Fmes roared around Luke, devouring his home and casting a hellish glow over the darkened sky. Screams echoed in the distance, mingling with the csh of steel and the sickening crunch of bodies falling. At the gates, his father stood—a solitary figure against an onsught of enemies from the Sorfins Kingdom. Bloodied but resolute, his father fought like a man who had nothing left to lose.

  "Run, Luke!" his voice thundered, desperate and commanding.

  Luke hesitated, his legs frozen in pce as he watched his father fight off another wave of attackers. The sight was mesmerizing and horrifying. His father was a hero, but even heroes bled.

  Suddenly, rough hands grabbed him, pulling him away from the scene. Luke struggled, but the iron grip didn’t falter. He was hoisted onto a shoulder and carried away.

  "Let me go! I can’t leave him!" Luke cried, tears streaming down his soot-streaked face.

  It was Raven, the family’s loyal butler. "Forgive me, young master, but your father’s orders are clear. You must live."

  Raven’s voice was steady, but his trembling hands betrayed the fear beneath his calm exterior.

  As Raven carried Luke through the burning wreckage of the estate, Luke craned his neck for one final glimpse of his father. What he saw would haunt him forever.

  An enemy knight surged forward, his bde glinting in the firelight. Luke’s father parried the first strike, but the second found its mark. The sword sshed across his abdomen, and he fell to his knees.

  "No!" Luke screamed, his voice tearing from his throat.

  The knight raised his bde again, and in one swift motion, the head of Luke’s father was severed from his body. Time seemed to slow as the head rolled across the blood-soaked ground, stopping just as Luke’s gaze met his father’s lifeless eyes.

  Raven faltered for a moment, his breath hitching, but he pressed on, his grip tightening around Luke. “Don’t look, young master. You mustn’t look!”

  But it was too te. The image was burned into Luke’s mind. His father’s head, his proud and noble face now sck, stared bnkly into the void.

  Tears blurred Luke’s vision as they fled into the forest. Raven didn’t stop until his legs gave out, and he colpsed to his knees, panting heavily.

  "Young master," he gasped, "they’ll be on us soon. They know where we’re headed. I must distract them. You must go north, follow the stream until you reach the vilge."

  Luke shook his head, his voice breaking. “No! I can’t do this alone. Don’t leave me!”

  Raven’s face was pale and slick with sweat, but his expression was resolute. “You’re stronger than you think, Luke. You must survive. For your father.”

  Before Luke could argue, Raven rose and sprinted into the darkness, his figure disappearing among the trees.

  Luke stood frozen, his body trembling with grief and fear. He wanted to scream, to cry, to colpse, but the distant thunder of hooves forced him into action. He darted into the underbrush, his mind a whirlwind of terror and despair.

  He spotted a small burrow beneath the gnarled roots of an ancient tree and scrambled inside, pressing himself into the dirt. His heart pounded in his ears as the cavalry stormed past, their torches illuminating the forest in brief, flickering bursts of light.

  But then came the sound of footsteps. Three soldiers—Peter, Roger, and Yaner—approached, their boots crunching on the forest floor.

  Yaner’s sharp eyes scanned the area before narrowing on the tree roots. “Over here!” he called.

  Roger crouched down, peering into the burrow. His lips curled into a cruel grin. “Well, what do we have here?”

  Luke’s blood turned to ice as Roger reached in. But desperation took over. With a feral snarl, Luke sank his teeth into the soldier’s hand, biting down until he tasted blood.

  Roger screamed, jerking back his hand and leaving a trail of crimson. “You little bastard!”

  The other two soldiers hauled Luke out, smming him onto the ground. Roger, trembling with rage, began kicking him mercilessly.

  Luke curled into a ball, sobbing as pain wracked his small body.

  “Enough!” Yaner barked, grabbing Roger’s arm. “If you kill him, there’s no reward.”

  Roger spat on Luke, his face twisted in anger, but he stepped back. Luke y gasping, his ribs aching, his body too battered to move.

  Peter grabbed him by the arm, his grip like iron. Luke’s gaze darted to the knife on Yaner’s belt. His mind raced. His father’s words echoed in his head: Run, Luke! Run!

  Summoning every ounce of strength, Luke wrenched himself free and lunged for the knife. His fingers closed around the hilt, and he turned, driving the bde into Yaner’s neck. Blood sprayed across the ground as Yaner fell, choking on his own life.

  Roger roared in fury, reaching for his sword, but Luke was faster. He sshed wildly, the bde sinking into Roger’s side. The man crumpled with a howl, his blood pooling beneath him.

  Peter stood frozen for a moment, his shock giving way to a cruel smirk. “Impressive. But you’re just a boy. And boys die easy.”

  He raised his sword and charged. Luke dove to the side, his small frame slipping past the wild swing. Desperation surged through him as he flung dirt into Peter’s face. The soldier recoiled, cursing as he cwed at his eyes.

  Luke didn’t hesitate. He lunged, plunging the knife into Peter’s thigh. The man screamed, colpsing to one knee. Luke struck again, this time aiming for the throat.

  When it was over, silence fell.

  Luke stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving, his hands slick with blood. His father’s severed head still lingered in his mind, a cruel reminder of everything he had lost.

  And for the first time in his young life, Luke felt nothing but emptiness.