Smoke was rising in the late day’s sun. The villagers finished putting out all the fires caused by the goblins’ attack and the mad bomber’s last moments. The goblins had fled by daybreak and disappeared into the forest mist as if they were from a dream—a nightmare to many. The fog slowly burned off from the sun’s warmth, filling a few with hope for a new day. Many of the villages, feeling the heat of the new day, wished it could bring new life to their loved ones. Many villagers’ faces were blackened with their work: putting out the many fires, digging through the wreckage trying to find anyone alive, and a few began digging graves. Even small children were put to work carrying water back and forth from the well or giving water skins to the workers.

The Baker family was found trapped in their kitchen. A massive boulder had crashed into the ovens and blocked the only door out, and the fire had taken their lives. Drovic speculated that the gigantic giant had thrown a few such boulders, and bad luck or angry gods caused the Baker family to become trapped. They were found holding each other until the end. The baker’s only son found them. His fingernails snapped and were bloody from prying boards free from the walls. He had been helping during the battle, never stopping. He had taken up his bow firing arrow after arrow into the hordes of enemies. When he moved the last board, all hope left his body at the sight of his parents. He collapsed to the stone floor; tears began to stream down his face like a spring melt.

The pain was too much for him, and he began mashing his fist into the broken kitchen wall that trapped his family. Jeremy started to curse the gods for doing this to him, spitting venom with each word. blood began to trail down his shredded fingers. He cursed everything he knew with each crack of his fist into the wall. Taking a breath, he, at last, cursed himself for helping others.

With each drop of blood and spit dripping from the man’s wounds, he could feel the rage, asking himself repeatedly, “What if, what if I came here first, could I have saved them?” Asking but did not expect an answer. “If only I had turned from the battle to check on my family. I should be the one dead, not them.” His voice was nothing more than a whisper. Finally, all the strength was gone from him. He crumpled to the floor, holding his younger sister in his arms. Her red hair became wild and free, and he traced his smashed fingers through her tangled mess until there were no more tears for him to give.

The baker’s son was not alone in his grief. Countless villagers were finding their loved ones dead or unaccounted for. For a moment, the only dry eyes in town belonged to Drovic, who did not have time for grief because he knew that an attack like this was only the beginning. It was OK to grieve for someone, Drovic thought if that grief did not cause him to share a grave with the dead. The village seemed to rally around these would-be adventurers. The villagers were even listening to the orders given out by Drovic.

The villager’s primary efforts were focused on trying to save those trapped in the half-destroyed buildings; it was pure chaos. Other villagers wandered around the village as if they belonged to the undead. They seemed lost as if trapped in a dream state. Drovic commanded a group towards the baker’s house to give him a hand. Within the moment, Drovic could slip into the town hall without a second look. Passed the young ranger as he dodged into the shadows.

It was very odd; as Jeremy pulled another body from the wreckage of another small village home, this victim was trapped under a shelf in which goblins had pulled down on top of the poor man’s legs and began to hack at him with their dull pointed blades. Jeremy took a deep breath, letting the cold morning air fill his lungs as he regained control of his emotions.

Turning to his left, Jeremy looked out from the broken kitchen window, noticing the broken glass inside the home. He guessed that was how the little goblin had found its way into this poor man’s house. Jeremy also noted that the family dog lay dead under the kitchen window, probably killed trying to protect the family, he guessed. His fist-shaking at his side, “Damn goblins, I know they hate dogs, but to go so far as to do this,” and a few droplets of blood fell towards the floor as he stood there in silence.

Jeremy finally managed to free the whole of the man from the wooden case. It was old man Jacob, the town roofer. As young as Jeremy was, he was close to his breaking point; barely able to stand, he willed himself to continue, and he began to drag the dead body into the street. He had done his part. Soon another villager would be by. Someone with a cart would come along and pick up all the bodies, wheel them out of town, and bring them to the growing graveyard. They were going to do a mass burial tonight. Jeremy, overcome by fatigue, sits down in the street, not caring about the mud and looks around at all the corpses and the destruction that happened one evening.

A deep sadness enters his voice, and he places his face in his hands, “Only person to benefit from all is the priest, too busy making coins by putting people’s souls to rest. Damn this, damn them.” At this moment, something seemed to snap in the young ranger’s heart: “I am going to make them pay.” He raised his head from his hands and clenched them into a fist so tight they became ghostly white, and his fingernails began pierce his skin. “A pack in blood this day, he whispered,” his eyes closing, “I will make them all pay.” With that, Jeremy lost consciousness, falling asleep in the mud and blood beside the body of Jacob.

A few hours or days passed, little did Jeremy know as he lay sleeping, propped up against the fence outside Jacob’s modestly tiny village home. He awoke but had neither the strength nor desire to stand. Depression seemed to sink into his heart just as he fell into the mud and blood in the street. The cuts in the palms of his hands seemed to have scabbed over.

A young woman with a ghostly look in her eyes walked past Jeremy. Tears had carved a pathway through the layers of blackened earth that caked her face. It was a void look of the walking dead, a shaman might say; a creature that had not realized that it was not long for this world but kept on moving. The life she had lived in this backwater village was peaceful. Never had she dreamed, not even in her darkest nightmares, that her life could be ripped apart so suddenly, brutally, and violently. Her long blonde hair seemed dyed black from the grit and grime she had faced.

Jeremy noticed other people passing by but had not mentally registered them until he saw this once young, hopeful and beautiful woman. He knew everyone in the village, and they knew him, but he could not place her in his mind’s eye. Jeremy saw that her once simple brown dress was now a darker hue. Streaked in what he could only guess was blood. Whose blood, he could only imagine; it didn’t seem to be hers. She did not seem to know or care where she was walking. From Jeremy’s perspective, she looked like a beautiful fallen angel. This young hero wanted nothing more than to save and protect her. He could feel that his resolve began to rise. He began to take a slow breath as his hunter’s training taught him to centre himself.

Finally, he looked past the girls beaten outside. The blood and dirt covered every part of her. He knew her. Just like every young lad in the village had. Her kind spirit, always helping others in town, and unending energy was the talk of many older women. Her beautiful smile and deep green eyes were the talks of the boys. It was the young miller’s daughter. A small smile crept up on the left side of Jeremy’s lips, a half-smile. A memory pulled its way out from the back of his mind.

Jeremy recalled the kindness she had shared with him. He remembered dancing with her at last fall’s harvest festival. Jeremy, always the outcast at such events, loved to see all the smiling faces and taste the fantastic food, but no one ever talked to him. All the other village children had their games and never included Jeremy. It did not bother Jeremy much because he still enjoyed the feeling of being part of the village, even if he did not dance or wrestle with the other boys. He never had the nerve to ask to join, but Jaclyn had come to him that night and dressed in this beautiful green outfit, with yellow leaf designs embroidered around the V of the neck. He thought to himself that she must have made it just for the festival, so she asked Jeremy to dance with her. He could not remember how long they danced, but it was the sweetest gesture of friendship he had had from his peers.

Jeremy began to rise, to rush over towards her, but he fell back into the dirt. Tears began to trickle down his face. He managed to get up. His legs were shaking like a newborn deer, covered in spots and trying to run, tripping over his own feet. He took about two steps forward and called out her name, reaching with his left hand. Will power be a fantastic thing? Jeremy thought of himself, but even that has its limits. He passed out into complete exhaustion, face-first into the street.

A few minutes later, he awoke again. He was back against the fence, lying on his back. His head was resting in Jaclyn’s lap. Her eyes were closed, and a smile was on her bloodied face. He smiled. She was an angel, he thought to himself and rested.

Jeremy was jolted awake when someone grabbed his leg about his boots and began pulling. Dragged him about six inches until Jeremy shouted in surprise and sat up. It turned out to be two men who grabbed his feet, one on each leg. They let him go, and Jeremy’s legs fell back onto the ground, and he clutched his racing chest as a jolt sent his heart into a panic. Three men were now standing beside a cart and laughing so hard their more enormous bellies began to jiggle.

Jeremy had fallen asleep beside the corpse of Jacob the Roofer, which he had pulled out from the building and covered in blood and dirt. He looked closer to the dead than the living, but he was with Jaclyn, but she was gone. Shock ran into his mind. Where had she gone? Or was it all just a dream? Jeremy had not had the wits to figure it out just yet.

The three men watched as Jeremy stumbled to his feet. One of the kinder corpse collectors went over to Jeremy and dusted him other off with friendly pats on the back. Jeremy’s body was so bruised and beaten from the past day’s events that the touch from the “meatier” man felt like a fist had slammed into his guts. However, Jeremy recognized the gesture of friendship intended as the man did not know how black and bruised parts of the young ranger were. Jeremy thanked the men for not burying him alive, and the four of them had a good laugh. After they enjoyed the laughter, Jeremy asked if they had seen the miller’s daughter, and the three men paused. The brief smiles on their faces soon turned to sadness. The man who dusted off Jeremy was the first to speak.

“She is no longer a young ranger. We found her dead down the road always.” He said with a mournful tone.

The man on his left explained, “I don’t know what killed her, and she had a strange look on her face.”

The third man was back on the cart and looked away from Jeremy, “The gods have left us this day if a peaceful, sweetheart like that one was taken away. Never hurt a soul that one.” Jeremy noticed the painful sadness in the man, who was trying his best to hide his emotions.

Jeremy cursed himself, was it a dream, or was the last thing she did was show him kindness. He decided he could do no more here; he had to find answers. Reaching up with his left hand and grabbing hold of the fence, he pulled himself onto his feet. His body seemed to move on its own. His conscious mind was not recognizing or giving orders to the rest of his body. He thought he would head home, fall into bed and sleep for the rest of his life.

The man on his left moved behind the cart and closed it, “We know what you did at the gate.” Taking a deep breath, “I am ashamed to say that we should not have wronged you all those years. I dare say you have changed my heart about your family. If you need anything, young ranger, you just ask.” The man said all this while looking Jeremy in the eyes and finished it with a nod.

“Here. Here,” said the man on top of the cart, getting the horse ready to travel down the road.

The man who patted him on the back smiled a massive grin, and Jeremy noticed he was missing his front teeth, which must have happened in the battle because Jeremy would have seen this before, stated to the group, “If you want, you could even marry my oldest daughter if you like.” With that, all four of them shared a light laugh.

“Get a hold of yourself, Greg, don’t punish the boy after he saved the whole village,” The man behind the cart shouted. This time Jeremy’s belly giggled with a deep laugh. Jeremy paused with a mix of sadness and joy as they started to leave. He was never shocked by how fast gossip travelled in a small village, but he was shocked to hear these men apologize to him in their way.

“Was he part of the village now,” he asked himself, not caring if no one was there to hear him. He started walking, thinking of heading home, but that was not where his feet seemed to take him. He walked straight towards the town hall. The area around the buildings had been cleared of all the dead invaders; the village was hard at work trying to patch what remained.

A massive pile of corpses of goblins sat in the city’s central square, and the murderous goblins were set ablaze. The smell was unbearable as Jeremy gagged in the toxic air, and he pulled a crimson scarf with a yellow leaf stitched on the bottom corner, a small token he was given by Jaclyn the night after their dancing, out of his side pouch, which he used to cover his face.

The air smelled like a mixture of burning pork and refuse. At the best of times, Goblins are vile, smelly creatures that like to live off the waste of other animals, whether their makeshift armour of old pots and pans or eating the dead raw. Jeremy thought that he never felt a goblin could smell worse than when it was alive, but he was wrong. He was thankful for the scarf.

Jeremy stood by the fire for a few minutes, staring deep into the oranges and yellows of the flames as they ate away at the green flesh colour of the dead monsters. The pots and other odds and ends that the goblins used as armour had turned bright red and looked to be losing their shape. The metal melts into globs. There was no shortage of fuel for the fire to use. Villagers were dropping cart loads of scrap timber from the damaged buildings in the fire. It had already been burning for hours. Jeremy felt rewarded for his hard work protecting the town, seeing the flesh burn away. The only thing the flames seemed to leave were the blackened bones of the creatures that attacked his home, his people, but he knew that the fire would soon eat away at those bones.

As he watched the villagers toss more and more onto the fire, he thought, “If the monsters had never come, then I would never have had to pull a dead family man out from his own home. I would never have seen that open face on our village’s most beautiful, kind soul.” He paused, taking a deep breath, “I would never have taken up arms and had to battle for my life.” At that moment, he never wanted to be just an ordinary boy, more than now, and not forced into manhood so soon. He would have happily lived as an outcast if it had brought back everyone.

Jeremy leaned his head back and cried to the heavens, “But it did happen, damn it, it happened.” He looked once more at the mass of dead burning in front of him, the heat was almost unbearable, but it seemed to fill his soul with this feeling of determination. He was a man now. He had to protect his people. He could stand there wishing this never happened or go dead inside, or he could use this fire. Let it fill his soul with a lust to protect and win, so this might never happen again. Protect the people like Jaclyn and Jacob. Looking at the cuts in his hand from his promise, he will never let this happen again.

He turned on the balls of his feet and walked straight into the town hall, not giving a damn that his body could give out at any minute or he still looked like waking dead. He was going to bring justice to the world. Even if he had to become the god of death himself, if he had to, he would do anything. He swore to his soul that he would get stronger no matter the cost. He was going to kill the evil at the heart of this land. That evil threatened his community. He might be the town’s black sheep, even if they were starting to accept him because they were the closest thing he had to family.

At that moment, the world turned grey before his very eyes. The workers froze in their spot as they dragged more bodies to the flames. He cast his gaze to the sky. The ravens that were fat from feasting were still in mid-flight. The colour began to drain around him. The world at first looked as if turned to ash. A second that felt like an hour passed by him changed his perspective even more. His eyes were telling him that the world was turning into blacks and whites. Shaking his head back and forth, he might rest for a while longer before hunting the forces of evil. It seemed like all of the time had stopped but for him.

Turning away from the town hall, he looked back to the fire. Hopeful to see those dancing yellows and reds. It, too, was frozen perfectly in place, like the look of pain on the young lady’s face. That moment was when he felt it. He was not a dream; this was not exhaustion. This feeling was not him losing his mind or his mind snapping and breaking into madness from all he had seen and done. He felt it in his heart, deep to the core of his being: to the nature of his heart, in his very soul.

It was a darkness that he had never felt before. This darkness seemed to drain even the exact colours of the world. It must have frozen time itself. It was a creature that no one could have imagined. At least he had never heard of it in the village and never seen signs of it during his time hunting in the woods. This being that lived alone unto itself would be coming for him, which was unthinkable for the young ranger. He felt as if the creature’s gaze drove holes into his very being, but he could not grasp or describe the being. How could you name a being that stood apart from the world? He turned back towards the town hall to find shelter inside, trying to hide from the darkness. When he turned, he did not turn towards the Merchant Hall. He felt a pull towards the city gate, or something called him. That is when the truth of reality sunk in for Jeremy. This was a figure of legends, and it had come for him.

“Greetings, warm blood. I enjoyed the show you put on today,” it hissed at Jeremy. The creature seemed to take shape the more Jeremy focused on it. It stood the same height as any man. He or she, he could not tell, carried a long wooden staff made from white wood, bleaching the colour of bone.

“I am not mad,” Jeremy whispered to himself; however, he thought it was odd. The being started to become more evident, and Jeremy could make out that the being was covered in a thick black robe, something a person might wear in the dead of winter to keep from freezing to death. The robe covered any points that would have revealed any flesh, making note that the robe even covered the being’s hands, even the hand holding the staff.

Too many thoughts raced into Jeremy’s mind at that point, and he began to blather. “What are you talking about? Who are you? What happened to the villagers? Where is all the colour?” Jeremy asked him with a puzzled face, at a complete loss as to what was happening.

“Today, your battle.” It paused, as if taking a moment, “It has been a long time since my last visit, but I have not seen a show like yours in ages.” If Jeremy had to name an emotion during that statement, a smile seemed to spread across its hooded face. “Oh, the last one must have been when young Elf, what was its name, the black-skinned elf, hmm,” pausing again, the air seemed to crackle during each breath, “no matter it was funny to watch that Elf struggle with that bear. I would not be surprised if he were somewhere in this town now. I do forget your warm blood.”

Jeremy stammered, still dumbfounded by what was happening, “A bear is in town now? Or are you talking about Eric and the bear? That is just a story that we are told.” Disbelief still slipped into his voice, “it is not possible. It cannot be real, and what elf?”

“Oh, yes, warm blood, it is authentic. Think Jeremy, what happened in this valley happened before, some five hundred years ago. Nothing more than a blink in the eye,” Jeremy was stunned to hear that his creature had been there when Eric had killed the bear to save his family. His great-grandchildren still claim that the bear rug in their family home is from that bear.

“Who are you?” Jeremy asked, collecting himself. If it wanted him dead, Jeremy was sure it would have done so by now.

“I am no one, honest. I have had many. I have been few. I have been far between. I have always been and will always be. If creatures live and die. Fight and dream. I will be there to see and record.” With that, the creature almost seemed to give off the aura of a shrug, if that was even possible. It went from madness to fear when it tried to laugh. Jeremy could hear, or more specifically feel, another deep hiss as if a snake attempted to laugh for the first time in its life. The sound sent a shiver up Jeremy’s spine.

“You must have caused all of this,” Jeremy gestures to the world around him, “Or at least played a role,” The being had whispered as the birds and villagers hung motionless in the village square. In a blink of a second, the creature went from the village gate to being beside him. It began to circle Jeremy as it talked.

“You assume I can control the world around you; you are foolish warm blood. All of you are the same. You need to give things names as if it will make you safe at night. Will giving the thing that will eat your bones a name make you any safer? I can assure you that I am not causing any of this. Or am I.” It laughed again. “What does a life mean, anyway?”

“Life is simple. It means to be good and to protect the ones you love.” Jeremy stood tall and proud, his chest puffing out with pride.

“What if protecting the ones you love means killing off a rival tribe because resources of game or water ran out. What if good for one is harmful to another.” Waving his hands out towards the goblins, “What if good for your tribe needed to do evil, so you are not killed or whipped out by far worse evil. How many people would kill or exploit another to save themselves or their loved ones.”

It walked over to the fire. “These goblins. They are an old race. Intelligent to some degree. Don’t they wish to be alive? What if they were forced into attacking? Attack or be crushed out of the face of this world.” Then walked back towards Jeremy, slowly, this is when Jeremy noticed that it wasn’t leaving any footprints in the mud, but when Jeremy moved, he did. Jeremy looked very puzzled at the stranger before him, the hooded man still slowly walking circles around him again. Watching the being closely and trying to take in each word, he noticed something odd: each step the hooded being took used the walking staff as a guide to finding its way.

Jeremy tried to speak up, “That is a hard question. I would like to think I would make the choice that would do the least amount of harm, but I would never do what these monsters did. They loved to torture and kill. You did not see what they did to poor Jacob. They hacked the trapped man to bits, for what? Nothing.”

“It looks to me that you and your village picked the way of least harm to yourselves. Not these green skins.” This hissing sound created an image in Jeremy’s mind of someone licking their lips.

“Look here, Sir. They would have killed us all if we did not fight back. We have every right to live. Every right to defend our lives, like any other creature, and if they try to take that from us,” Jeremy clenches his fist to end his point, “I will end them.”

“I think that is the first honest thing you have said about Warmbloods. Do you know why they attacked? Do you know why they put on such a show for you? Do you know why strangers are marching into your town more these days than before? The show is on. What part are you going to play?” With a clicking sound, similar to crickets. The hooded creature took a jumping step forward as if full of glee. As if dancing at a feast, to a strange beat that only it could hear.

“What are you talking about? Speak plainly or be gone with you. I have work to do.”

“Young Warmblood, always in a rush. A rush to the final act. I will tell you this young one. Be wary of what is under your feet.” With that, he smacked Jeremy across the face with his staff. Jeremy fell to the ground with a heavy thud, and the air rushed out of his lungs; he sat up in shock. Two hands were bracing his ankles, and he was being dragged away. He heard a faint whispered hiss on the wind, “Watch the path. I sure enjoy the show.”

“What are you to do, the path!” Jeremy stammered and realized he was back beside the corpse he had pulled out of the building. It was the three men from before loading the wagon.

“Relax, young man. We thought you were dead beside that other body. Besides poor Jacob there. You look near enough death, easy mistake.” Jeremy shook his head, crazy dreams, but as he passed the fire a second time this day, a question pushed its way into his mind. Was it a dream or something more; can dreams smell like burning flesh?