Kaelus immediately plunged his hand into his pouch and drew out an Ilvorn that held water magic. He felt a cold energy flow from the stone into his palm, like ice touching hot skin. Swiftly he activated it. Water hissed from the Ilvorn as it met the flames, creating clouds of scalding steam that blurred their vision. “Use your Ilvorns!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the roar of the raging fire. The soldiers who carried similar Ilvorns obeyed at once; water gushed, turning the ground around them into slippery mud mixed with ash. Once the blaze began to subside, Kaelus stepped into the charred house, his breath heavy as he inhaled air thick with soot and drifting ash. The stench of burning meat rose sharp, forcing his stomach to clench against nausea. The floor creaked beneath his feet; the half-burned wood was fragile with every step.
Suddenly something lunged at him. A boy, no more than seven years old, leapt forward with a small dagger in his hand, screaming wild with fury and fear. The child’s movements were fast, frantic, but soaked in desperation. Kaelus caught the motion in an instant. He parried the attack easily, then seized the boy. The child struggled with what little strength he had, swinging the dagger blindly. Kaelus wrapped him up deftly, pinning both arms so he could not move. “Calm down, child,” he said, his voice steady though the boy continued to fight, breathing ragged and full of rage. The boy kicked and tried to bite, eyes brimming with tears and burning hatred. “Let me go!” he cried, his voice raw from smoke he had inhaled too long. Kaelus carried him out of the house and bound his hands with cloth so he would not harm himself or others. Outside, he handed the boy over to Duchess Eveline. “This child is the only survivor,” he reported with a heavy tone.
Eveline looked at the boy with pity, but he met her gaze only with suspicion and loathing. He said nothing, just ground his teeth, eyes fixed on the ground with a hollow stare, as if his world had collapsed. Meanwhile Kaelus went back into the house, which now lay almost completely extinguished. Ash swirled through the air with each step he took deeper inside. There, a grisly scene unfolded: nine dead men lay scattered, their bodies torn, dried blood staining the blackened floor. Among them, one figure drew his attention — a forest elf, his body laid stiff with wounds that spoke of a fierce struggle. Kaelus exhaled slowly, his eyes sweeping the room as he tried to piece together the fragments of what had happened. The smell of blood, ash, and charred flesh mingled into a thick aroma of death. Now he knew — this was not an ordinary house. And the boy… was not merely a common child.
Kaelus emerged from the burned house, his steps heavy as he approached Duchess Eveline. Smoke still rose from the wreckage, carrying the scents of burning wood, singed blood, and damp earth that seemed to soak up the remnants of the tragedy. The cold night air bit not only because of temperature but because of the emptiness left behind those blackened walls. In a calm yet firm voice, Kaelus reported his findings. “Inside are nine dead men and one forest elf woman.” His gaze then fell to the bound boy, the small body trembling in tattered clothes smeared with dust and dried blood. Kaelus’s eyes hardened as he noticed the boy’s slightly pointed ears — a trait of mixed elf-and-human lineage. The child shivered, not merely from the night’s cold but from memories that had just shattered his world.
Eveline moved closer slowly and knelt to bring herself level with him. Her voice was gentle but firm, trying to pierce the fog of trauma that gripped the child. “What is your name?” The boy hiccupped, shoulders trembling, his eyes red and swollen from endless tears. Finally, between stifled sobs, he answered in a hoarse voice, “Thalion… Thalion Aevanar.” Eveline regarded him with deep empathy, her eyes attempting to offer warmth amid the cold, sorrowful night. “What happened, Thalion?”
Thalion fell silent for a moment, his small lips quivering as though the words he wanted to speak were blocked by a lump of pain in his throat. Then, in a broken, wounded voice, he began to tell it. “They… they came… said they were merchants… Father and Mother helped them… gave them food…” His voice choked, breath ragged between sobs. “But they lied… they were not merchants… they were bandits… they turned… cruel… they robbed us…” Little Thalion’s body shook violently. “Mother told me… to run… I ran out… I heard Father and Mother… they were fighting… I heard Mother calling Father… then… then…” his voice fractured into a loud, echoing cry in the night. “Mother… Mother screamed in pain… I… I… I went back inside… I opened the door…” Thalion’s crying swelled, his small frame curling as if trying to disappear from the world. Eveline reached out and gently touched Thalion’s shoulder; tears nearly spilled from her eyes at the suffering this small child bore. “Enough,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she held back emotion. “Enough, Thalion. You don’t need to tell it again.”
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Thalion sobbed quietly, his voice weakening into a nearly inaudible whisper. Kaelus stood beside them, his eyes staring blankly into the darkness, his mind wandering through similar old memories — wounds that never fully healed. Amid the smell of blood and ash, one truth remained: Thalion was not merely a victim. He was witness to a tragedy, and perhaps… something more. Kaelus and Eveline exchanged a look as if trying to comprehend a grief that words could not capture. The cold night wind swept past them, carrying the lingering scent of burnt timber and damp earth mixed with the faint metallic tang of drying blood. Kaelus stepped closer, bowed his body slightly, and stroked Thalion’s head with a rough, cold hand marked by battle and ash. “Thalion,” he whispered softly, his voice like a shadow moving among the ruins. “That wasn’t your name earlier. Who were your parents? Do you want to honor them and bury them?”
The boy’s tear-wet eyes met Kaelus with a hollow look no child should have. He nodded faintly. “Yes… I want to bury them.” Kaelus turned to Eveline, his voice steadier. “I will help him give them a proper burial. If you wish to depart first, my men will escort you.” Eveline shook her head slowly, her gaze on Thalion soft in a way she rarely allowed. “I will stay. We will do it together.”
That night they worked in a silence heavier than the soil they lifted. The damp earth, still wet from the afternoon rain, clung to their fingertips — cold and sticky, as if it shared the grief they carried. Each shovel of soil felt like digging deeper into Thalion’s wounds. The smell of wet earth mixed with the lingering odor of char and ash from the fire, seeping into every breath and constricting their chests. After they prepared the two graves, Kaelus looked at Thalion. “Is there anything you wish to place on their graves as a tribute?” Thalion hesitated a moment, lips trembling silently before nodding. He walked back to his ruined home, stepping over blackened splinters that creaked beneath his small weight. Each step carried bitter memories, left like shadows in the thick night. Not long after, he returned with a hopeful look nearly drowned in sorrow. “Can you help me?” he asked Kaelus in a thin voice. “I want to stick Father’s sword in his grave… and a bow for Mother.”
Kaelus followed Thalion into the skeletal remains of the house. The smell of charred smoke still hung thinly in the air, sharp and biting, mingled with the iron scent of blood seeping into the scorched wooden floor. In one half-collapsed room they found that sword and bow. When Kaelus lifted the sword, the cold metal seemed to channel the heavy memories of a past life. His eyes narrowed as he examined the fine engravings on the blade. This sword… belonged to Aurelion. Kaelus said nothing. He only looked at the blade a moment before handing it to Thalion, realizing one thing — this boy’s father had not been an ordinary man. He had been a soldier of Aurelion.
After they finished burying Thalion’s parents, they stood in silence, letting the quiet be the truest tribute. The night wind breathed slowly, carrying the smell of freshly turned earth mixed with the remaining smoke from the fire. Only the whisper of leaves and the small, dying flames among the house’s ruins kept them company, silent witnesses to an unspoken sorrow. Kaelus finally broke the silence, his voice hoarse but resolute as he turned to Duchess Eveline. “Your Grace, what shall we do about Thalion?”
