The air hangs heavy with a mournful stillness as Leor stands in the small clearing, staring down at the freshly dug graves of his grandparents. The stones feel impossibly heavy, but he manages to stack them carefully atop the graves, each one placed with quiet reverence. His hands tremble from exhaustion and grief, but he works steadily, driven by an instinct he doesn't fully understand — a need to honor them in the only way he can.
When the last stone is set, Leor stands in silence for a long time, his gaze locked on the simple markers. The sun sinks low, casting long shadows across the forest floor, but his heart feels even heavier than the day around him. The weight of everything that happened presses on him like a constant ache he can't shake.
Finally, he turns away, his boots crunching softly on the dry earth as he walks back to the house. The place that once felt like home now stands empty and hollow. Inside, the damage from the soldiers still scars the space. Shattered glass from the window lies scattered across the floor, and deep gouges mar the walls. Leor sinks down with his back to the door and stares at the broken window. A cold wind slips through the gap, stirring the curtains, but he doesn't move to close it.
For days, Leor does little more than survive. He sleeps restlessly on the worn couch, waking in the middle of the night from strange dreams, only to find himself alone again. Every morning, he forces himself to eat something, but hunger constantly gnaws at him. Grief, though, is the deeper hunger. He misses their voices, their warmth, their gentle presence.
One morning, he finds something that stirs a distant memory — wild berries. Bright and vibrant, they grow in the same patch where his grandma once picked them. They aren't much, but they remind him of her — her gentle smile, her warm hands, the way she would always share them with him.
But they aren't enough. His stomach growls painfully, reminding him that survival means more than memories. He needs real food.
Leor sets out toward the river, the place where his grandpa used to fish. The stream cuts through the forest, clear and cold — a quiet refuge for both wildlife and the people who once lived nearby. He has no rod, no net — only a makeshift spear his grandpa taught him to carve as a child. The stick is rough and crude, but sharp enough to pierce a fish, or so his grandpa had promised.
For over an hour, Leor stands knee-deep in the icy water, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. His hands go numb, his fingers slipping on the handle as fish dart past, always just out of reach. His breath fogs in the cold air, each exhale a reminder that he is still alive — if only barely.
Frustration creeps in. He can't do it. The spear keeps slipping from his grasp. The fish elude him every time. It feels like everything is slipping away. His stomach roars in protest, but there's nothing he can do.
At last, with a final, defeated glance at the river, Leor decides to head back. There will be no fish today.
As he moves toward home, his heart grows heavier with each step. The thought of returning to that empty house, of being alone in a place that no longer feels like home, is almost too much to bear.
When he nears the edge of the clearing, he spots figures standing there—soldiers in armor, their forms sharp against the soft afternoon light.
Leor freezes, his breath catching in his throat. He doesn't know if they are friend or foe. The armor is unfamiliar, and that uncertainty twists cold in his gut. His mind races—Who are they? What do they want?
He considers hiding, running, anything—but the fear tightening his chest makes the choice clear. He can't stay. If they find him here, he doesn't know what will happen.
Without another moment of hesitation, Leor slips into the shadows of the forest, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. He knows the risk, but he can't afford to be caught. He has to leave—leave and never look back.
Leor wanders through the forest, each step weighed down by hunger. The hours drag on endlessly, his stomach twisting into sharper knots with every passing moment. His mind, fogged by desperation, searches desperately for any sign of life—a village, a traveler, anything to ease the gnawing ache inside him.
Then, through the thick trees, he spots it—a small village, tucked away at the forest's edge. Hope surges in his chest. He quickens his pace, desperate to reach it. Maybe someone there will share food, or maybe he'll find something left behind to ease his pain. He reaches the gate, breath ragged, hands trembling.
The village is silent. No voices, no laughter, no animals stirring in the fields. Standing at the entrance, unease coils in his gut. Maybe they're hiding inside, he thinks. His grandparents often did the same when danger was near—maybe the villagers are waiting it out.
He ventures deeper into the village, his footsteps clicking softly against the cobblestone streets. Houses line the way, their doors left ajar, almost as if inviting him inside. Leor peeks into the first house he finds. The room is untouched—no sign of life. No one remains.
Puzzled, he moves on to the next, then the next, peering inside each. Every house is the same—eerily vacant, everything left as if frozen in time. No signs of struggle, no hurried departures. It feels like the entire village vanished overnight.
His stomach growls louder, his body aching for sustenance. Desperation drives him onward until his eyes catch a small piece of bread lying on a table in the corner of one home. It's stale, days old at best, but it's food. Without hesitation, Leor tears it apart and shoves it into his mouth, the dry crumbs scraping down his throat.
Just as the hunger eases, a faint murmur reaches his ears. Voices—soft, distant, but unmistakable. His heart pounds. Could the villagers be returning? Perhaps they've been hiding from the same dangers Leor faced.
He darts from the house, eager to see who approaches. The voices grow louder, and soon Leor spots them—a group of soldiers moving cautiously along the village's edge. His breath catches in his throat.
Before Leor can even think to duck out of sight, one of the soldiers catches his eye. "Hey! Stop right there!" The shout rings out, breaking the village's uneasy silence.
Panic crashes over him. Without hesitation, he bolts, legs pumping wildly as instinct drives him forward. The heavy thuds of boots on cobblestones follow close behind, but Leor refuses to glance back. Escape is all that matters.
He runs with every ounce of strength, breath ragged, heart hammering as the soldiers steadily close the distance. The edge of the village nears—so close—yet their pursuit is relentless.
A surge of adrenaline carries him forward—until a sudden, crushing grip clamps down on his shoulder. He twists, trying to break free, but the hold is iron-tight. Fear floods him.
Without thinking, Leor bites down hard on the soldier's armored arm. A pained yell erupts as the man jerks away, but Leor can't break free fast enough. A sharp slap sends him crashing against a tree trunk. The impact rattles his head, and his body goes limp, vision blurring into darkness.
From the void, distant voices drift faintly to his ears.
"Just a kid..." one soldier mutters.
Leor's mind clouds, the words melting away in the haze. Footsteps fade, then silence swallows everything.
A long time passes before Leor's eyes finally flutter open. His head throbs painfully, the world around him tilting and swaying. He tries to move, only to find his limbs bound and his body aching—every muscle screaming from the struggle and impact. As his vision sharpens, he realizes he's inside a small, barred wagon. Dim light filters through the cracks of the cage, casting restless shadows on the faces of strangers surrounding him.
Some are old, some young—people just as lost and confused as he feels. He touches his forehead, feeling the rough cloth wrapped tight around a wound. The sharp headache lingers but is more bearable now.
The wagon jolts beneath him, and a heavy despair settles in his chest. His fight, his hope, his escape—they all seem far away now. The scent of the road, the quiet rustling around him, and the cold silence of captivity weigh down on him like a stone.
He closes his eyes, taking a shaky breath, refusing to surrender—not yet, not like this.
An older man's voice breaks the stillness, rough and weary. "Calm down, kid," he says quietly, the resignation in his tone palpable. "There's nothing we can do while we're locked up like this."
Leor turns to the man, fire still burning in his chest, desperate to believe there's always something to fight for. But when he meets the man's eyes, the weight of hopelessness is undeniable. This isn't just resignation—it's acceptance born from years of broken promises, shattered hopes, and endless waiting.
Leor's shoulders slump. His mind races but finds no answers. He wants to fight, to run, to do anything—but instead, the crushing weight of helplessness pulls him under. The world blurs once more, and exhaustion claims him. For now, all he can do is wait for what comes next.
The ride drags on, the wagon wheels creaking like a slow march into the unknown. Leor drifts in and out of sleep, his body aching from the hard, cramped position he's been forced into. His head throbs, his limbs stiffen, but there's nothing he can do except endure. It feels like his fate has already been sealed.
At last, after what seems like an eternity, the wagon grinds to a halt. Leor jolts awake, groggy and sore from the uncomfortable position. Every movement sends a sharp ache through his body as he slowly straightens up, groaning softly. The door to the cage creaks open, and harsh daylight floods in. Soldiers approach, their boots clanging on the stone ground.
"Out," one commands sharply. "Everyone, out of the wagon!"
Leor shuffles to his feet alongside the others, legs unsteady, vision blurry from sleep. He forces himself to move, keeping pace with the slow, orderly line. As they step out into the open, his eyes begin to adjust — and what he sees sends a cold shiver through his blood.
Before him stands a massive figure, far larger than any human—a towering, armored behemoth with glowing eyes that remain unblinking as it watches over the group. Leor freezes, caught in the figure's gaze, his heart pounding wildly. He doesn't know what it is, but something about it radiates an overwhelming sense of power and control that chills him to the bone.
A rough shove from a nearby soldier snaps Leor back to reality. He quickly shuffles into a line of children, all different ages, many as lost and frightened as he feels. They're herded toward the massive stone fortress ahead, its heavy gates looming like an unmovable wall of destiny.
The soldiers push the group forward, their harsh commands cutting sharply through the air. Leor stumbles along with the others, each step heavier than the last. The fortress draws nearer, its stone walls cold and unwelcoming. He sees no way out, no escape in sight. The weight of his reality presses down on him like an inescapable burden.
As they cross the threshold into the fortress, the world outside seems to vanish into nothingness. Leor doesn't know what awaits him within, but one thing is certain—he must survive. Whatever comes next, he can't give up. He can't lose hope, no matter how dark it seems.