I woke up at dawn.

  The sky was a dull gray, the rising sun hidden behind a thick veil of smoke. As I looked around, I saw what remained of the vilge—burned down to the ground. Smoke still rose from the charred ruins of houses that once echoed with ughter and life.

  “So... it wasn’t just a nightmare,” I muttered.

  Near me y the scorched remains of several treants, their twisted wooden forms bckened and broken.

  “I must’ve bcked out as soon as the battle ended,” I said to myself.

  I tried to stand, hoping to check the area again. Last night had been chaos—maybe in the rush, I’d overlooked something useful.

  “Ouch...” I winced, pain fring through my body.

  Every limb ached. But the worst was my shoulder—the same one impaled by a treant during its ambush outside the house. I hadn’t felt it during the fight, but now... now it burned like fire crawling beneath my skin.

  I gritted my teeth and tore off what remained of my shirt, wrapping it tightly around the wound. The bleeding had mostly stopped, but this would help prevent infection.

  Once bandaged, I began to search the vilge. Maybe something had survived the devastation.

  But all I found was silence, carnage, and the remains of homes that had once sheltered many lives.

  After wandering for nearly an hour, I spotted a rge boulder near the vilge’s edge. I climbed onto it and sat down.

  “So... none of them came back to check on me,” I whispered, my voice ft. Empty.

  Whether I had survived or not, they must have assumed I was dead. No one comes back to a pce already reduced to ash.

  Head down. Eyes half-lidded. Heart numb.

  “I really was abandoned... wasn’t I?” I whispered again.

  I sat there for a long time, gazing over the ruined vilge. Burned homes. Lifeless bodies. The final scene of a tragedy that no one would remember.

  The more I looked, the more familiar it became.

  That same scene. That same carnage. The same burning homes under a stormy night sky. The same bodies—scorched, impaled, innocent.

  But this time... they weren’t strangers.

  They were family. Friends. People I once cherished.

  It all came rushing back.

  Three years ago—when everything I loved was taken from me in an invasion far more terrifying than this.

  I lived in an orphanage back then. It wasn’t much, but it was home. We weren’t reted by blood, but we were a family—closer than siblings, even. We pyed together. Ate together. Bathed together. Every day was filled with ughter.

  Until they came.

  It was a stormy night.

  I was with the other kids, the headmaster, and the sisters who took care of us. We were gathered for our weekly story night—a tradition where the sisters told tales of heroes who fought off the riftwakes and saved the innocent.

  The room was dim, lit only by two small mps. Outside, thunder growled like dragons, and rain shed against the windows. The atmosphere was cold... yet serene.

  Before the story began, I went to the washroom. On my way back, I stopped by a window. I stood there, smiling, watching the storm. I loved nights like that—violent, cold, beautiful. Rain and winter were always my favorite seasons.

  After a minute, I returned to the group. Just as the story was about to begin, a riftwake opened—inside the orphanage.

  We heard heavy footsteps approaching.

  The headmaster rushed to the window. What he saw turned his face ghost-white.

  Out of the rift came hundreds of beings—tall, youthful figures with long green, silver, or golden hair and sharp, pointed ears.

  Elves.

  Cd in ornate green and gold armor, wielding glowing bows and enchanted bdes. Their expressions twisted into grins of malice, eyes gleaming like predators.

  Some lined up outside the orphanage. Others scattered into the town.

  Then he appeared.

  An elf taller than the rest, with a muscur, commanding presence. His hair shimmered with streaks of gold and green. A massive sword rested on his shoulder.

  “Kill everyone here,” he ordered, his voice cold and absolute.

  “We’ll use this pce as the foundation of our new base. This town... will be the first step in ciming this world.”

  He raised a hand.

  “Archers, take aim!”

  Every elf archer drew their bow. Arrows glowing red with malevolent energy.

  “Fire!”

  Hundreds of arrows shot into the stormy night. While the town slept under the weight of cold and wind, death rained from above.

  In seconds, fmes erupted across the vilge. Buildings ignited. Screams pierced the night. Fire consumed all—man, beast, child.

  It was like a twisted storm—one of fire, not rain.

  The elf commander ughed.

  “Hahahaha... yes! Yes! This is it!” he roared, his eyes wild with ecstasy.

  “This pce is ours. From here, we shall expand. An empire of elven might will rise from these ashes!”

  Eventually, the extermination squads arrived. A fierce battle erupted, sting through the night. But by then, it was too te.

  The town was lost. The orphanage was gone.

  My family... gone.