Rain whispered against the village like a warning no one listened to.
It fell in thin, cold sheets, turning the dirt of the clearing into dark mud that sucked at bare feet. Torches burned despite the weather, their flames shivering and snapping, casting warped shadows that stretched and twisted across the wooden platform at the center.
Connor stumbled as he was dragged forward.
He was twelve—too thin, too small for the hands gripping him. His clothes hung in tatters, soaked through with rain and something darker. Blood traced lazy paths down his face, mixing with the water until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. His eyes flickered faintly, yellow light pulsing weakly behind them like a dying ember.
"H–hey…"
His voice cracked as his feet scraped against the wood.
"Why are we here?"
No one answered.
Villagers stood in a wide circle, faces half-lit by fire, half-swallowed by shadow. Some clutched each other. Some stared at the ground. Others stared straight at him with eyes full of something sharp and frightened.
They tied his wrists to the post.
The rope was rough. It burned against his skin.
"Guys…?"
Connor tried to laugh, but it came out wrong. Thin. Fragile.
"This isn't funny."
A woman stepped forward. Her hands shook so badly the torchlight danced across her face. Tears streaked through the grime on her cheeks, but she forced a smile anyway—one that hurt to look at.
"Don't worry, little one."
Her voice wavered.
"We're sending you… to your parents."
The words didn't make sense at first.
Connor blinked.
"…What?"
His gaze dropped.
Wood surrounded his feet. Neatly stacked. Dry despite the rain, like someone had planned ahead. Like this hadn't been decided in panic—but preparation.
Understanding crashed into him all at once.
"No—"
His breath hitched.
"No, no, no—"
The crowd shifted. Someone sobbed openly now. Someone else turned their back.
Panic tore through him.
"Please—"
His voice rose, raw and desperate.
"I didn't mean to hurt anyone! I—I can leave! I swear!"
The rain seemed louder. The torches closer.
"PLEASE!"
His body shook so hard the ropes creaked.
"I DON'T WANT TO DIE!"
Then he saw her.
She stood at the edge of the circle, smaller than the rest, shoulders hunched beneath a dirty dress. Blue eyes. Familiar eyes. Her hand trembled as she held a torch, flame sputtering in the rain.
Connor's breath caught painfully in his chest.
"…Jessica?"
Her head lifted.
Their eyes met.
For a heartbeat, the world froze.
"Jessica—"
"Please."
"You know me."
Tears spilled down her face, cutting clean tracks through the grime.
"I'm sorry…"
Her voice was barely there.
She stepped forward.
Connor shook his head violently, hair plastered to his face.
"NO—"
"NO NO NO PLEASE—"
The torch slipped from her fingers.
Fire bloomed.
Heat slammed into him like a living thing. Flames climbed hungrily up the stacked wood, wrapping around his legs, his chest, his arms. Smoke clawed into his lungs.
"JESSICAAAA!!"
His scream tore through the rain, through the village, through the night itself.
Villagers dropped to their knees, hands clasped, prayers spilling from trembling mouths. Others backed away, horror dawning too late.
Connor screamed until there was nothing left.
Then—silence.
The fire flickered.
His head lowered.
For a moment, it seemed over.
Then the ground cracked.
A sharp, violent sound split the clearing as the earth beneath the platform fractured. Flames bent sideways, pulled unnaturally, sucked downward as if the soil itself had opened its mouth.
Someone gasped.
"…He's still alive."
Connor lifted his head.
His eyes were no longer yellow.
They were black—veined with molten orange, glowing like cracks in cooling lava.
The ropes crumbled into dust.
Fire vanished, swallowed whole by the earth.
Connor stepped forward.
Burned. Bleeding. Breathing.
Still alive.
He looked at the villagers.
Then at Jessica.
She collapsed to her knees, hands shaking as they pressed into the mud.
"I—I didn't want to—"
Connor stared at her.
There was no anger in his face.
No hatred.
Just emptiness.
He turned and ran.
Out of the village.
Out of the light.
Into the rain.
The screams followed him.
Then memory shattered.
The forest rushed back in.
Connor stood among trees and fog, breath uneven, hands trembling violently at his sides. His fingers flexed as if still feeling rope. Still feeling fire.
"…That's why they're scared."
His voice sounded distant, like it had traveled a long way to reach him.
Tomora stood a few steps away, jaw clenched so tight it looked painful.
"…They should be."
Patricia's gaze flicked down the road instinctively, calculating, sharp even in the quiet aftermath.
"This is sad and all but the black iron knows us now we should walk even faster"
Connor nodded once.
"You're right."
They moved again.
But the forest remembered.
The earth beneath Connor's boots cracked ever so slightly with each step, invisible fractures spreading and sealing themselves just as fast. The rain from years ago still echoed somewhere deep inside him.
And far behind them, in a village that no longer existed, ashes lay cold—still knowing his name.