A faint knock echoed through the room.
It wasn't enough to wake the whole family, but it was enough to stir the little girl.
"Sasha, wake up," a woman whispered. "Go down to the bakery and grab some bread before it's gone."
The girl rubbed her eyes and slowly sat up. Her bed, made out of straw, left scratch marks against her arms. She looked around the small room—the walls were cracked, the air smelled faintly of smoke and dirt. Morning light bled through the gaps in the wooden planks.
"Yes, mother…" she mumbled, tying her frayed cloak around her shoulders.
***
Outside, the streets of Historia were quiet. The wind rolled dust across the cobblestones, carrying the faint cries of merchants trying to sell what little they had. The town was small—barely a dozen homes, a few stands, and one well in the center square. Everything looked tired, like the people who lived there.
Sasha walked down the road, her bare feet kicking up small clouds of dirt. The cold bit at her ankles.
The bread stand wasn't far—a rickety booth made from old lumber and patched cloth. The smell of burnt crust filled the air. Two familiar faces were behind the counter: Old Bram and his wife, Mila. They had been running that same stand for as long as Sasha could remember.
"Morning, Sasha," Bram said with a weary smile. "You're up early."
Sasha smiled softly. "Mom said to grab some bread before everyone else comes."
Bram nodded and turned to cut a small loaf. But then, before he could hand it over, heavy boots echoed from up the road.
Three men. Each one wore dark coats with metal insignias pinned to their chests—collectors from Vern, the neighboring town. They were taller, cleaner, and carried themselves like they owned everything they looked at.
"Well, well," the tallest one said, smirking. "Still selling bread, old man? I thought you paid your dues last week."
Bram's smile faded. "Please, sir… I paid what I could. Business has been—"
BAM!
One of the men kicked over the wooden stand. The loaves of bread scattered onto the dirt. Mila cried out and tried to pick them up, but another man stomped down on a loaf, grinding it into the ground.
Sasha froze. Her fists clenched.
"Stop it!" she shouted.
The tallest collector turned his gaze toward her. "Look at this!" He grinned and knelt down so his eyes met hers. "A little girl acting like a hero. How f*cking hiilarous."
The man stood up and turned away, laughing with the others as they walked down the street, leaving a trail of crushed bread and silence behind them.
Sasha knelt beside Bram, helping him pick up what little was left. His hands trembled.
"Don't worry about it, Sasha," Bram said softly. "They're just cowards. Sucking up to their no good boss. God will punish them all, one day."
Sasha looked down at the broken loaves in her hands.
"…Yes," she whispered. "He will."
***
That night, Sasha couldn't sleep.
The air felt heavier than usual. The wind outside wasn't gentle—it howled.
Then she heard it.
Her mother's voice.
"Sasha, wake up!"
Sasha shot up from her bed. Her father was by the door, shouting something she couldn't understand. Smoke poured into the room. The air burned her lungs.
"The house—! It's on fire!" her mother screamed.
Sasha's heart started racing. She stumbled out of bed, coughing, her eyes stinging from the smoke. Her father grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her toward the door.
"Where are Ryn and Lila!?" Sasha cried. Her brother and sister's rooms were empty—beds still warm.
"They're gone!" her mother said, voice breaking as tears fell down her face. "The fire got to them!"
They burst through the door and into the night.
The streets of Historia were chaos.
Flames tore through the rooftops. People screamed as houses collapsed in showers of sparks. Through the smoke, Sasha could see dark figures moving—men in the same long coats and insignias as the collectors from Vern. The men carried torches and blades, cutting down anyone who ran.
Sasha froze.
It wasn't random.
They were burning the town on purpose.
Her father pushed her forward. "Don't stop! We have to g—!"
Then came the sound.
A crack.
The roof groaned above them.
Sasha turned just in time to see a burning beam falling from the ceiling.
"Dad—!"
Her father turned, pushing Sasha away as the beam collapsed.
Then the world suddenly became black.
***
When Sasha opened her eyes again, the world was quiet.
Too quiet.
The air smelled like ash. Her throat felt dry. She tried to sit up but her body screamed in pain.
Then she saw them.
Her parents—lying under the collapsed beam, unmoving. Their skin, burnt.
"...Mom?"
No answer.
Her voice broke into a sob. "Dad?"
She crawled toward them, trembling hands reaching out. But the heat around them was unbearable. Flames still licked at what was left of their home. She backed away, tears cutting through the soot on her cheeks.
"Little girl!"
A voice cut through the crackling flames. She turned to see a group of people—men and women in worn cloaks, faces covered with cloth. One of them ran forward and lifted her up.
"We're from the next town over! You're safe now—come on!"
Safe.
The word didn't mean anything.
They carried her away, through the smoke, past the bodies, past the ruins that used to be her home. Everyone had died in that fire. Sasha was the only survivor.
Historia was nothing but fire and bone now. Even the church at the edge of town had collapsed, its bell lying cracked in the street.
Sasha didn't look back.
Hours later, Sasha sat by a river near the border of Vern, wrapped in a blanket someone had given her. The moon hung high, its light reflecting off the water. The others whispered among themselves, trying to plan what to do next.
She just sat there.
Silent.
Empty.
The image of the collectors laughing played over and over in her head.
Bram's stand crushed.
Her parents screaming.
The burning sky.
She clenched her fists until her nails dug into her skin.
"God will punish them," Bram had said.
But He hadn't.
The river wind blew gently against her face. She looked up at the night sky, eyes hollow.
If God won't punish them…
Then I will.
Sasha stood. Her legs were still shaking, but her eyes burned with something new. A spark.
Not of hope.
But of vengeance.
The others called her name, but she didn't respond. She looked back toward the smoke rising in the distance—the ashes of Historia. Her home. Her family. Everything.
And she made her vow.
"I swear to god," she whispered, "I'm going to kill every last one of them!"
The wind carried her voice away, lost among the trees and the sound of the dying fire.
That night, Historia ceased to exist.
But from its ashes, something else was born.
Sasha didn't know it yet—but the tower remembers names like hers.
And one day, it would call for her too.