"But whenever you get the chance to fight for Arkania, give it your all." Those words kept echoing in my mind as I opened my eyes. Then it hit me—the city of Pharkis was gone. That tiny dot in the sky… it had been a bomb. It came down just to burn us all.
I tried standing, but a long shard of glass was embedded in my stomach. Every movement sent fire racing through my body. I slid back against a wall and looked around. Blood. Smoke. Screams that ended too quickly. Everywhere I looked, there were bodies. People I had seen alive just minutes ago. Now, they were just... gone.
Then I heard my name. "Mar…tin…"
My father's voice. Weak, broken. He was trapped under the rubble. I forgot my pain and dragged myself toward him, clawing at the debris. My hands were trembling—I knew I couldn't fully control them, but I had to try. He reached out and grabbed my ankle.
"Stop…"
I dropped to my knees beside him. "Father, I can get you out. Tell me how!" He looked at me, tears filling his eyes. "Don't worry about me, son… I've had my time. You still have yours. You're bleeding; you need to find help."
Even then, he was thinking about me. It broke my young heart
. And then I remembered something. His words from years ago, when Arkania was born: ‚Look, Martin, these little ones are your siblings. You're their older brother. You must protect them, protect everything precious to you."
My chest tightened. I'd failed to protect him—the most precious thing I had left.
His eyes stayed open, but they weren't looking at me anymore. They weren't looking at anything.
"Father… father!" I shook him, screamed his name, but nothing came back.
And just like that, at thirteen, I understood death. My father was gone.