The sun hung low, casting long shadows across the dusty road as Edwin urged his horse, Storm, into a steady canter. The evening air was cool against his skin, not the kind that sent him thrills, carrying the scent of pine and distant woodsmoke from the chimney of Fishertown __but the kind that makes him feel weird.
Storm's hooves thudded against the earth, rhyming with the same pounding of his chest. The path was silent and that was unlikely. The people are known to be hardworking and peaceful but not a silent town. Even at night the streets are as lively as day. You could hear the joyful screams from tavern men as they wrestle against themselves. The clang of the blacksmith's final strike for the day and innocent laughter of children. But all he could hear this night were screeches from fireflies.
This is not right.
Edwin leaned forward, yanking Storm's whip to move faster. His black hair tousled in the wind, covering one side of his face. He could see Fishertown now. The old watchtower stood as a silent sentinel, its weathered stones bathed in the warm glow of lanterns flickering from every villager’s cottage and shop. But tonight, his stomach twisted as he noticed too much smoke curling into the twilight sky—far more than the usual evening hearths should produce.
Digging his heels into Storm’s sides, he urged the horse into a breakneck gallop. The wind roared in his ears, but it couldn’t drown out the dread clawing up his throat. Something was wrong. 8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡF9NIqRI0Tg
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Then he saw it. 8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkw17jW9SJY
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The entire village was ablaze.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡppqDUZtraB
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Thatched roofs swallowed by flames, the blacksmith’s forge spewing unnatural fire, the tavern’s wooden beams collapsing in a shower of sparks. Edwin yanked Storm to a stop, his breath ragged. His hands trembled on the reins.
No. No, this couldn’t be real.
He blinked hard, once, twice—as if the scene would reset like some cruel trick of the dusk. But the heat reached him even from here, the stench of burning timber and hay filling his lungs.
Fishertown was burning. And somewhere in that inferno—his family.
He tied Storm to a safe tree and runs into his once town, now ashing up fast. As he ran his heart prayed that they were safe. His family had found a safe place to hide from the fire and they were protected from it. His heart constrained, eyes welling up in tears as he tried not to step on the people he grew up with as a child. His friends, neighbors, all brutally killed and left to burn along with their town. What wrong could they have done? They are no trouble makers and they couldn't have done something so bad to warrant this punishment within a moon circle of his departure.
Who did this?
He felt his heart beating rapidly. Fist clenched tight. He bit his lips so hard that he could feel the thirst of his own blood.
You're safe mama. Mira--Mira is a smart girl. You both are safe.
Not long could this promising hope be, as he saw that his cottage is half way consumed in the fire. His world stopped and went into an abrupt silence, except the ringing on his head. He couldn't feel any part of his body now and not even his heart seemed to function too. He dropped on his knees and tried to find his voice but only a whisper escaped his lips. "Mother." He wasn't in charge of his body anymore. His emotions were ruling over him and he rather just let it. Tears roll down his cheek in turns.
"Mother!" He cried out to the night sky. "Mira!--Mira!!" His voice broke in many pieces.
He couldn't accept they were dead. They can't be. They all can't be dead. But even as he assured himself he knew it was true. And so he laid on the ground bathed with the blood and ash of Fishertown, screaming in turn the names of the only family he had.
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