Part One: A turn to the right down that alley, then a left, and then into Guindolin's Turn.
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PRELUDE
UNDERNEATH DARKEST SKIES ASHES RAIN
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Lysander
Lysander ran, though today not from his father as he playfully chased him through the berry bushes, and also not from his mother who would look for him around the small house as he hid away not wanting to be bathed after playing with his father. No, it was neither of those things; today he ran away from everything.
Lysander did not look back towards the village, which was burning to ashes behind him. He did not look back towards the sanctuary that had created all his dreams, the only place he had known, his family, and his friends.
Lysander stifled a sob; his feet grew weak and his heart heavy. He had run away, after telling his father he would protect his mother and baby brother. Not even a few minutes had passed, and he had run away. Lysander stumbled on a tree root; he couldn't see a thing in the all-consuming darkness of the stormless night. He flew forward, shaking with a sob, and stumbled again, landing on all fours. His heart beat furiously as he tried to stand back up, but his hand was caught within a rope trap, which, in the instant Lysander noticed it, sent him flying into the air.
Lysander let out a scream as he was flung into the air, but he quickly shut his mouth, silenced by a greater fear for what had caused his horror today. In a moment of heavy breathing and a fleeting sense of calm, Lysander finally saw the direction he was facing. His face was washed in a bright golden light, occasionally obstructed by shadows of creatures that Lysander had feared since he could be told scary stories: Warren klatch.
Heavy breathing. Tight chest. Nose is not enough. Suck in the air through the mouth. Air won't go in. Lysander's mind went into a frenzy.
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Mother! Father! Seth!
Blood pumping, it was the sound of the world: pump, pump, and pump. Lysander couldn't hear anything else except his thoughts, which were drowning underneath all that was happening and all that pumping.
Everything went black for an instant, and Lysander was back again, his chest a little less tight and blood pumping a little less loud.
The air was thick with smoke, and along with the smoke, the winds also carried the screams of women and children and the shouts of men as they laid down their lives to protect and shelter their families. Lysander closed his eyes as if it would make the sound stop, as if it would make his emotions disappear. Instead, he saw his mother and Seth being eaten by Warren klatch and his father coming back from the walls to see the house covered in… POP.
Lysander screamed, and then he felt more than he heard a snap, and everything turned bright as he felt pain. Hot pain, his hand, the trap. The pain grew, his hands! Thoughts fled. Mind full of screams. Mouth opened to scream. Pain. Worse, it grew worse. Blackness…
Pain. Smoke. Ashes. Lysander awoke with a cough and a groan as a spike of pain shot through his shoulders and neck. The pumping of his blood had lessened, and he could still hear the horrible sounds coming from the village, but Lysander couldn't focus. Everything felt blurry and the sound muffled. He could taste snot in his mouth and tears all over his face; he was tired.
I am sorry.
It was the truth, but Lysander was sad because he would run again. He had always been a coward. He had hated himself for it. I am sorry. He could not tell if it was to his family whom he had abandoned or maybe to himself. But all he could think were those words, and they made him hate himself even more, but like a circle, his mind kept saying those words:
I am sorry. I am sorry. I am sorry.
On and on and on and on. His hate for himself grew, and his eyes fell slowly, oh so slowly.
Before his eyes fell shut one more time, he said one last time, I am sorry, but this time was different because deep within himself, he found that maybe, just maybe, he would have stood by their side and done what a man ought to have done. There was no joy or pride, only a slight acceptance of self accompanied by darkness.