Screams. Fire. Splintered wood. The smell of burning hair. Kalious would never forget the sound of flesh bursting open under heat.
He remembered lunging for their youngest sibling—barely nine years old—tossing her under the crawlspace beneath the storage hut, shielding her from falling debris.
"Stay down," he hissed, voice shaking. "Don't move until I come back."
Malious didn't hesitate. He grabbed a rusted axe from the weapons rack and ran full sprint toward the attacker. No hesitation. No fear.
The man turned slowly.
A flick of the wrist. A shadow ruptured from the earth itself, like a spear made of ink and smoke. It struck Malious clean through the ribs.
He dropped.
Kalious screamed, not even feeling the shard of wood that embedded in his thigh as he charged.
He made it ten paces.
Then the world went dark.