look into their eyes. They are already haunted by their families’ deaths.”

Katherine’s shoulder slumped, her head hanging as guilt and sorrow washed over her.

At the sound of creaking floorboards, she looked up. Melchizedek had stepped forward. He clutched his mother’s necklace in his hand, the red glass pendant visible between his pale, scarred fingers. Katherine frowned and turned back to her sister. She stroked Bethany’s short brown hair as she watched Melchizedek from the corner of her eye. “Go away, kid.”

Sheila was the next to move. The collie’s tail wagged as she approached the woman. She nudged her nose under Katherine’s arm, whining. Sheila persisted when the woman drew her arm away from her. The collie pressed her wet nose to Katherine’s side only to be pushed away. She whimpered loudly, her tail tucked between her legs. The collie lay down on the creaky floorboards, head between her paws. She watched the pair with dark, sorrowful eyes.

Davian stepped inside the house. He squatted beside his dog, ruffling her fur and muttering apologetic words.

“I’m glad to see you two boys made it out alive,” Bethany mumbled from her place in her older sister’s lap. “It’s nice to see some youth have escaped. You can keep the memories of this village and its people alive. Pass it down to your children.” A fit of coughs fell over the woman. She hacked, droplets of blood wetting her chapped lips. Katherine hovered over her. She lifted her younger sister into a better sitting position and rubbed circles on her back.

“Katherine,” Bethany gasped, attempting to push her overbearing sister away. “Stop. I’m going to die, anyway.”

“But… Bethany…”

“Do you see a doctor anywhere? A healer? I know you saw Dr. Lydiard’s body in his house. His family was slaughtered like everyone else. No one but these boys, and we are alive. And don’t you even think about sending those boys off to fetch a doctor from the nearest town. There is no way they would bring someone in time. The boys wouldn’t even survive out there. And I bet those demons are still out there, looking for other people to slaughter.” Her dark eyes shifted from her sister’s similar gaze to the man slumped over the living room chair. Bethany’s gaze shifted to the boys, a weak smile gracing her bloodstained lips. Her eyes then returned to her sister. “I want you to take care of them. Please, Katherine.”

“Bethany…” Katherine tangled her fingers in her hair, biting back a scream as she squeezed her eyes shut. “I can’t. I can’t watch you. I don’t want to… just—” The woman screamed, almost pulling tufts of brown hair from her scalp out of frustration, anger, and fear.

Melchizedek flinched, clutching his mother’s necklace closer. When Katherine lowered her hand, he spoke, quiet and hesitant. “Can we help?”

Bethany turned to the cinnamon-haired child, her eyes lit with recognition. “I remember you. You’re Melchizedek. Rebecca and Solomon’s oldest. They just had a little girl, didn’t they? Oh, no… did they… did the demons kill her? Little Sariah?”

Melchizedek shook his head. “No. They took her.”

Katherine scoffed, sneering at the open window. One of her hands was wrapped around her sister’s wrist, feeling each heartbeat that pulsed through Bethany’s veins. “That’s just as bad.”

“Katherine,” her sister scolded. Bethany turned her attention back to Melchizedek. “I’m afraid you can’t do anything. My time is nearing.”

Before Melchizedek could say anything, Sheila barked. The collie was standing, staring at the hooded figures slowly approaching.