Alz gently scooped the bones up with his arms and walked away in the direction of his home, leaving behind the six fresh carcasses which were spreading the scent of blood in the air.

He strolled along the path in his memories with the bones held by his chest in a gentle embrace as he slowly recounted his experience in the past five years, talking about any interesting things at length while glossing over the dangers within, as though he was strolling with his parents.

He tried to appear happy with a smile on his face, but his slightly breaking voice and the never-ending stream of tears which rolled down his cheeks betrayed his true emotions as he reported his experiences to his parents, hoping to put their souls at ease.

This scene could have only been described as bizarre by any onlooker, as a lone elf slowly strolled with a smile on his face, but tears flowing down his cheeks, talking to bones he held in his chest played out in the fourth village.

However, the world reflected in Alz’s mind was different. He felt like his parents were by his side, gently holding onto his hands as they silently listened to his experiences with a loving smile on their faces.

Alz suddenly started to slow down, as though his feet suddenly became heavier and his tears started to drip faster, but he still moved forward, one step as a time, finally coming to a stop before a hut which was damaged by claw marks all over.

His parents were becoming fainter with each step he took, finally disappearing entirely when he had arrived at the hut, putting an end to his delusions.

He silently stood before the entrance, his eyes staring blankly into the space before him. When about fifteen minutes had passed, he finally started moving again, walking slowly into the hut.

He carefully placed the bones down by the side and squatted down, removing his stone dagger from its sheath, preparing to dig a hole in the ground of the hut.

The Calla tribe believed that spirits of fallen elves rested in their bones. The would remain within, watching over their surroundings until they were called by the Mother Elf, when they would be purified and given a new lease of life.

Alz had been told this story many times in his younger days, but he had never felt too strongly about it. Furthermore, his perceptions towards life and death had changed drastically over the past five years, as he learned more about life and its origins from the books in the archive.

However, at this moment, he chose to believe in it with all his heart. He casted away the doubts he had and solemnly and sincerely prayed, for the blessings of the Mother Elf to descend on his parents, for them to be able to live a good life after.

His mind focused on praying while his body repeated the experienced motions of stabbing and scooping, causing the hole to gradually widen and deepen. After several minutes of digging, Alz’s hands finally slowed to a halt as he looked down at the large hole before him.

“Thank you.”

Soft words of gratitude escaped from his lips in a hoarse voice, two words which had many meanings behind. He had uttered many words today, but none were as heavy as these last two. These words did not just contain his feelings of gratitude, they also carried a heavy resolve, words that signalled a farewell that was likely to be eternal.

Alz knew that this was probably the first and last time he would be here. He would be leaving the village, the tribe and even the forest after this, setting off to explore the vast world. This was what he had decided on that fateful day about five years ago, the dream that he had obtained which drove him to live on.

The moment he buried the bones would be the moment he lost his last bit of attachment to this forest, the moment when the final bindings he had on his heart would break. He had feelings for the tribe, but they were not strong enough to bind him.

In fact, he even held a mild resentment towards the tribe. He knew that his resentment was unjustified, he understood the reasons behind the traditions and how they protected the entire tribe. Hence, he did not blame the tribe.

He hated the wolves, but he did not hate his tribe as what they did was right. The tribe had to be split, and many lives were saved by that. He had no right to judge the decisions made by the council, much less when he was powerless to provide an alternative solution.

However, emotions were complex, and they didn’t always follow the mind, much less for a child like him. He knew, he understood, and he accepted, but his heart had drifted away from the tribe as he did so. These were the feeling he held in his heart, feelings which contributed to his resolve in leaving the forest.

Alz carefully picked up each piece of bone, laying them down gently in the hole one at a time. His tears began to flow again, but the meaning behind it had changed.

The tears before were tears of sadness, of grief, of remembrance to the happy times they spent in the past, tears shed while looking towards the past.

The tears that currently flowed were tears of an unwillingness to part, tears containing the uncertainty of a hatchling that was leaving its nest, tears shed while looking towards the future.

The air in the hut stood still, as the young elf gently picked up pieces of bone and carefully placed each piece into the hole before it one at a time. The task which would have normally been done in seconds lasted about five minutes before it finally concluded.

Alz gave looked into the hole one last time before he started to cover it. This time, it finished in under a minute and Alz slowly rose from his position, standing before the grave. His tears no longer flowed, his gaze was clear, and his eyes burning with resolve.

He slowly turned around and exited the hut. His heart felt lighter than before, as though he left a piece of him behind as he walked out the entrance. The bits of doubt and hesitation that clouded his mind cleared away and his heart started pounding with excitement as he began to imagine the world that lay beyond the forest.

Just as he was about to proceed back to where he left the wolf carcasses, he suddenly heard the sound of a footstep coming from the side.

He reflexively reached out for his crossbow, but quickly relaxed his stance when he heard the footsteps a second time instead revealing a puzzled face as he thought “Hmm?”

He had initially thought that there were wolves approaching, but when he heard the footsteps a second time, he immediately knew that it was not the case as the footsteps sounded distinctly different from those of a wolf.

He paused for a moment in thought. He had a good guess as to what was making the footsteps as there really weren’t many other possibilities. After a few moments, he shook his head slightly and continued moving towards the wolf carcasses, except that this time, his footsteps were noticeably louder than before.

Polon closely followed beside behind Blain as they made their way to the fourth village. As they moved along the path, Polon suddenly recalled the two times he had travelled along this path in the past.

The first was when his friends were still around, a once happy memory that was now a source of pain and misery in his heart, making him breathless from the pain each time he recalled it since he returned.

He still remembered the helpless looks on his friends’ faces as they tried to tell the dumb him the things that were mentioned in the lecture before as he dozed off, the pranks he played on his three friends during the breaks they had in the trip and the smiles and laughs they shared.

Then came the second time, a journey that could be said to have been the polar opposite of first. Many had fallen before his eyes, including one of his best friends, Link. The group kept becoming smaller with each stretch of the journey, until only the three of them were left, a memory of dread and despair.

All he ever wished for was for things to remain like they were in the first trip, but even that was no longer possible. He was currently passing through this path for a third time now, two times too many for his liking. He planned on making this his last, with no possibility left for a fourth.

The journey which had taken him weeks in the past only took a day this time and the group of 20 soon found themselves before the fourth village, or rather, what was left of it.

The expressions of the group hardened as they looked at the state of the village. Polon clenched his fists so hard that blood started dripping from it as it shook uncontrollably.

They had left the village during the earlier stages of the attack before, or they wouldn’t have been able to leave at all. So, this was the first time he saw the state of the fourth village after the attacks.

The sight before him tore his heart apart. His heart started pounding faster and his breathing became more ragged as he desperately resisted his urge to shout out loudly and charge into the village, slaughtering every wolf that remained.

Several moments later, he stomped his feet on the ground to vent some of his frustrations before his head finally cooled off and he slowly released the grip on his hand. He closed his eyes for a second before opening it, revealing bloodshot eyes which overflowed with murderous intent as he stared at the village.