My world was darkness and pain. Each step sent fire through my legs, and my hands hung numb at my sides, mangled and charred. Blood soaked my sleeves, dripping onto the muddy ground with each faltering step, and the sword at my side felt like a stone tied to my waist. I could barely feel my hands, nothing but two weights, darkened, scarred, and lifeless, swinging uselessly as I stumbled up the steps. I thought I was running, that I was moving fast, but I was crawling, barely keeping myself upright.

The trees that usually whispered with the morning breeze stood silent, looming like specters in the heavy mist. I couldn’t see beyond the shadows stretching out before me, but something smelled wrong—burned wood, a scent I’d recognize anywhere. My heart hammered, and my mouth with prayers to all the gods in the world.

The pines opened up to the clearing, and there the cabin was, or what was left of it. Smoke rose from the wreckage, thick and bitter. The entire left side was nothing but blackened beams, crumbling into the earth as rain tapped steadily against the charred wood, hissing as it touched embers that hadn’t yet died.

“No… no…” My voice felt thin, swallowed by the thick air. “Please… be safe…”

The sickening, sour stench of burnt flesh had swallowed the smell of stew that should have greeted me. Ragna caught up, her breath coming in sharp gasps, but her voice barely reached me. She was saying something, some words of shock, but all I could see was the ruin of what had been home. Every board and beam was seared black, the remnants of our lives reduced to charcoal and ash. Raindrops hissed as they landed on the smoldering wreckage, steam rising into the gray morning air.

My feet dragged me forward into the smoke and destruction, but my hands were useless, just hanging as dead weights. The whole doorway was a haze of thick smoke, and I barely held in a cough as I stepped over a shattered beam. Each breath felt like swallowing splinters, my lungs burning as I moved into the remains of the hall.

“Einar, stop!” Ragna’s voice cut through the fog, sharp with panic. “Don’t be foolish, you’ll die in there.”

I pushed forward, ignoring her. There was no “dying” here—just reaching the ones I loved. My mother, Alira—they’d always been there, holding me together when everyone treated me as a demon. They’d done the same for me; if they were still in here, I’d keep going until I found them. I couldn’t lose my only family.

I stumbled into the main hall on the left part, blinking and coughing against the smoke, my vision swimming as I tried to make sense of the shapes that lay scattered around. Three dark forms, still smoking, twisted into unnatural poses. I looked closer, the thick stench of burnt flesh clawing at my throat. They must have been ghouls, or what was left of them, their bodies broken and burned, a scorched wreck of what they had once been. My chest heaved, a cold relief loosening some of the iron grip in my stomach. At least it wasn’t them.

But then a heavy groan echoed above, and before I could move, a charred beam crashed down, landing inches from where I stood. I hit the floor, the impact jolting through me as the front wall of the kitchen collapsed, clearing a path for the smoke to escape. I was on my back, trying to breathe, when Ragna appeared beside me, hauling me to my feet.

“Are you out of your mind?” she hissed, half dragging me upright. Her hands were bloody, but that wasn’t from me—it was from the deep, wet puddles of blood that covered the floor, streaks and smears leading toward the corridor. The smoke cleared just enough for me to see, and that’s when I caught sight of something that will always be on my mind.

My mother. Her body lay twisted in the hall, just outside Alira’s room. She looked… wrong, something hollow and broken, her clothes charred and blackened, her skin burnt and twisted. And her hands… her hands were scarred like mine but worse, flesh pulled back like overcooked meat, the fire and rage that had once lit her face reduced to nothing but raw, red burns.

“Mother?” The word slipped out, choked, barely audible, as I stumbled forward, my legs shaking beneath me. I dropped to my knees beside her, reaching out. My hands trembled, but I forced them forward, barely able to hold her. She felt light, too light, like something fragile that would crumble if I held her too tightly.

Her amulet was still clasped around her neck like an old friend, untouched by the flames. I held onto it, clinging to that one reminder of her strength, of the warmth that had held us together through everything. Tears filled my eyes, spilling down my cheeks, as I looked down at her ruined face, her smile gone, her eyes empty. The grief hit me like a wave, swallowing me whole, and for the first time, I felt myself break, not just physically but also mentally.

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I don’t know how long I lay there, but when I came to, the pain returned in waves. My hands throbbed, each pulse feeling like a knife twisting through them. I opened my eyes, finding myself lying on the damp ground outside the cabin. The rain had stopped, leaving everything cold and still. My arms were wrapped in cloth, stained with the scent of herbs and alcohol. I could still feel the ache, the sharp sting that told me they were damaged, but at least they moved.

“Yer awake.” Ragna’s voice was quiet. She was sitting by a tree, leaning against it, her eyes hollow, the usual strength gone from her face. “We did what we could to patch you up.”

I forced myself to sit, every movement a struggle against the weight of exhaustion. “Where is she?” I managed, my voice rough, thick with grief.

Ragna’s face softened, just barely. “Wrapped and prepared. They’re waiting for the burial… Loth dug her grave beside your father’s.” She hesitated, her eyes shifting away. “Einar… we didn’t find your sister.”

The words cut deeper than any wound. Alira is missing. She would never have run, never have left our mother alone. My thoughts spun, images flashing through my mind—the bootprints in the ash, the burned bodies, the smashed remains of our home. Someone had done this, had broken into our lives and stolen everything.

The weight of it all pressed down on me, and for a moment, I couldn’t hold it back. The grief poured out, raw and heavy, and I let it come, the tears mixing with the blood on my hands, my face pressed against the damp earth. My family… my world… everything gone.

The sobs faded slowly, leaving me hollow and cold, a shell. But I couldn’t stay there, couldn’t wallow in the ashes of what had been. I had things to do still. A final duty as a son.

I struggled to my feet, ignoring the burning in my muscles, the ache that told me to lie down and give up. Ragna moved beside me, silent, her hand on my arm as she helped me steady myself.

“Thank you,” I murmured, the words a whisper. She just nodded, her eyes shadowed with a grief of her own.

“What’s the situation in the village?” I asked, my voice hard, colder than the morning air.

Ragna looked away, her face dark. “More than half the villages’ dead. It was a massacre. The ghouls came through the main road and tore through everyone in sight. Only a few survived… mostly the children and women. The rest…” Her words trailed off, and she didn’t need to finish.

The old oak stood ahead, the clouds cleared, leaving the sun naked as it fell. My mother’s body lay beside an empty grave wrapped in a shroud, a thin, white cloth that seemed too clean, too simple for a woman who was once a princess and a doting mother. Near them stood the village priest, his face drawn and weary, his hands clasped over an iron pendant as he murmured a prayer.

“May the Lord of Wisdom guide their souls,” he intoned, his voice soft but steady. “May they find peace beyond this life, free from the pains of this one.” The words felt hollow, too easy, too distant from the grief that tore through me. But he meant them; I could see it in his eyes, the weight of his own sorrow, the respect he held for her even now.

He turned to me, a slight nod acknowledging my loss. Behind him, Loth stepped forward, silent and grim, holding out her amulet—the small, silver piece with a red stone at its center. It was Valeria’s amulet. I took it, feeling the chill of the metal, a reminder of their past and sacrifices.

I looked down at the shrouded bodies, forcing my gaze to remain steady. Besides my mother lay Eliza, wrapped in white cloth, a memory of friendship reduced to something lifeless and cold.

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Loth noticed my glance. “Thought you’d want her here with yer mother,” he murmured, his voice gruff but kind.

I nodded, forcing the words past the tightness in my throat. “She was a family too. Thank you, Loth.”

His response was a slight nod, and then he gestured toward the grave. “They’re ready. Don’t keep ‘em waitin’, lad. It’s bad luck for the dead to linger.”

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Half an hour passed since I’d buried both Eliza and my mother, laying them side by side in the damp earth. My arms ached as hell, but I pushed through, hands clumsy as I shoveled dirt over them. Ragna had helped, her silence steady, her were movements careful.

Now, I sat beside my mother’s grave, numb. The village was still, a mess of shadows and ruins. Dark smoke curled from the pyre where they’d burned the corpses of the ghouls and revenants. From a distance, it looked like another nightmare hanging over what was left of Mistwood.

Near the front of the village, I could make out Stigr and Bjornulf, two of the warriors from tribesman, their forms huddled together as Ragna worked on patching their wounds. Even seasoned warriors such as themselves weren’t spared. They bore scratches and burns from the attack, but they were alive. A pile of corpses lay between them, stacked by the pyre. Nearly thirty monsters attacked our small village, a village that was unarmed, unprotected, and secluded.

Loth’s apprentice, Brian, no older than me, held a flaming torch near the pyre, the dark smoke choking the morning air, thicker than anything that had risen from the cabin. Each gust of wind pushed the stench back toward the village, a sour, sickening scent that clung to the skin, impossible to shake.

I watched from afar, keeping my distance. I knew what they all thought of me—the cursed-eyed one. With every omen and misfortune that’d befallen the village lately, I was just another piece of bad luck to them. The flames danced higher, and I couldn’t help but feel I was inches away from being thrown onto that pyre myself.

I clutched Valeria’s amulet, feeling its weight against my chest, the metal cold and solid. My hands were still numb, wrapped in bandages that were stained dark with the smell of herbs and alcohol and mud. But it helped dull the pain. Across the field, I saw Loth and Ragna walking toward me.

Ragna stopped a few paces away, her hands resting on her hips. “You plannin’ on sittin’ here all day?”

I stared at the graves, the weight of her question sinking in. “What else is there to do? Look for my sister? She could be anywhere… or…”

Ragna’s gaze softened, but her voice was firm. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s this, Einar—ghouls don’t plan attacks. This wasn’t some wild massacre. Someone or something was behind it.”

Loth grunted in agreement. “Aye. Doesn’t add up, lad. I think yer mother knew it too. There’s more here than monsters.”

I thought back to the footprints outside the cabin, large, booted. Too heavy for ghouls. I’d seen them even through the smoke, but my mind hadn’t been able to process what I was seeing. Now it made me sick to realize that this wasn’t just an attack by wild beasts. There’d been something more calculated here, something with a plan.

“I saw the prints outside,” I said, struggling to my feet. My arms trembled with each movement. “And there were burnt corpses inside that didn’t look right. They were ghouls, or seemed like it. But we should check again. Now that the smoke’s cleared, I want to know what really happened in there.”

Ragna nodded, lending me her arm as I struggled to stand. She didn’t question me further, just turned to follow me back toward the ruined cabin. Loth, after a moment, fell in step beside us.

Inside, the smoke had cleared but left a heavy, nauseating stench that clung to every piece of wood, every stone. The hall lay in black ruin, beams scattered, the charred remains of furniture sticking up from the ash like the bones of some long-dead creature.

“Dark as death in here,” Loth muttered, squinting. “Light the way, girl.”

Ragna raised her wand, her tone steady as she murmured, “Luxious.” A soft light flared from the wand’s tip, hovering above her, casting a pale glow over the destruction. Our shadows danced on the walls, tall and warped.

The light revealed more than I’d noticed before. The ghouls’ corpses lay in the center of the room, their forms twisted, half-melted by the fire. The scent of burned flesh choked the air, making each breath a struggle.

“What’re we expectin’ to find?” Loth asked, his hand covering his nose against the stench.

“Four corpses,” I answered, my voice rough. “But there were more than four sets of prints outside.”

Ragna glanced around the room, squinting through the dim. “Maybe the others got away.”

I shook my head. “It doesn’t make sense. How did they even get inside? This cabin was carved with protective runes. My mother was careful with that, especially after our father died…” I let my voice trail off, forcing myself to focus. She’d told me the runes would protect us from monsters, from anything wild.

Crouching down, I studied one of the burnt forms, gingerly reaching out with my bandaged hand. The corpse was almost entirely ash, disintegrating at the slightest touch, but something caught my eye. A stick—charred black, but with faint, intricate carvings along the shaft. My heart pounded as I lifted it, the weight confirming my suspicions.

“A wand,” I murmured, holding it up for them to see. Even burnt, the faint runes marked it as something crafted, not just a branch of wood. “Dead don’t carry wands.”

Loth’s eyes widened, his mouth set in a grim line. “They were sorcerers.”

Ragna cursed softly, shaking her head. “By the gods… this wasn’t just some attack by monsters. Someone raised those ghouls. Sick bastards, whoever they were.”

A sickening realization twisted in my gut; my teeth clenched with rage. They came for my family. For Alira. She was gone, disappeared in the chaos. I’d clung to the hope that she’d escaped, but now it felt like I’d been lying to myself.

“This wasn’t just a raid,” I said, my voice low and cold. “They came here with purpose. They took my sister.”

Ragna and Loth looked at me, the gravity of it settling in, the horror filling the silence between us.

Loth’s voice finally cut through the silence, rough but steady. “What do ye plan to do?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Since the first time Mother told me my dreams were memories, that I was once someone else, I’d thought about what any of it even meant. Valeria, my wife from another life. My mother and sister. They were everything to me, yet here I was, standing among ashes. This wasn’t one of those tales where heroes get their revenge handed to them on a silver plate. I’d barely managed to survive those monsters. Now, I’d have to rely on others even to get up. That truth gnawed at me, twisting deep, but I didn’t flinch. My mother had wanted me to remember my past, to accept it. But how can you embrace something you don’t yet understand?

I rose, thoughts still heavy, and stepped toward Mother’s room. “I’ll have to leave the village,” I said finally.

Loth’s brows furrowed, his voice dark. “Don’t be foolish, lad. Ye’ve never left the village on yer own.”

“He won’t be alone,” Ragna cut in, her voice decisive. “Come with us, Einar. My tribe can guide you to the next town.”

I nodded, knowing it was the only way. Loth’s face twisted into a scowl. “Doesn’t change a damned thing, lad.”

I met his gaze, my own cold and unflinching. “I have to find my sister. There’s nothing left here for me, and you know it. The village won’t welcome me after all this—not now.”

Loth held my stare, a sigh escaping him. “If yer mind’s set on it, there’s someone in Dawnmoore,” he muttered, rough voice softened with the weight of old memories. “A friend of yer father’s. He might help ye, if ye give him reason to.”

Without another word, he turned and left the cabin, Ragna following him. She paused at the door, giving me a look over her shoulder. “Meet me at the entrance in an hour. We’ll be ready to leave.”

And then they were gone, leaving me alone in the half-ruined cabin.

I stepped into Mother’s room, everything feeling too quiet, too still. Unlike the rest of the house, her room was intact, the walls only slightly charred, her belongings untouched by the flames. I walked to the small table beside the bed, and my gaze fell on her wand. The firewood wand—traced with thin lines of red, three carved runes near the handle. I lifted it, feeling its weight, knowing it held power she’d never gotten to show me. But that wasn’t why I’d come here.

Moving to the closet, I pulled it open. Her clothes were neatly folded, the simple, worn tunics and dresses she’d never spent more coin on than she had to. Everything she saved had been for Alira, to send her off one day to school in the cities. At the bottom shelf, wrapped in a heavy, dark cloak, were my father’s clothes. Plain travel gear, with faded edges and a crest I hadn’t noticed as a child—the Leonhart crest, the dragon surrounded by flames.

I held the cloak up, feeling its weight, imagining him in it. Just fabric, worn and stained with age, but it felt like more now. I put on the shirt first, black and thin, replacing my own soaked and torn one. My hands found their way to my ribs, where bandages wrapped around me—carefully stitched and clean. That was why the shirt hadn’t been clinging to the blood. Ragna must have patched me up while I was too far gone to know it.

The cloak fell heavy across my shoulders, the dragon crest settling over my heart. I took a slow breath, its weight grounding me as I fastened it. At last, I took Mother’s wand from the table, the firewood cool and smooth against my palm.

I let my gaze wander over the ruined cabin again, the smell of ash and char, the shattered remains of my life. Whoever did this was still out there. And they’d taken everything from me. But if they thought they could tear my family apart and vanish, they were wrong.

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