The rain fell in heavy sheets, soaking the scorched ruins of the village. Blackened beams and crumbling walls jutted out like the charred bones of a great beast. The air hung thick with the acrid scent of damp ash, clinging to their throats with every breath. Beneath the skeletal remains of their home, two boys lingered.

Zoran knelt by their mother's body, his small frame motionless save for his trembling hands as they clasped hers. Her fingers, once warm, soft, and comforting, had grown stiff, and were marred by burns. Rainwater pooled around her, carrying soot away in slow streams.

A few feet behind, Theodren stood, shivering beneath his soaked cloak. He stared at his brother, at the still figure of their mother, and at the ruin of the life they had once known. His jaw tightened, but he didn't cry. He couldn't, because he knew it wouldn't bring her back.

"The rain will wash her away," he thought grimly, though the words felt hollow.

He stepped closer, his boots sinking into the mud. "Zoran," he said softly, his voice barely audible over the rain. "We can't stay here."

Zoran didn't move. His knuckles whitened as his grip on their mother's hand tightened. Theodren crouched beside him, his shadow falling over their mother's lifeless face. He reached out, hesitated, then gently placed a hand on Zoran's shoulder.

"Zoran," he tried again, firmer that time, though his own voice wavered. "We have to leave."

"No," Zoran whispered, his voice raw and jagged. He turned his tear-streaked face to Theodren, his wide, glassy eyes pleading. "She'll wake up. She...she has to."

Theodren's throat tightened. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, he knelt there, his hand still on his brother's shoulder, as the rain continued to fall.
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That night, Theodren waited until Zoran succumbed to sleep. By the light of a dim, smoldering ember, he dragged their mother's body to the remains of an old willow tree behind their house, its charred branches still clinging to some semblance of life.

Each step felt like a betrayal, but leaving her to the rain felt worse.

"You would have wanted this," he told himself, though he wasn't sure he believed it.

He worked in silence, his fingers blistering as he dug into the soggy earth with a broken farming tool. His muscles screamed for rest, but he didn't stop until her body was beneath the roots.

When the task was done, he sat back on his heels, staring at the mound of fresh soil. His chest felt hollow, his hands numb. He closed his eyes and whispered a prayer he barely remembered from their village chapel, and then fell to his knees.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice cracked, "I...I had to."
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Zoran's scream jolted Theodren awake. He bolted upright, heart pounding, to find his brother frantically searching the ruins, calling for their mother.

"Where is she?" Zoran demanded, spinning to face him. His voice cracked, desperation lacing every syllable. "What did you do?"

Theodren stood, his knees stiff from the cold. He held up his hands, trying to calm his brother. "Zoran, listen to me-"

"No!" Zoran's shout echoed through the ruins. "Where is she?"

"I buried her," Theodren said quietly, his voice trembling. He stepped closer, but Zoran backed away. "I had to, Zoran. She-she was gone. We couldn't-"

"You had no right!" Zoran's voice broke, and he collapsed to his knees, burying his face in his hands. Theodren froze, his own breath shallow, then cautiously knelt beside him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't want to, but...I had to. For both of us."

Zoran didn't respond, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Theodren reached out, hesitated, then pulled his brother into an embrace. Zoran resisted at first, his small fists pounding weakly against Theodren's chest, but eventually he crumpled against him, clinging tightly.

"I need you," Theodren murmured, his voice breaking. "I can't do this alone."

Zoran didn't respond, his small frame shaking with sobs. But Theodren held him tighter, wishing with everything in him that his brother could find his strength again.

"He's smarter than me," Theodren thought. "He'll know what to do. He has to."
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As the rain continued to fall, they gathered the last of their food and prepared for the journey north.

Theodren had heard of Drakon-a place where they might find refuge, even freedom-but he never imagined Zoran would choose it first.

The journey was harsh. They traveled through the wilderness, avoiding all human contact, fearing every face might belong to raiders.

Their clothes grew ragged, and hunger gnawed at them. The fish they caught barely kept them alive. Days turned to weeks, and the cold seeped in as autumn gave way to winter.

One night, as they huddled beneath a fallen tree, heavy footsteps rumbled through the dark. A barg-a massive, bear-like creature-emerged, its scent of death filling the air. Theodren's heart thundered as it sniffed the wind, searching for them. Zoran's eyes widened in terror, but Theodren pressed a finger to his lips.

The barg's heavy breaths misted in the freezing air, its sharp claws scraping against the frozen ground as it prowled closer. Theodren's grip on Zoran's arm tightened, their breaths held as the beast's snout turned toward their hiding place.

Then, the beast passed, its looming presence fading into the night.
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The days dragged on, hunger unbearable. Theodren's body weakened, his steps faltering, but they pushed forward. After nearly a month, they finally reached Drakonstead's borders.

Before them stood towering stone walls of Drakonstead; rising like a fortress against the mountains, their sheer size both awe-inspiring and intimidating. Smoke curled from chimneys, a promise of warmth and life beyond the gates.

It wasn't long before they were spotted by a patrol. Two men approached, eyes wary. Beyond them, lingering between the treeline, were gaunt faces and frail bodies --- the spirits of dead children.

"Do you see that?" one muttered, their skin growing pale.

"Talrin's fallen," the other replied, a hand resting on their scabbard.

A tense moment passed. Then the first man raised a crossbow.

Before the shot could be fired, the second man stopped him. "Wait. Look."

The taller of the children ran forward, arms outstretched, as if to shield the other.

"They're alive," the second man said, stepping forward and crouching. "Come. You're safe now." He extended his arms, voice steady, but held a glimmer of sadness, as though they had seen too many children like them. "Name's Carrion."

The children hesitated, frail and weak, but as if at the end of a long journey, they collapsed into his arms, a feeling of warmth surrounding them.

"Get the horses," Carrion ordered, holding them close. "Tell Master we have two more."