Seren Lysar was twelve, small and wiry, quick on his feet, and always noticing things most people didn't. Life in the village was quiet, steady. Everyone knew each other's names. Mornings were for chores, tending the animals, sweeping the streets, running small errands. Afternoons were for play or work in the fields, evenings for simple meals and laughter. Seren liked it that way. Everything had its place. The rhythm of life was comforting, almost unchanging.
Beside him, Leylin Lysar walked with calm precision. Long black hair framed a sharp, serious face. His eyes seemed to take in everything at once, always alert, always calculating. There was a weight to him, a quiet strength that made Seren feel safe even when the day seemed ordinary. Today, they were carrying empty buckets toward the stream, and Leylin had chosen to speak, as he often did.
"Seren," Leylin said quietly, "life isn't about never failing. It's about what you do when the world pushes you down. Every choice matters, even the small ones. Never forget that."
Seren nodded, though he was more interested in the glinting water ahead than the lesson. He tightened his grip on the bucket, imagining the cold, clean water spilling into it.
Before leaving the village completely, they stopped in the square. It was the heart of the village, a place where life unfolded in tiny, ordinary ways. Villagers were finishing their morning routines, some tending small gardens, others feeding chickens or sweeping the dirt paths. A few sat outside their homes, washing clothes in wooden tubs or chatting quietly.
Leylin moved among them with a calm authority, greeting people with a nod or a few words. People stepped aside, returning his respect naturally. Seren followed close behind, always aware of the way his father carried himself: commanding attention without ever raising his voice.
"Morning, old Harin," Leylin said to a farmer watering his vegetables. "Keep the crows away from the lettuce this week."
The man chuckled, his gnarled hands resting on the watering can. "Yes, sir. I'll make sure they stay hungry somewhere else."
Seren watched, fascinated, as his father moved through the square. He had always been proud of Leylin, but today, the pride felt warmer, softer. His father was a part of this village, a man people respected without needing to fear him. And somehow, that made Seren feel rooted.
They stopped at the little shop at the edge of the square. Maela, an old woman who had been in the village longer than anyone could remember, was arranging jars, bundles of herbs, and small trinkets on her stall. Her hair was white as snow, tied in a neat bun. Her hands were knotted and worn, but her smile was soft, inviting. Seren had always liked her, and the thought of her made the village feel like home.
"Good morning, Maela," Leylin said. "Business today?"
Maela's eyes crinkled as she smiled. "Slow, as usual. And this little one—still causing trouble?"
Seren gave a small, nervous smile. "Not too much," he said.
Leylin gave a quiet nod. "We're off to the stream. Stay safe while we're gone."
Maela reached out to ruffle Seren's hair. "Take care, both of you. Come back before the sun burns the fields too hot."
Seren lingered a moment, looking at her. She had always been kind. Seeing her there made him realize how much the village mattered, how much he was a part of it. It felt comforting and ordinary—too ordinary, maybe, to imagine that it could all vanish in a single moment.
They set off toward the woods. Leylin's voice was quiet as they walked. "Life is full of lessons, Seren. Some are small, some hit harder than you ever expect. But you'll learn."
Seren nodded again, half-listening, his mind on the crunch of leaves beneath his feet, the soft breeze on his face, the way the sunlight danced on the water ahead. The world felt calm, ordinary.
And then came the scream.
It cut through the forest like a knife. Seren froze. Leylin's body stiffened beside him. Another scream followed, closer, sharper. From the village.
"Stay close," Leylin said, voice tight, tense. "We need to see what's happening."
They ran, the forest seeming to close around them. Smoke began curling above the treetops. The sunlight dimmed, the air thickened. When they reached the edge of the village, Seren's stomach dropped, his breath caught in his throat.
Blood was everywhere. Villagers lay torn and screaming. Some were already dead, twisted in ways that made Seren's stomach churn. Homes burned, smoke and ash swirling in the wind. The air smelled of iron and smoke. And above it all, a dark figure hovered, impossibly tall, shifting like living smoke. Wherever it moved, destruction followed.
Seren crouched behind a broken fence, frozen. He could hear his mother screaming, calling for Leylin. Leylin ran toward her, catching her in his arms. But the shadow was faster than anything human could be, striking with terrifying force.
"Run, Seren!" Leylin shouted. His hand rose in a sharp, commanding gesture. Seren understood without words.
Seren's legs moved before his mind could. He ran, heart hammering, tears blinding his vision. He stole one last glance. His father held his mother close. Blood ran down his arms. Her last breath left her, her eyes staring wide and empty. Leylin's face was etched with grief and fury, and then he fell. The shadow claimed them both.
Seren didn't stop. He ran into the forest, alone, terrified, the screams and the smell of blood seared into his mind. His village was gone. His parents were gone. Only their memory remained.
Night fell. The forest stretched endlessly. Every snapping twig, every rustle of leaves made him jump. He didn't know where he was going, didn't know how he would survive. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, exhaustion weighed down his limbs, but fear pushed him forward. Somewhere, he hoped, there might be safety—but he didn't dare look for it yet.
Hours passed. The forest was silent, except for his own ragged breathing and the distant echoes of screams he couldn't forget. The moon rose, pale and distant, casting ghostly shadows between the trees. Seren stumbled, tripped over roots, and fell to his knees, his hands clutching dirt, leaves, anything to steady himself. But he kept moving. He had no choice.
He thought of Maela, of the villagers, of his parents. He thought of the laughter, the warm sun on the fields, the smell of bread in the morning. All of it gone in an instant. Every comforting memory twisted by fear and blood.
The forest seemed to stretch on forever. Seren's mind raced, imagining every shadow could be the figure from the sky. He trembled, crying softly, his body aching, his stomach empty. Yet somehow, somewhere deep inside, a single thought burned brighter than the fear. I have to survive.