The village hid among the mountains like a well-kept secret. The smell of damp earth mingled with the pure morning air, and the green of the hills seemed endless.
Small wooden and stone houses clustered along narrow streets that meandered without a clear destination. Streams cut through the settlement, bringing fresh water to the fields and families who lived there.
In the distance, the mountains resembled sleeping giants, their snow-capped peaks gleaming when struck by sunlight.
On the bank of one of the streams, a sun-bronzed girl played with her younger brother. Her long, wavy hair danced in the breeze, and her honey-colored eyes sparkled as she tickled the boy while folding simple clothes drying in the sun.
The little one laughed, his giggles blending with the murmur of flowing water.
"Stop it, you silly!" she said, laughing. "Let's finish quickly before dad comes looking for us."
"Okay, okay, Yamillya!" Miguel replied between laughs. "Let's hurry."
Still laughing, they ran home and put away the clothes. They had barely finished when their father arrived, a strong man with tired but determined eyes, returning after a full day in the fields.
"Dad!" The children jumped on him, hugging him tightly.
"Easy, easy, you'll knock me over!" Despite his exhaustion, he smiled. "How was your day?"
"It was good," Yamillya answered, stepping back a little. "We helped Aunt Lanuya and played for a while. And yours?"
He sighed. "Tiring, but worth it." His face brightened. "Want to help me with dinner?"
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An hour later, they sat down for a simple meal, exchanging glances and smiles. The children chattered excitedly while their father watched them tenderly.
For him, all that hard work wasn't worth it for the coins, but for moments like this.
He stirred the soup with his spoon and, just as he was about to bring it to his mouth, an explosion shook the house. The windows shattered, knocking everyone to the floor.
Frightened, the father stood up, searching for the children with his eyes.
"Yamillya, Miguel! Are you okay?!"
"My head..." the girl moaned, rubbing her forehead.
"Take care of your brother, I'll see what's happening!"
He ran to the fireplace, grabbed a sword resting on it, and went outside.
Screams tore through the air. Houses burned with flames, black smoke rising and mixing with the night.
Hooded men on horses brandished swords and spears, breaking down doors and windows.
"An attack?" He recognized the emblem of House Ultan, a Golden Falcon on a Red Shield. "How did they find us here? Damn it!"
The surrounding houses burned, consuming furniture and memories in a furious dance of fire.
The air weighed heavily in his lungs, laden with smoke and destruction, making it difficult to breathe.
He looked around and saw a clear path to the forest. Hiding wouldn't help—Ultan soldiers rarely left survivors.
He ran back inside.
"Quick, children, get out! Run to the forest, now!"
"Dad, what's—"
"We don't have time, Yamillya, go! Now!"
The sound of horses approached, along with the shouts of men invading the village. Yamillya took her brother's hand, eyes wide with fear, while their father seemed determined to stay and face the danger.
"Dad, no!" she pleaded, her voice faltering. "Come with us!"
"Don't worry, I'll find you later. I need to help Aunt Lunya and the others. Now, go!"
With heavy hearts, Yamillya and Miguel fled toward the forest.
Their father stayed behind, and the dark woods ahead seemed like the only hope amid the chaos.
"Don't stop, Miguel, keep running!"
Miguel, crying with a dry throat, squeezed his sister's hand even tighter and continued.
The screams and sounds of battle drew closer, and Yamillya knew they needed to reach the forest before it was too late. Finally, they reached the edge of the dense woods, where the vegetation offered a hiding place.
"We're safe here, Miguel," she said, breathless. "We'll wait for dad, okay?"
Miguel nodded, still trembling. They hid behind a tree, eyes fixed on the distant village where the battle continued. Their father was there, fighting with all his might to protect their home and family.
As they waited, fear and uncertainty hung over them like a shadow. They didn't know their father's fate, didn't know what would happen next, but they knew that somehow, they needed to move forward.
Thunk!
They jumped in fright when an arrow hit the tree.
"I knew I saw something!" shouted a soldier, lowering his crossbow. "Why don't you make my job easier and come over here, huh?!"
Terrified, Yamillya grabbed her brother's hand and ran deeper into the forest.
The soldier sighed, resting the crossbow on his shoulder. "So you want to play? Great, that makes it more fun."
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Colin and his companions traveled along the road, under the cool shade of the trees. Suddenly, he stopped, his alert senses detecting something strange. Brighid, perched on his shoulder, frowned.
"What is it?"
"Listen, Brighid. There's something up ahead..."
Brighid nodded and closed her eyes, concentrating her mana. She felt a weak, faltering presence, like a flame about to go out.
"Someone's there, but they're weakening," she said tensely.
Colin dismounted, asking Safira to stay alert. Brighid followed him, both cautiously advancing through the forest until they reached a clearing.
What they saw was pure horror: soldiers' bodies scattered on the ground, the smell of blood so strong you could taste it.
Shattered trees and craters in the soil told the story of a violent battle. Whatever had happened there was already over, leaving only the remains of the carnage.
"Where's the mana you sensed?" Colin asked, tense.
Brighid pointed ahead, horrified. Colin moved forward, stepping over bodies, the earth soaked with blood.
Finally, he saw a red-haired man with a sword embedded in his chest. He was coughing blood, his eyes glazed with pain.
Colin crouched beside him, looking around before facing the soldier.
"What happened here?"
The soldier, barely able to focus, gathered his strength and spat in Colin's face. He wiped the spit with the back of his hand, keeping calm.
"Who did this?" he insisted, his patience wearing thin.
He turned to Brighid.
"Can you stabilize him?"
Brighid nodded and flew to the soldier's forehead, touching it lightly. A comforting warmth emanated from her hands, and the soldier, even with the sword in his chest, began to breathe better.
Colin crouched again.
"What happened here?" he repeated.
The soldier, furious, gritted his teeth.
"I won't tell anything to a Dark Elf!"
Colin sighed and began searching the soldier's pockets, looking for clues, until he found a photo. A woman and a boy.
"Your wife? Pretty," he commented, looking into the soldier's eyes. "You were lucky... or maybe not, since she'll be a widow and your son, an orphan."
He paused, showing the photo.
"Or rather, he'll have a parade of stepfathers who'll treat the kid like trash and your wife like a whore!"
Colin smiled, a cruel gleam in his eyes.
"Just imagine, how many different men will your wife end up with?" He put his hand on his chin, thoughtful. "You know what's even funnier? Your son will grow up wondering if his father was a decent man, while his stepfather fills his head with lies. That's if the guys who pass through your wife want anything serious, right? I bet they'll get her pregnant and disappear."
His words grew more acidic, and he seemed to be enjoying it.
"Your wife will have to sell herself to support the children, that's if she only has two, right? Who would give a job to a woman who can't even keep her legs closed? Your little bastard will be left aside and will wonder: 'Why isn't my father here?' And then—"
"Enough!" shouted the soldier, spitting blood. "Damn demon, I'll talk, alright?"
Colin smiled, satisfied.
"I'm all ears."
The soldier coughed, eyes full of hatred.
"We were massacred by Ultan's soldiers... by the Black Roses guild," he muttered.
Colin frowned, intrigued.
"Who are the Black Roses?"
"One of the ten guilds that protect the emperor," the soldier replied, his voice weak. "I... I'm from the Southern Empire. Please, heal me before it's too late..."
Colin nodded slowly and approached, grabbing the hilt of the sword in the soldier's chest. He began to pull it out slowly, making the man groan in pain. Then, suddenly, he pushed the sword downward, piercing through the soldier, who widened his eyes and coughed more blood.
Crunch!
Brighid was horrified.
"I'll heal him!" she said, flying quickly.
Colin extended his hand, stopping her.
"No. He's a soldier, Brighid. Soldiers aren't trustworthy, even with wives and children."
He stepped back, watching the soldier agonize, choking on his own blood.
"He must have killed many people and was going to die anyway."
Colin threw the photo in the soldier's face and walked away, going to examine the other bodies.
"I'll see if the others have anything valuable."
Brighid looked at Colin, her wings trembling as emotions overwhelmed her.
What she had just seen was more than brutality; it was a glimpse of a side of Colin that she wasn't sure she wanted to know.
His words, sharp and cruel, echoed in her mind.
She backed away, watching him rummage through the fallen bodies, his hands moving with the coldness of an experienced looter.
The bloodstains on his clothes and the merciless gleam in his eyes made her tremble.
"Has he always been like this?" she thought. "Or is the journey corroding something already broken inside him?"
Since joining Colin, he had always been a fearless leader, quick-thinking and fiercely determined. But now, a darkness was revealing itself more intensely.
Brighid pressed her hands against her chest, her heart heavy.
She knew the world wasn't kind. She had seen the horrors that awaited those who remained naive for too long. But Colin wasn't just pragmatic; he seemed to savor the pain he caused.
"You didn't need to kill him that way," she whispered, more like a question than an accusation.
Colin didn't even look up.
"Yes, I did. He was already dead. I just saved the trouble of waiting. Besides, soldiers lie. It wouldn't be the first time a supposedly dying man ambushed someone who tried to save him." He stuffed a dagger into a leather pouch found among the bodies and moved on to the next soldier, indifferent.
Brighid swallowed hard. "He told the truth. He was afraid, Colin. And he had a family..."
"Everyone has a story, Brighid. Stories don't win wars, nor keep you alive." He stopped, turning to her, his gaze cold. "If you want to live, you need to accept that the world is ugly. There's no place for compassion here."
She crossed her arms, trying to hide the tremor in her hands. "And when this is over? When this world isn't so... chaotic, what will be left of you?"
For an instant, something in Colin seemed to hesitate. His eyes blinked, as if considering her words. But his face hardened again, and he shrugged.
"We no longer live in a world of 'what ifs,' Brighid. Surviving is the only thing that matters. I thought you had learned that by now."
She didn't answer, just watched as he continued his search among the bodies, not realizing that, for her, something vital in him already seemed to be dying.
A side of him that she didn't know well enough to truly mourn, but whose loss was undeniably real.
As sunlight filtered through the trees, casting shadows over the bloodied clearing, Brighid felt afraid not of what surrounded them, but of the man beside her. And, perhaps, of herself, for being there, following someone whose soul seemed to darken with each step.