"Father! I've missed you so much!"

A young girl, her smile pure and innocent, held hands with a tall, bearded man as they ran together across a wide, open field.

Laughter bubbled up from her as tears filled her eyes. The man sat beside her, gently fixing her hair. In a soft voice, she whispered, "Thank you for always fixing my hair, even when you were busy."

The man smiled warmly and kissed her forehead. "I do it because I love you. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

With her small hands, the girl grabbed his beard, her tears flowing freely. "I missed you so much. You were a good man, a good father."

He smiled again and said, "And you were a good daughter, Beatrice—the kind every father dreams of. I missed you too."

They hugged tightly, their tears blending together. After a moment, Basil pulled back slightly and asked, "Do you want to see your mother?"

Beatrice nodded, and hand in hand, they walked on, feeling a deep sense of peace.

But back in Goven village, the fire had devoured everything. The villagers, overwhelmed by regret and sorrow, abandoned the charred remains of their homes. They hadn’t even buried the dead, choosing instead to flee to Fuva village.

In Goven, flames and thick smoke choked the sky, consuming every house and wall. Bodies of loved ones lay scattered, while the remaining bandits, led by the wounded Dan, had already retreated.

After a long night of walking, the villagers finally arrived at Fuva village just as dusk settled in. Most of them collapsed to the ground, relieved to have escaped the massacre.

Some wept openly, others closed their eyes in silent prayer, while many remained in shock, haunted by the sight of their loved ones being slaughtered before them. Yet Joe and Urien stood apart, gazing back in the direction of their ruined village.

As they entered Fuva, the village leader, Ita, a kind old woman, welcomed the weary group with water, food, and shelter.

After sending an owl to alert the royal guards, Ita sat down with Urien, who stared blankly at the food laid before him. He neither ate nor drank, simply fixed on the table in silence.

Ita spoke gently, "Urien, you're injured, probably have broken bones, lost a damn eye, and you're exhausted. Do you want to add hunger to that too?"

Urien slowly reached for the goblet of water, took a long drink, and then looked at Ita. "The bandits attacked one of my students—a young man—with an arrow to the face. I fired back, and chaos erupted. A massacre followed. But you know what bothers me the most?"

Ita looked at him knowingly. "Because the knights didn’t show up."

"No," Urien replied, his voice heavy. "Good people—the ones I should’ve protected—died. Killed by a noble who swore to protect this land, by his son, a bright kid full of ambition, and by a nameless bandit. That’s all it took for our village to burn, along with its people."

Ita's expression turned distant as she said, "You know you won't be able to do much. Most of them are nobles, and even if the public demands answers, they'll just offer up some nameless scapegoat to shield themselves from the blame."

Urien nodded, a bitter smile on his lips. "As per tradition."

Ita's face grew dark with worry. "What are you going to do? What's your plan now?"

Urien grabbed a leg of cooked chicken and began devouring it savagely. "Nothing," he muttered between bites. "But trust me, my mind is filled with dark thoughts."

The following day, the royal knights arrived in Fuva village. Their leader, Hamell, towered over the others, clad in gleaming golden armour, sword at his side, and astride a majestic horse in light armour. His battle-scarred face, framed by blonde hair and a small beard, marked him as a seasoned warrior—one who had seen countless battles.

The knights behind him stood in perfect formation, though it was clear some were weary, bearing the look of men who had just fought without rest. Yet, they immediately rallied behind Hamell as he dismounted.

Joe sat alone on a bench, staring at the ground, neither eating nor drinking. When the knights arrived, his eyes drifted to one of the injured among them. It was a face he recognized—one of the knights who had guarded the cave. He remembered seeing that same knight speaking to Urien on the day he bought a cake for his father.

Just then, Urien stormed out of Ita’s house, with Ita following closely behind. He rushed toward the injured knights, his face contorted with anger. "YOU BASTARDS!" he shouted, his voice cracking with fury. "Where were you when we were being slaughtered!"

Hamell, calm but stern, dismounted and took a few steps toward Urien. "No need to shout," he said, his tone even. "It was a terrible massacre, and the bandits are to blame."

"NO!" Urien bellowed, stepping directly into Hamell’s face. The knight didn’t flinch. "WE WAITED FOR YOU! WE WERE IN HELL, AND YOU DIDN'T SHOW UP!"

Hamell let out a sigh, clearly irritated by Urien’s outburst. "Our knights were engaged at the cave. The bandits split their forces, attacking both the village and the cave to confuse us."

Urien glared at him, his voice thick with resentment. "You couldn’t spare a few men? What’s the point of all this shiny armour if you’re not there to protect us?"

Hamell met Urien’s stare and responded evenly, "The cave was crucial. Its strategic importance could benefit the entire region, if not the southern part of the kingdom. Our knights were in a precarious position, and with my experience fighting the bandits, I made the call to assist them. I expected the bandits to retreat or join their comrades, not to remain behind and destroy an entire village."

A flood of images overwhelmed Urien—memories of the good people who had perished, men whose families he had sworn to protect while they were away at war. His veins bulged as he glared at Hamell, seething with hatred, anger, and disgust.

With a fierce battle cry, Urien raised his fist, ready to strike Hamell. But Hamell didn’t move, his expression unflinching.

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Just as Urien's fist was about to connect, a dark shadow gripped his arm, freezing it inches from Hamell’s face. It was Ita, using dark magic to hold him back. Urien’s glare stayed locked on Hamell, but his arm couldn’t move.

Ita's voice was calm but firm. "You want to fight? Fine. But first, bury the dead. Do you hear me?"

Hamell’s eyes drifted over the crowd, to the mothers clutching their children tightly, before finally returning to Urien. His voice softened as he spoke, his gaze falling to the ground. "I didn’t want this to happen. I hope... I hope you can still have faith in our kingdom. There are good people here, and this is our home, after all."

A guard gently pushed Urien back, but his eyes never left Hamell. With fury still burning in his voice, Urien spat, "CURSE THIS KINGDOM! FOR THIS LAND BELONGS TO THE RICHEST!"

Hamell lowered his head, disappointment flickering across his face. Whether he was disappointed in Urien, the kingdom, or himself, it wasn’t clear. Mounting his horse, he addressed his knights. "We march to join our brothers in the war with Arguand. Send your messages, and say goodbye to your loved ones. In two days, we ride to the borders—TO BATTLE! TO WAR! FOR OUR KINGDOM!"

The knights let out a rallying cry, their warhorses snorting as they prepared to depart. They left the village, heading back toward the city, where in two days, they would use teleportation magic to reach the front lines.

Urien, still fuming, stormed toward Ita’s house, cursing under his breath. Ita followed, her voice calm but edged with steel. "Were you looking for trouble? You survived a massacre. Now calm down for a moment."

Urien was walking quickly when he suddenly stopped, coming face to face with Joe, who stood there silently, watching him.

It wasn’t Joe that stopped Urien, but a memory—his father, Jeffrey, and the men who had left for war. Regret swelled within him, choking him, drowning him in guilt. He looked at Joe, his voice now weary and broken. "I’m sorry, Jeffrey."

Joe lowered his head, tears slipping quietly down his face. The remaining villagers of Goven, along with Safle, Lyra, Cox, and the villagers from Fuva who stood with Ita, watched nearby, witnessing the weight of his grief. Joe wiped his eyes and met Urien's gaze again. "You did everything you could," Joe said softly, his voice cracking. "You're free from any debt, but I hope... I hope you can forgive yourself."

Urien turned away, tears streaming as he walked out of the village, desperate to be alone with his sorrow.

From that moment on, Joe refused to eat or drink. He sat by himself, lost in his thoughts. Each time Lyra checked on him, he reassured her with empty words, though she could feel his pain. Joe had lost his mother, Beatrice—who had also been Lyra's dearest friend. Lyra was heartbroken, and so was Safle, who couldn’t stop crying over Beatrice’s death.

Night fell, and Joe remained outside, his eyes fixed on the sky. He avoided the houses Ita had provided as shelters for the survivors. His mind, however, was consumed by one name—Dan, the bandit leader responsible for his mother’s death. Joe muttered to himself, a quiet vow forming on his lips. "If no monster, knight, storm, or fate kills you, I will find you. I swear on my mother's honour, I will find you. Not today, not tomorrow... but I will."

The next day, a knight arrived with news: Goven village was safe to return to. The kingdom had dispatched more knights to secure the cave, and the villagers could go back.

Joe, Urien, and the others climbed into carts and made their way home.

As they arrived, the first thing they noticed was the thick scent of decay, mingling with the sight of their ruined village. Knights swarmed the area, setting up tents to collect the bodies of the fallen. Joe, his heart heavy, searched through the tents until, in the fifth one, he found the bodies of his mother, Beatrice, and Kaelen.

Walking over to his mother’s body, Joe gently touched her cold face. Tears welled up as he closed his eyes and whispered, a sad smile tugging at his lips, "I’ll be strong. Don’t worry, be at peace now."

He bowed his head, struggling to form the words. "Requiescat in Pace, mother."

Turning to Kaelen’s body, Joe touched his face as well, offering a solemn nod. "Thank you for protecting us, Kaelen. Rest now—you’ve earned it."

In another tent, Urien walked silently among the dead. His expression was hollow, the weight of his grief unbearable. With no one there to console him, the emptiness inside grew deeper. He closed his eyes and whispered into the silence, "Requiescat in Pace, good people... my family."

After a year away, Jeffrey, Tyka, and the surviving villagers of Goven travelled home on six carts. The group was silent, some nervously rubbing their hands while others seemed ready to collapse from hunger, having not eaten since hearing the grim news.

Six days earlier, when they sought permission to return after the war ended, Captain Rhothomir—now the leader, with large bandages covering half his face—had informed them, "Your village was attacked a year ago."

Jeffrey was as shocked as the rest, and Tyka shouted, "Why didn't anyone tell us? No one said a word!"

Rhothomir addressed them calmly, "The kingdom kept it hidden to maintain morale. They did the same with others, hoping it would keep you focused on the war."

As the villagers began to shout in protest, Jeffrey remained silent, imagining Beatrice and Joe. He barely noticed the commotion around him until Rhothomir slammed his hands on the office door, quieting the room. "Prepare your things," he ordered. "You're leaving in an hour."

A confused captain started to object, "But sir, the rules say—"

Rhothomir cut him off with a sharp look. "I’ll take responsibility. Let them go."

Despite his youth, Rhothomir’s strength, wisdom, and ambition commanded attention. Pointing to his own injuries, he said to Jeffrey, "For saving my life, I owe you. One day, I’ll repay you, my good friend."

Jeffrey simply nodded as he and the villagers left.

After two weeks of travel, Jeffrey and the surviving men arrived back at Goven. He was scarred and battered, with a large bandage covering the left side of his face and his broken arm in a wooden brace. The injured soldiers had to wait for the arrival of the nuns, whose numbers were too few to attend to all the wounded at once.

Jeffrey scanned the crowd, his gaze landing on Joe, who was with the families anxiously searching for their loved ones. Lyra, clutching her daughter's hand, desperately looked for her husband, only to be met with heartache in the sea of unfamiliar faces.

Noticing Lyra, Jeffrey approached her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder as he offered her a necklace. "I’m so sorry," he whispered. "He died."

Tears streamed down Lyra's face as she held her daughter tightly, overwhelmed by the loss of her husband, Edmund—a beloved partner and devoted father.

Jeffrey bowed his head, reluctantly forcing the words out. "He died a hero." The phrase tasted bitter on his tongue, as he knew it offered little solace for their pain.

Turning around, Jeffrey found Joe hugging him. Jeffrey glanced around, his eyes brimming with tears, and asked, "Is your mother okay? I don't see many of our friends here... please tell me... she is cooking... while humming... that song."

Joe shook his head, tears flowing freely. Jeffrey broke down, crying as he held Joe tight. "No... son! Please... tell me... she... is... safe!"

Joe gently rubbed his father's hair, then took his face in his hands, offering a sad smile. "She... my mother... is at peace."

More tears fell from Jeffrey's eyes, struggling to accept the heartbreaking reality. Just imagining it caused him more pain than he could bear.

Meanwhile, aside from the Gostave family, Safle felt a wave of relief wash over her as she saw the people safe and alive. Suddenly, she heard a shout: "Dear!"

Turning around, her eyes widened in disbelief at the sight of her husband and son. Safle ran toward them, and as they embraced, tears streamed down her cheeks. The letter she received a year ago had been wrong; they were safe.

Cox was also searching the crowd when he spotted his son and turned to greet him. Through his own tears, he managed a smile as they embraced tightly.

Tyka cried, "I’m sorry, Father. Your friend, Gov, died."

Cox tightened his hold on him, whispering, "Shhh, it’s not your fault. You survived, and you didn’t leave me alone. You survived! Your little kids will be so happy to see you."

Afterwards, everyone made their way to the graveyard. Joe supported Jeffrey as they walked toward Beatrice’s grave.

When they arrived, Jeffrey fell to his knees, reluctant to approach the headstone, struggling to find the strength to rise. Joe hugged him from behind, gently urging, "Father, you need to say goodbye. She deserves a proper farewell."

Trembling, Jeffrey reached out to touch the stone, which bore the inscription: "Beatrice, a kind woman, gentle wife, good mother, great friend."

With great effort, he summoned the courage to utter the words he had never wanted to say to a friend, now directed at his beloved wife. With a forced smile, he whispered, "Requiescat in Pace, Beatrice."