Lucien stood in the middle of the village. The wind gently slammed the doors of empty houses, and the creak of old wood echoed through the streets. Once filled with the laughter of children, these places now held only the stillness of death.
He walked past one collapsed house after another, heading toward the small graveyard at the edge of the village. The earth was still fresh, the graves lined up side by side. He read the names - he knew every single one.
His trembling hands touched the hilt of his sword. It was an heirloom from his grandfather, now his only companion. Beside him was a small bag: dried meat, a piece of bread, a water skin, a change of clothes.
He unfolded an old map taken from a ruined house. Strange markings covered it, yet he had no idea where these places were. Still, he chose a direction and left the dusty narrow road of the village in silence.
His first night was spent in the dark forest. Though he lit a fire, the shadows seemed to close in from every side. Sometimes it was the rustling of leaves, sometimes distant, unplaceable sounds that kept him awake.
At dawn, he would resume his journey, resting at springs during midday. Days blurred into each other. Fatigue weighed on his body, yet the determination inside him kept him moving forward.
Three weeks later, at sunset, massive towers glowing with golden light appeared in the distance. Behind them rose the towering walls of the Nungen Empire. Lucien stopped and took a deep breath.
"I've made it... now, my path of vengeance begins," he whispered, stepping forward.