Toya woke up, sitting on his knees, his hands, clothes and even face were all covered in blood. But the blood wasn't his own. As his brain slowly woke up, he looked around. He was still in the living room, but it wasn't night anymore it was bright day. He looked in the direction for the hallway. And just as he remembered there was the corpses of his dead family - all except his father who was burned to death. But there was no trace of the soldiers. Where were they? They wouldn't just go, would they? He thought. He took a deep inhale but halfway through a disgusting stank made him cough. The stank came from behind him. He turned, his hands shaking. There were the soldiers - or what was left of them. Some of them missed limbs some even their heads. He took his hands for his mouth to keep himself from vomiting. But even so he could feel the taste in his mouth. He closed his eyes. How did this happen? Who did this?
As he sat there on his knees, the corpses behind him, his mind raced like its life depended on it. He didn't understand what was going on. Who could have done this? As if on cue a memory ran through his head. He was one the ground. His leg was broken, preventing him from getting up. He could see a shadowed figure before him. But it wasn't until he came closer, he saw who it was. At first, he had thought it was the captain in front of him, but it wasn't. No, before him stood him. But he looked different. He had blood-red eyes and silver glowing hair. Even so it was no doubt him. A thought struck Toya like lightning. This wasn't his memory. As he relived the memory - of what he believed to be one of the soldiers - he could just watch as his body moved down and gripped a sword. It was one of soldier's swords and a little big for his body. He saw as his body got closer, raised the sword, and struck. He could feel the fear of the soldier but also the pain. With his pulse pounding and sweat running from his face he managed to snap out of it. He realized that he was the one who had killed them - all of them. But the question was how? He had no memory of himself doing it. Deep inside of him he was glad they were dead, but he couldn't help but feel guilty. He hated the soldiers for taking the lives of his family. And they had no doubt also taken the lives of other innocent people. But still he was the one who killed them, he took the life of another person, wouldn't that mean that he was just as bad as them? But an even deeper question was, what was that power? As the thought about it his mind kept flowing towards the shadowed figure in the dark room.
His mind kept going until a rumble from his stomach stopped it. As he thought back, he hadn't eaten anything. But even though his stomach was rumbling he wasn't hungry. Just the thought of eating something made him want to throw up. Even if he wasn't going to eat anything he still needed to get up. After all he couldn't just sit here the entire time. If he did his family would get mad at him. He slowly got up, his legs shaking from his lack of energy. To be honest he didn't want to leave, but he couldn't stay. He wiped off the blood from his face and hands, and went to his room taking a backpack and packed a few necessary things - like clothes, a little food and a cloak. He swung the backpack over his shoulder as he headed for his mother's and father's room. The room was just as clean as ever. His parents had always been the people who hated mess. They always remined them to clean up after themselves. But it seems like that won't be the case anymore. As he walked in, he tried to keep the dark thoughts out of his head. He had nearly looked in the entire room when he found what he was looking for. It laid under the bed with a little dust on top of it. As he took it out, he realized just how heavy it was. What he had been looking for was his father's sword.
A sword he had only seen unsheathed a couple of times. He had always wanted to one day be the one using it, but he never imagined it would be under circumstances like these. For a time he thought about not taking because it would just be wrong, it wasn't like he had earned it or anything. But he also knew that without a weapon he would end up dead. So he took the blade, placed it on his hip and walked out. The sun hadn't moved a lot - since he woke up. He stood in front of his house, then all the memories he remembered came back to him. He had lived here his whole life, and now he was going to leave. This was the place his family had lived, and the place where they died. This would be the last time he saw it for at least a couple of years, but even if it just were a house, he was sad to leave. He had always dreamed one day to leave and go on countless adventures, but this just felt wrong. All the times he had imagined this scenario his family always stood there in front of it. Waving at him, wishing him good luck, waiting for him to get home. But now he was just empty as he left the place, he had known all his life behind, as he glanced towards the village.