10 Years Later
Mira sat beside her mother’s corpse, unsure how long she had been there. She had cried until there was no strength left in her — not even enough for tears.
Her hands were stained red with blood. She didn’t know if it was hers or her mother’s.
All she remembered was her mother bursting through the front door of their small house, fear etched across her face.
“Run, Mira,” she had said. “Those raiders — the ones with no name — have come.”
Then she fell to the ground.
After some time, voices drifted in from outside — two men arguing.
“Why are we wasting our time on this no-good town?” one of them said. “Nothing worth taking here.”
The other snorted. “Can’t even fuck the women. That’s the only reason I fight — win wars, drink ale, and fuck women.”
“You’re a stupid fuck,” the first replied. “We’re not animals. We’re serving under the son of the greatest commander this kingdom ever had. He’s noble. Be glad he lets us loot at all.”
“Greatest, huh?” the second scoffed. “Thought he was a traitor.”
There was a sharp intake of breath.
“Don’t say that,” the first said quietly. “You want to get us killed? I’m not standing next to you when someone hears that. One day, you’ll have your head on a spike.”
A pause.
“Look,” he added, “they’re calling us back. Guess the looting’s done.”
Footsteps moved away — then stopped.
“Wait,” the second said. “We didn’t check this house.”
“Come on—”
“No harm in looking. Might be some hidden treasure.”
The door creaked open.
Mira’s hand tightened around her mother’s, her fingers stiff and cold.
What she saw was ugly.
Her mother used to tell her stories of soldiers — men who fought with their lives on the line, clad in shining armor, proud faces beneath polished helmets, great swords gleaming in their hands.
The two creatures standing before her were nothing like that.
They were small men wrapped in old, ragged vests, bits of dull metal perched on their heads where helmets were supposed to be. Rusted swords hung loosely in their hands. Their faces were ugly, smeared with blood and dirt.
One of them spat.
“What did you expect to find in this rat hole?” he said. “Can you even call this thing a house?”
The other pointed at Mira.
“Hey. Look at that — a kid.”
Mira’s breath caught in her chest.
The man’s gaze shifted to the body on the floor.
“Must be her mother,” he said. “Look at that silver chain around her neck. Would suit me better. No use on dead meat.”
“Be quick,” the other said. “I’ll see if they’ve got any food. We’re running low.”
He moved toward her.
Mira tightened her grip on her mother’s hand, as if drawing strength from it.
The man ignored her completely. He reached down, his fingers closing around the chain at her mother’s neck.
Mira didn’t even realize when she let go. Her hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.
The man turned to her, hollow eyes narrowing.
“Kid,” he said flatly, “let go.”
Mira said nothing. She only tightened her grip.
With a sharp motion, the man brushed her hand aside and struck her across the face.
Mira fell back. Warmth filled her mouth, and blood began to slip from her lip.
“Stupid kid,” the man muttered.
He tore the chain from her mother’s neck and held it up, smirking.
“Good jewelry,” he said with a laugh. “Too good for a pig like this.”
He gestured toward her mother’s stomach and laughed again.
The other man came out of the back room and shook his head.
“Nothing,” he said.
His eyes fell on Mira.
“Smacking kids now?”
The first man shrugged. “She grabbed my hand.”
“Figures,” the other muttered. “Told you there’d be no food. This pig probably ate it all before dying.”
He gestured toward Mira’s mother and laughed.
“Anyway,” he said, turning toward the door, “let’s go.”
They started to leave.
Mira lunged forward and grabbed the leg of the man holding her mother’s chain.
The second man reacted instantly, driving his foot into her stomach.
Pain exploded through her — sharper than anything she had ever known. Her breath vanished. The world tilted.
Still, she didn’t let go.
Mira didn’t know where the strength came from. She only knew she couldn’t release him.
“Let go, kid,” the man with the chain snarled. “I’ll kill you if you don’t.”
The words never reached Mira. She only held tighter.
The other man’s hand went to his sword. He drew it halfway, lifting the blade for a killing stroke.
Then the door burst open.
Five men filled the doorway.
To Mira, they looked like the soldiers from her mother’s stories — steel armor polished bright, long black cloaks falling from their shoulders, heavy helms crowning their heads. Their swords gleamed in the dim light, so sharp she thought they could split a mountain in a single blow.
(A child’s thought. A child’s hope.)
Then a sixth man stepped in.
He did not wear his helm. He carried it under one arm.
His hair was long and black, shining like silk even in the low light. His beard was thick, well kept — proud. His eyes met Mira’s, and for a moment she felt as if he could see straight into her chest, into her fear, into her pain.
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A great sword rested at his back, still in its sheath — nearly twice Mira’s height. The hilt was wrapped in black leather, worn smooth by use.
There was not a single stain of blood on him.
Not on his armor.
Not on his blade.
The room fell silent.
Both men bowed at once.
“C-Commander,” they said in low, trembling voices.
The commander’s gaze moved between them. Calm. Cold.
“Killing children now, are we?”
One of them swallowed. “Commander… she wouldn’t let go.”
The man with the blade spoke next, his voice flat.
“I think you have something that belongs to her. Give it back.”
The man holding the chain froze. Then, with shaking hands, he stepped forward and placed it in Mira’s grasp.
She snatched it with sudden urgency, released the man’s leg, and crawled back to her mother’s side. With careful fingers, she slipped the chain back around her mother’s neck and sat there, clutching her once more.
The raider tried again. “Commander, we were only looting for food—”
Both men kept their heads bowed, words spilling over each other in fear.
The commander raised his hand.
Silence.
He turned slightly. “Take them,” he said to one of his men.
“Make sure I never see their faces again.”
Both of them began begging for forgiveness as the others dragged them away. Their voices echoed through the house, their cries lingering in Mira’s ears even after they were out of sight.
The commander frowned.
“They’re loud,” he said coldly. “Going to make me fucking deaf if they’re not silenced.”
He gave a sharp gesture.
The three men who remained bowed at once and left without a word.
The man moved toward Mira with quiet authority. Each step felt as though it shook the ground itself, his heavy armor clinking softly as he walked. Mira tightened her grip around her mother, fear flooding her — afraid this man would take her away too.
But instead, he knelt beside her.
He set his helm aside and placed his sword carefully on the ground, as if it were something sacred.
“Kid,” he said gently. “Look at me.”
There was an affection in his voice that Mira had not expected from a man like him. Still, fear held her still. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his sharp eyes.
“I know how this feels,” he continued softly. “I know what it’s like to lose someone.”
He paused.
“My father was killed by the same man responsible for your mother’s death.”
Anger surged inside Mira. She finally looked at him, her thoughts screaming you’re the one who did this. You killed her. But the words refused to come. His gaze was too heavy, too overwhelming.
“You think I did it,” he said quietly. “I know. I led the attack on your town.”
He didn’t look away.
“But all we wanted was food. Nothing more. That high and mighty king makes it hard for people like us to eat even twice a day. He sends us to fight, then enjoys the show from his throne.”
He spoke again.
“You know… we were never meant to attack,” he said quietly. “We only asked your people for food. But the lies that king feeds them — that we are men with no honor, no home, no banner. That we are nothing but ruthless killers who thirst for blood.”
His jaw tightened.
“They fear us before they even see us. So they strike first. And the king sends them a few sloppy soldiers to make a show of it — ordinary people fighting us.”
He looked down at Mira.
“We can’t just lie down and die, kid. So we fight back.”
He was silent for a moment.
“I won’t say we’re all good men. Those two you saw — they kill innocents. I try to stop it, but I can’t stop everything.”
His hand rested on the hilt of his long sword.
“But this sword,” he said softly, tapping it, “has always protected me. And now… it will protect you.”
He placed a hand on Mira’s head and gently pulled her into his chest. Without realizing it, Mira’s fingers slipped from her mother’s hand. The cold steel of his armor pressed against her cheek.
“There are other children like you in our camp,” he said. “They need company. And so do you.”
Mira finally broke.
“But my mother…” she cried. “I can’t leave her alone.”
“You won’t,” he said gently. “You’ll carry her spirit inside you.”
He let her go and reached for the silver chain around her mother’s neck. This time, Mira didn’t try to stop him. He placed the chain around Mira’s neck instead.
“She’s with you now.”
He stood, lifting his helm and sword.
“Just like my father is with me.” He said showing his long sword.
He held out his hand.
“Come, kid. Your friends are waiting.”
Still crying, Mira took his hand and walked beside him. His black cloak was enormous — plain, without sigil or symbol — and it felt as though it covered her entire world.
Before leaving the house, Mira looked back one last time at her mother. She wiped her tears and stood there for a heartbeat longer.
“Come,” he said softly. “Let’s go.”
He lifted Mira into his arms. She was still crying as he wiped her tears with his cloak and carried her outside.
He turned to one of his men.
“Bury her,” he said. “Respectfully. With the others.”
The man nodded and entered the house — a house that no longer belonged to Mira.
