As his very world lay burning around him, a child sat in the grass, back pressed against a tree. He watched as his childhood home came crashing down, crimson heat casting thick smoke into the sky. His father was in that house, along with his sister, and yet the boy did not move.

People ran back and forth; in and out of crumpling homes, after their children or away from the men who had inflicted their fiery wrath on this small, vibrant community. The boy knew these people, for he had grown up with him. He remembered the man with the long beard who had spared him and his sister a loaf of bread while their parents were out of town, the boys and girls who he had once played ball with across the street, giggling in the alley as they hid from their mothers calling them home for dinner, for they would risk an extra chore if it meant a few more minutes together.

There were bodies, too. The young woman who frequented their home, who the boy’s mother had taught how to sew after her own mother’s passing. There was a father holding his daughter, arrows protruding from their chests. Vaguely, the boy wondered if that’s what his own father looked like, holding his sister as the flames melted their skin and charred their bones.

Quietly, and in the shadows, the boy simply watched. What else was he meant to do? He was only eight years old, and his own skin screamed from where the fire found its mark. If it weren’t for his father, he, too, would still be in that house. The kind, brave man had saved his son and gone back for his daughter, and as the ceiling caved in and the house was consumed, neither made their escape.

The boy remained in this spot until the sun rose and the ashes cooled, and then he sat some more. Screams and the crackling of the fire were reduced to the sweet tune of a songbird, flitting from tree to tree. The men dressed in the royal red had gone, ignoring the child who had not bothered to move, gloating in their victory. Oh, the king would most certainly be pleased with them!

Eventually, when the boy felt like if he were to sit any longer he would soon be enveloped by the earth, he dragged himself up from his tree, weak legs carrying him into town. Silently, he passed a market which had once been full of life, homes which he and his family visited often. He passed bodies which had been burned or beaten to death, some beyond recognition, others he could identify all too well. His skin screamed at every movement and tears streaked the boy’s cheeks, and he did not bother to push them away. 

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He simply kept moving.

The boy walked through the town of which he had once called home, finding absolutely nothing and no one. Consumed by his grief and despair, the boy collapsed to his knees, hoping to rot right there and then and to join his family until he heard a quiet croak from inside the house which he just passed.

It was a cry for help.

Scrambling to his feet and ignoring the pain, the boy pushed inside the building which was miraculously still standing, finding an elderly woman whose chest was crushed under a support beam. She smiled, beckoning the child over, as if inviting him over for a cup of tea after a long day of school. The boy obeyed, and she grasped his hand with a surprising strength. Up close, the boy saw the blood seeping from under the pillar, and knew that their time was short. The elderly woman was one that he recognized, but had avoided all his life for she had been deemed a superstitious, creepy old woman, thoughts which the boy would give anything to take back.

She began to speak, and began with his name. She knew him, too. The boy had to lean in to hear, holding her hand close to his heart. She spoke weakly, words swimming in and out of focus, and with a fervor the boy had never seen before.

“...when the four unite, thousands will fall. You, child, must lead the fight, or a darkness shall…” The woman coughed, blood speckling her lips. “... shall consume everything which we know. Stay vigilant, stay noble, and save…” 

Her voice faded and yet her mouth still moved, and the boy could make out the last two words before the woman’s hand relaxed from his grip, and her pain suddenly ceased.

Stay vigilant, stay noble, and save us all.

The boy remained right there on that floor until he was found, wrapped in his own mother’s embrace. He stared at the deceased woman on the floor until he was pulled from that home and ushered onto horseback, her words repeating incessantly in his mind. 

The boy made a promise to that woman that day, no matter how dead she was. He knew, deep down in his heart, that he needed to avenge her, his father and sister, his home. Although he never muttered the words out loud, he swore that whoever was behind this cruelty would pay.

The kingdom wouldn’t know what hit it.