He stared at the flames.
Caelen lay on his bedroll, eyes fixed on them. Not quite awake, not quite anything.
He sat up slowly. The sweat on his neck had gone cold.
He reached out under his pillow, sensing the hilt of his dagger. He sighed.
"Bad one?" Louis said from across the tent.
He was ready to go out, cloak on, dagger strapped, bow nearby. Louis had been observing him without making it obvious.
"I'm fine," Caelen said, glancing back.
His friend's light blonde messy hair was tied back in a rough knot, and from beneath the folds of his coat, his hazel eyes filled with uncertainty.
Louis didn't push. He always had a face for this situation, the expression of someone who wanted to ask and had decided not to, and he wore it the way he wore most things… without quite pulling it off.
The handle of his blade caught the lamplight. Outside, somewhere in the dark of the taiga, a small gust of wind swept past.
Caelen ran a hand through his dark hair and felt the dampness. He hated it. It only reminded him how dreadful the dream was.
Louis fidgeted, tapping the hilt of his dagger.
The dream again. Always the same one, every single night. He'd stopped trying to avoid it, just waiting for it to end.
But he would never manage to just forget such a dream. The heat of the flames that burned the town followed him. The smell of charred flesh clung to his nose, and his ears rang with the screams of the people, their begging.
He managed to picture the start of it.
He had only meant to fetch some bread. When he turned the corner, he saw the baker with his family, his child giggling in his arms. The baker barely had time to turn before one of the undead soldiers slashed through him.
In his path, he saw the bodies of two men and a nun. They had tried to protect the children of the orphanage, but in the end they all perished. The flames consumed the building, and the children's wails haunted the town.
An old woman on the street recognized him.
"Save… yourself…" she managed to mumble. She was trying to push her own intestines back in with both hands, looking up at him as he ran past. He didn't stop.
He still recalled the hollow faces of the undead soldiers staring back at him.
The endless alleys formed a horrific maze. Each alleyway could lead to death. They relentlessly chased him before he was saved by a guard, he ran toward his home, glancing back just in time to see the guard torn apart by the soldiers.
The streets weren't any better. Almost every building burned in bright emerald flames. Black smoke covered the sky and filled his lungs. The only saving grace was that the undead soldiers were busy fighting the town's guards and adventurers.
The part that never quite left his mind was when he found his mother.
"Caelen!" She screamed, begging him to run away.
He ran towards her, so close as to sense her smell, as to feel her warmth.
In that single second his mind pulled him somewhere else entirely.
His mother humming while she worked, the specific sound of her needle pulling thread, the way she'd hold fabric up to the window light to check the seam. The smell of her workroom. The last thing she'd made him was a coat two sizes too big because "you'll grow into it", she'd said, laughing.
He never did.
But in that moment, he felt as if everything was alright, just for a second.
In a blink, a blade impaled her abdomen, stopping inches before it reached him, it wasn't made by iron, nor any other common metals for weapons, it was pale like bone.
The next second, a man, the necromancer, grabbed her by the neck.
The man didn't hesitate.
She erupted into emerald flames, violently. Her skin blistered, and a terrible sizzling sound filled the air.
That awful sound.
He remembered how his legs gave out, how he screamed for help and how the figure looked back at him. Smiling. His lips moved, but no sound ever came, only static, like the world itself had gone mute.
He could only watch helplessly as the flames consumed his mother's flesh. Her skin charred, then slowly flaked away. As if the air itself had disintegrated what was left of her, the ashes.
What came before the end were clashes of blades — multiple, intense, incessant — he never paid any attention to them.
The aftermath always ended in silence. Nothing was left unscathed. It took hours before his father found him among the rubble.
They did not leave each other's side for weeks, the pain was greater than any of them could handle alone.
"Cael."
"Huh…?" A warm hand touched his shoulder, a whisper followed.
"Did you hear that?"
"…?"
In the distance could be heard a high-pitched whistle piercing the air.
"It seems The Captain found a herd."
Isn't it quite soon…?
He had been working over a year for The Captain now, yet the man's instincts never failed to impress him.
His friend had knelt beside him, his tall figure hunched slightly to avoid the low ceiling beams.
The dark cloak he wore clung to him like a second skin, worn and frayed near the edges, the uniform of the hunters.
Caelen stood up.
I'm not really feeling up for work but…I've got to do it.
Above his knapsack the backgammon board sat untouched, pieces exactly where he'd left them after the fifth loss.
I remember... After losing five games in a row, I got frustrated and went to sleep. After all, it was Louis' turn to watch the surroundings.
He put it aside on the ground and rummaged through his knapsack for his quiver and arrows.
He found a small letter inside. He stared at it for a second, then put it in his back pocket.
He saw Louis at the side, restringing his bow with a cord that had already been mended twice, he wasn't particularly bad off, just utilizing the mentality The Captain drilled in each hunter.
Caelen gathered his equipment, as he finished, the metal end of an arrow reflected the lantern's light intensely, and just for a second it felt as if the green flames surrounded him, he faltered and accidentally dropped two arrows to the ground without daring to look back at them.
I must do this.
For my father.
For the people back in town, I can't afford to be just a burden.
But also…for myself.
He held his bow with a hard grip.
When I hold it, I feel less powerless.
He strengthened his resolve. On the other side of the tent, Louis was now rubbing his wrist.
"I really wish I don't have to use that this time."
"You know how it goes." He tapped Louis on the shoulder.
He opened the tent door, the chill air bit at their faces.