Six months passed in Cedarbrook. Life moved like the gentle stream beside the town. Kael, Lorne, and Elara continued their daily routines. Mornings were for work at The Golden Kettle. Evenings were filled with laughter, stories, and quiet walks under the stars. It was a peaceful life. Slowly, Kael began to forget the strange emptiness inside him.
One evening, Kael finished work late. The market was closing down. Vendors packed up their stalls. The air smelled of spiced pies and drying herbs. Kael walked home, grabbed a leftover loaf, and ate by his window, watching the sky turn orange.
Then came a knock.
"Kael?" Elara's voice called from outside. "Lorne and I thought we could take a walk. Clear your head."
Kael grabbed his cloak and joined them. The night air was cool and fresh. Stars dotted the sky. Crickets chirped all around. They walked along a familiar path up a ridge, enjoying the silence.
"Nice evening," Lorne said. "Better than scrubbing dishes."
"Just walking and breathing," Elara added with a smile.
They passed fields and an old fence. A sleepy goat bleated nearby. Everything was calm. Then Elara stopped.
"Wait," she said sharply.
The crickets stopped. The breeze disappeared. The air felt strange.
Then they heard it—a tiny whimper.
They followed the sound and found a small, muddy puppy lying in the grass. It was scared and hurt.
Elara gently picked it up. "You poor thing..."
Kael touched its paw. "Sprained, not broken."
Lorne cleaned some of the mud off. "Who would leave you out here?"
They rushed back to Kael's hut. Inside, they worked together. Elara washed the puppy's paw. Lorne made a soft bandage. Kael lit a lantern and made a small bed for it by the fire.
"It's okay now," Kael said.
The puppy slowly calmed down. Elara hummed a lullaby, stroking its head. The room was warm and quiet.
Then Elara froze.
Her head snapped towards the small window. Her face drained of color. "Kael..." she whispered, her voice tight with sudden dread. "Something... something's wrong."
Kael's heart slammed against his ribs.
He stood up, every sense suddenly alert. Lorne scrambled to his feet near the door, his playful expression replaced by wide-eyed fear.
Elara's face drained of color. A sudden roar echoed from below. The night erupted with screams—many screams—so loud they shook the air.
They raced outside, puppy in hand.
Cedarbrook lay in flames. Thatched roofs burned against the dark sky. Villagers ran in terror—faces twisted in agony. A mother screamed, "Spare my life! Take anything, just let my children live!" Others dropped to their knees in prayer or horror.
they are not aware what is happening however they know one thing for sure RUN.
Lorne's face turned pale. He was shaking.
Kael grabbed the puppy. Elara looked frozen with fear.
"RUN!" Kael shouted.
They ran—away from town, toward the woods.
Their feet pounded the ground. Grass slapped their legs. Behind them, the fire roared and screams echoed.
They reached the trees. Elara stumbled, holding the puppy tight. Lorne leaned against a tree, crying and whispering, "No... no..."
Kael was filled with rage and fear. Cedarbrook was gone.
Then he heard it—hoofbeats.
They were getting louder. The bandits were coming.
Torchlight appeared between the trees. Riders were close.
Lorne tripped and fell. Before he could get up, a sword slashed his leg.
"AAAGH!" Lorne screamed.
"LORNE!" Kael shouted. He and Elara ran to help.
But another rider attacked. His sword cut across Kael's hand.
Pain exploded through him. Blood dripped from his fingers. He staggered back.
Elara screamed. Lorne cried out in pain.
They were surrounded. The riders circled them, torches in hand, eyes cold and cruel.
Kael could barely stand. Elara held the puppy tightly. Lorne clutched his bleeding leg.
The leader of the bandits rode forward. He had a scar on his cheek and a cruel smile. His eyes locked on Kael and the others.
The forest no longer felt safe. It felt like a trap. They were cornered, with nowhere to run.