II

Wren found himself standing in the main room of his farmhouse. The only illumination came from the moonlight shining dimly through the window by the front door. It was eerily quiet, and the soundless night seemed to press down upon him. Confused, Wren started towards the stairs to his room, thinking maybe he had taken to sleepwalking.

The front door suddenly exploded inward. Wren spun around to see his father standing in the doorway. His old scout short sword was in his hand, dripping blood, and his studded leather jerkin was shredded, with large claw marks and gashes crisscrossing it over.

"Wren! We must go to the shelter, we are in danger!"

His father then dashed out the door, as the sounds of howling and snarls were carried through the door by the cold night air. Wren chased after his father, trying to keep up. By the time he got outside, it seemed his father was across the field. He was surrounded by figures. Giant shapes with hunched bulbous backs, giant snarling snouts, and horrifically long arms and fingers. Wrens heart thudded in his chest as he realized what was happening. He began to rush across the field, but as he got closer, the effort to move his legs became harder and harder. He struggled to lift his feet from the ground, agonized as he watched his father getting mauled by the grotesque beasts. He cried out, desperately throwing himself forward. The creatures in front of him shifted, their limbs stretching, their jaws opening unnaturally wide. Terror filed Wren as he watched them tear his father limb from limb.

He fell to the ground, his hands sinking into the wet, soft dirt, his stomach twisting in knots.

"WREN!"

He jerked his head to the side, in the direction of the call. His mother was running towards him. Behind her pursued a monster. Giant red eyes burned in a massive head. Saliva dripped from fangs the size of pickaxes. Wren pulled himself to his feet and tried to run to his mother, but he seem planted to the ground. Tears streamed down his face as the evil thing tackled his mother. She wailed as it clamped its jaws around her whole waist, thrashing its head back and fourth.

The ground suddenly trembled, and cracks spread across the earth. Wren lost his footing and fell, but instead of the dirt of the field, he found himself tumbling down into a giant fissure. He plummeted through darkness, screaming, before he landed hard on a compact dirt floor. He lifted his head and saw, lying next to him, his sister Lira. She lay on her stomach, arms splayed out in a disgusting manner. He reached his hand out, his fingers brushed he hair, caked with blood and dirt. Her body twitched suddenly and Wren withdrew his hand. Lira's head slowly rotated, the wrong way, twisting backwards around to face him. Wren recoiled in horror. The flesh of her face was hanging off, as though it had been chewed on. Her eyes were dull and lifeless. Blood seeping from her mouth and nose.

"Bro...ther..." She croaked. Wren screamed, pressing his hands against his temples. He screamed and screamed, until the world shattered, and he found himself laying on a cot, beneath a brown canvas tent.

Pain lanced through his body. He groaned and tried to rise his hands to his face. His left arm however, was restricted. He looked down, and saw a crude sling holding his arm in place. Slowly, the pieces began to come together. Around his head was a bandage, slightly damp. His entire left side was in agony, and even the slightest movement was almost too much. He carefully looked around, groggily trying to figure out where he was. He rested on a cot, with a fur draped over his shirtless body. Across from him was another cot, and his heart skipped a beat when he realized Lira lay atop it. A bandage adorn her head like his, but she seemed in much better shape than him. He stared at her, watching carefully until he was sure she was breathing. Tears sprung into his eyes as he watched her sleep. His sister, likely now the only living member of his family. The horrible memories of his nightmare briefly flashed through his mind. He shook his head trying to clear the awful thoughts.

His attention was caught by a scratching at the tent flap, and after a moment, it folded up. Wren squinted through the light as a figure stepped through. The flap closed, and Wren was finally able to lay eyes on one of his saviors. The man in front of him wore a sleeveless white tunic. His thick arms were swirled with light blue runes that Wren didn't recognize. A sword swung from his hip. He had a bushy salt and pepper beard, and long grey hair that hung past his shoulders. His piercing silver eyes confirmed exactly who he was.

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Every member of the Silverblood Knighthood had sparkling silver eyes. Its said, upon initiation, wards are place upon their bodies, preventing them from being able to contract Lycanthropy, Vampirism, or from being turned into an undead minion after death.

Wren laid his head back. Seeing a Silverblood Knight, while ordinarily would have been exciting, filled him only with despair. The only reason for him to wake up in a tent belonging to the Silverbloods, was because his family was dead. It is widely known that if any children survive an attack that would require the aid of the Silverblood Knights, they are taken back to their compound beyond the castle walls and reside in the orphanage. After the attacks had become so frequent, the King had been forced to address the rising population of orphaned children.

"You're awake." The knights deep gravelly voice was soothing. "I wasn't sure how long it would take."

Wren turned his head to stare at him with dull unfocused eyes.

"I thought I heard horses," Wren croaked. "right before I passed out."

The knight nodded. "We were tracking that pack, pursuing them for a couple of days."

He hesitated for a moment. "I'm sorry we didn't get to your farm in time to prevent the attack. Only you and your sister there were alive."

Wren's gaze flicked to his sister. She lay still, her chest barely rising and falling with shallow breaths. The dried blood caking her hair contrasted softly with her peaceful expression. The sight twisted something deep inside him.

"How is she?" He asked, his voice cracking.

The knight glanced over at Lira, his eyes softening. "Her wounds aren't as bad as yours, but she hasn't woken up yet. I've done all I can for the both of you."

Wren swallowed hard, fighting back tears. "What happens to us next?"

The knight eyed Wren carefully. "How old are you lad?"

"Eleven. I'll be twelve in the spring."

Wren thought he saw a flicker of something—pity? Concern?—in the man's eyes as he nodded.

"I figured about so. Next, we take you back to the Silverbloods Compound. There you will get some proper treatment, and time to rest. After that, you'll stay with the other children in the orphanage. You'll be safe, and cared after."

"Orphanage." The word tasted bitter. "What about my family? The farm?"

The knight grunted and stood up, not meeting Wrens eyes.

"That's up the Royal Treasury, and the book keepers. The land may go to you, once you're of age, or it'll be acquired by the crown. Seeing as how you're farm folk, your parents will more than likely end up in the city graveyard."

The knight turned to leave, lifting the flap of the tent. "Rest up lad, you've got a long journey ahead of you."

As the flap fell back in place, Wren was left in the dim light, the weight of what the knight had said settled over him like a thick fog.

Wren rolled his head back in the direction of his sister.

my family...my home...gone. Its just me and Lira now. Wren fought back tears again, pressing his eyes shut. Images from his nightmare flashed behind his eyelids once more. He snapped his eyes open and tried to sit up, looking for a distraction. The pain in his shoulder and ribs was immense, and the sling bound his left arm tightly to his side. Air escaped his lips as he collapsed back on the cot. Outside he could hear the sounds of the Silverblood camp, floating through the tent flap like a faint dream.

What are we supposed to do now? He'd only heard stories of the orphans in the Silverblood compound. Some grow up and join their ranks as warriors or healers, others go on to serve the crown in other ways. Some never leave, spiraling into despair and madness. Wren refused to let that thought take root any deeper in his mind. He didn't have any desire to fight either, but looking again at his sister, he knew he'd do whatever it takes to keep her safe. His eyes stayed locked on her face, and with the sounds of peaceful camp life outside the tent, he allowed himself to drift off to sleep.