The world was silent. Too silent.The once-roaring flames had died down to whispers, leaving behind only smoke, ash, and the bitter scent of death. The kidnappers' base, once filled with screams and chaos, now stood as nothing but a graveyard of blackened steel and crumbled walls.From beneath the ruins came a faint sound.
A cough.
Then another. And then—the rubble shifted.
A trembling, blackened hand broke through the ash. Slowly, painfully, a figure dragged himself out from beneath the debris. It was Ron.Half of his body was covered in burns. His left shoulder and back were scorched raw, and blood seeped from his head, mouth, and fingertips. His legs trembled violently, barely able to move, but he still tried to stand.His voice was weak, broken. "...Lyra…"
No one answered.He staggered forward, fell to his knees, then started crawling. Each movement sent waves of agony through his burned skin. The ash beneath him mixed with blood, leaving a trail behind. His vision blurred; the world seemed to fade in and out.
"Why…" he muttered, teeth clenched. "Why am I always… the one left behind… Why do they always… leave me…"
Tears cut through the dirt on his face as he crawled. His mind burned with anger and confusion. The pain was unbearable, but something deeper—something inside him—kept him moving. He refused to die here.He crawled for hours. Through blackened soil and burned wood, across jagged stones and dying embers. The sun fell low, and the forest around him began to darken. When his strength finally gave out, he collapsed near the edge of the woods, his body half-buried in leaves and mud.
The sky turned red, then black. Ron's breathing slowed. His eyes closed. And he fell silent.
Hours later, under the cold glow of the moon, footsteps echoed along the forest trail.An old man carrying a lantern walked wearily toward his home after a long day of hunting. His bag was empty—no game today, just disappointment. But then, something caught his eye: a small, motionless figure lying in the bushes.He froze.
"By the heavens… what's this?"He rushed forward, kneeling beside the burned child. "Maria!" he shouted. "Maria, come quick! I found someone!"
A woman's voice called back, annoyed, "What is it this time? You better not be shouting for another lost goat!"But when she reached him and saw the boy, her eyes widened. "Oh dear…"The old man carefully turned Ron over.
The child's face was barely recognizable, covered in burns and blood. His breath was faint, but still there."He's alive," the old man said urgently. Maria helped lift him with steady hands. "We can't leave him here. Help me get him inside!"
Together they carried him to the village. At the wooden gate,
two mercenary guards stepped out, blocking their way."Stop right there," one of them barked. "You can't bring anyone in without paying the entry tax."The old man's voice cracked. "He's dying! Let us through!"The mercenary shrugged coldly. "Then pay the fee."Maria glared at him. Without hesitation, she reached into her pouch and pulled out a handful of coins. "Here—two hundred cyan. That's more than enough."The mercenaries' eyes widened. "Two hundred cyan?!" one of them exclaimed, almost dropping his spear. They exchanged greedy glances and stepped aside. "You may pass."Without wasting a second,
the couple rushed into the village, heading straight for the local healer's hut.Inside, the room smelled faintly of antiseptic.
The doctors worked carefully—using instruments to remove tiny fragments from Ron's wounds, cleaning each burn and cut thoroughly, and applying bandages to stabilize his arms, legs, and back. Every movement was precise and practiced, slightly improving his chance of recovery, though nothing beyond what a skilled doctor could do.Maria and the old man hovered nearby, worry etched into their faces."Is he going to make it?" Maria asked, her voice trembling.One of the doctors looked up, wiping his hands on a clean cloth. "He's badly burned, but his vital signs are stable. If we keep his wounds clean and monitor him carefully, he has a good chance.
You both did well bringing him in quickly."The old man nodded, relief mixing with exhaustion. "We found him in the woods… I thought we were too late.""You weren't," the doctor said firmly. "Timing matters. Any delay could have made this worse. Just keep him calm and still. No sudden movements, and we'll continue cleaning and dressing the wounds regularly."Maria's hands shook as she adjusted a bandage. "I just… I can't believe someone would do this to a child."The doctor's expression hardened. "The world can be cruel, but right now, focus on keeping him safe. He's survived worse already.
That shows strength—and it's something we can work with."Ron didn't scream, didn't move. Only faint, ragged breaths escaped him.
The old man and Maria watched quietly, trusting the doctors' expertise as they finished their careful work. When it was over, they stepped outside to sit on the wooden steps beneath the pale moonlight.Maria wiped her hands, her voice soft.
"He's just a child… who could do this to him?"
The old man looked down at his hands—stained with ash and blood. "The world doesn't care for who's right or wrong," he said. "But if fate wanted this boy dead, it wouldn't have let me find him."Maria looked toward the hut's dim light flickering through the window. "You think he'll survive?"He nodded slowly. "He's already survived fire. That alone says something."
The wind carried the faint smell of ash from far away.
Somewhere in the distance, the burned ruins of the base still smoldered under the night sky.Inside the small hut, Ron lay motionless—his body broken, but his heart still beating. The fire had taken everything from him. But it hadn't taken his will to live.
Elsewhere…Far away in the capital, beneath a high moon and soft velvet curtains, Lyra jolted awake. Her breath came sharp and uneven, sweat glistening on her forehead. The fire still roared in her dreams—children screaming, smoke choking her lungs, and one voice echoing through it all."Lyra!"She pressed her trembling hands over her ears, trying to shut it out. But Ron's voice wouldn't fade.Her room was quiet, too clean, too peaceful.
Servants hurried in when they heard her cries, but she waved them away, clutching the edge of her blanket like a shield.She stumbled to her mirror.
Her reflection stared back—unharmed, dressed in silks. But her eyes were red and swollen.
"He was right there…" she whispered. "He was right there, and I—"The memory crushed her.
The captain's arm dragging her away, Ron's outstretched hand disappearing behind the flames. Her fists trembled
."Why didn't they save him? Why didn't I…?"
Tears rolled freely now, dripping onto the marble floor. She struck the mirror with her fist, cracking it down the middle. The fractured image split her face in two—one half a noble heiress, the other hollow and broken.
Outside her room, her father's voice could be faintly heard, ordering men to rebuild what was lost.
But Lyra didn't listen. She sank to her knees, whispering through her sobs.
"Ron… I'll find you. I'll find you one day… even if the whole world says you're gone."Her voice faded ..
...
(END OF CHAPTER 6)