Chapter Seven
The ruins of Oakhaven lay silent for two days. Kael did not move far from his mother's side. He cried until his voice broke, clutched the pendant until it cut into his palm, and drifted in and out of shallow sleep.
His stomach ached with hunger, but he had no strength to search for food. He was only ten, and the world had already taken everything from him.
It was around noon on the second day that the silence finally broke.
The wooden wheels of Hendrik's wagon groaned in the distance. It was a lonely, creaking sound that didn't belong in this dead place.
"Strange," he muttered to his horse. "Usually, the wood-cutters are halfway through an oak by this hour. It's too quiet, girl."
As they rounded the final bend in the merchant's path—the one that usually revealed the sturdy wooden gates of Oakhaven—Hendrik pulled the reins so hard the horse let out a startled whinny.
The road didn't lead to a gate anymore. It led to a wall of nightmares.
A massive, jagged mound of debris blocked the way, rising twenty feet into the air. It looked as if a giant hand had swept the entire village across the earth and slammed it against the ancient boundary wall.
He saw the splintered remains of the tavern sign, a crushed weaving loom, and the familiar blue shutters of the apothecary—all mangled together in a heap of wood and stone.
"No," Hendrik breathed, his face draining of color. "No, no, no…"
He scrambled off the wagon, his boots hitting the dirt with a hollow thud. He ran to the pile, clawing at a piece of broken timber, but the sheer weight of the wreckage was immovable. Desperation took hold.
He began to climb, his hands getting sliced by jagged splinters and shattered glass. He reached the top of the debris, standing precariously on the rim of the stone boundary wall, and looked down into what should have been Oakhaven.
His breath hitched. He felt like his stomach would drop into his boots. There was no village. There was only a hole. A gargantuan, circular crater had replaced everything.
The earth was raw, scorched to a bruised brown, stretching for hundreds of yards in a perfect, terrifying bowl.
Every cottage, every tree, every life he had known for years had been erased, leaving behind a silence so heavy it felt like a physical weight pressing against his eardrums.
"Lyanna!" he screamed, his voice cracking and small against the vastness. "Is anyone there?!"
He stood there for minutes, a lone figure atop a mountain of ruins, shouting names until his throat burned. The wind didn't even echo back.
From the top of the ruins, Hendrik saw two small shapes far away, huddled against the tall stone boundary wall on the other side.
"HEY!" Hendrik shouted as loud as he could. He waited, but they stayed still.
Hendrik scrambled down the steep slope. When he reached the bottom, he started to run. It was a hard, slow run. Gray dust flew up into the air, stinging his eyes. He pulled his shirt over his nose to breathe, his legs aching as he panted for air.
He finally reached them and stopped, his body shaking. He dropped to one knee. Lyanna was leaning against the crater wall in a pool of blood. Her left hand was mangled. A jagged, dark hole sat in her chest. He didn't reach for her. He could see she was gone.
Who could have done this? he thought. What kind of monster could do this to her?
Then he looked at Kael. The boy was tucked under Lyanna's right arm. The dark hair Hendrik remembered was gone. Now, his hair was silver. Hendrik touched Kael's face. He was still warm.
"Kael?" Hendrik whispered. He gently pulled the boy out from under Lyanna's cold arm. "Wake up! It's me!"
Kael didn't move. His head fell back, his eyes shut. He was completely unresponsive.
Hendrik stood up, carrying Kael all the way back across the crater to his wagon. He laid the boy down safely on soft cloth. Then, he turned back. He went all the way back down into the hole to get Lyanna.
He carried her body up to the edge of the village. He spent a long time gathering heavy stones, piling them over her until she was covered. Hendrik stood over the pile, his hands bleeding and his face wet with tears. He laid a hand on the top stone.
"I have him, Lyanna," he whispered. "Rest now. You don't have to carry the world anymore. Just... sleep."
He stayed for a moment, then walked back to his wagon. He picked up the reins and started the long drive to Stormholm City.
The night was deep and painted in ink-black, lit only by the lonely swaying of the wagon's external lamps.
Hendrik leaned his head back against the wooden frame of his wagon, his eyes fluttering shut. The constant creak-thud of the wheels had become a dull roar in his ears. His shoulders ached with a heavy fire, and his palms were raw, still stained with the dark earth from the crater.
Every time he closed his eyes, he didn't just see the road, he saw the pile of stones he had built in the dark. He felt the cold wind of Oakhaven biting at his neck.
He was just a merchant, used to worrying about coin and silk, not the weight of a dead friend and a broken boy.
A shaky breath escaped him. He wiped a hand over his face, feeling the grit of ash. He was exhausted in his very soul. He wanted to stop and sleep for a week, but he knew he couldn't.
Then, a small, weak groan came from the back.
Hendrik's exhaustion snapped into focus. "Easy, girl. Easy," he called to his horse, pulling the reins until the wagon hissed to a stop in the middle of the dark road.
He scrambled back through the front opening, his boots thudding on the floorboards. He fumbled for the hanging lantern and struck a flint. The small flame grew, casting long shadows over the crates and cloth.
Kael was awake. His eyes were open, but they looked like glass.
"I've got you, Kael. You're safe," Hendrik whispered. He reached for his waterskin, cradling the boy's head. "Drink this. Small sips, lad."
Kael swallowed weakly. Water spilled down his chin, and Hendrik wiped it away, his chest tightening. Hendrik turned to the storage barrels, his hands frantic.
He dug deep into a crate until his fingers brushed something firm. He pulled out a shriveled apple—the last of his food.
He exhaled in relief. "Look here, Kael. Eat this. It'll give you strength."
As Kael leaned forward, a lock of his hair fell in front of his face. It was no longer dark. It was a pale, ghostly silver.
Kael stopped, reached out a trembling hand and touched the strand. He held it between his fingers, looking at it with a blank, puzzled stare.
He just looked at the strange color for a long moment, as if it belonged to someone else. But the hair wasn't his main concern.
He let the strand go and looked up at Hendrik.
"Hendrik," the boy croaked, his voice thin. "My mother... what did you do with her?"
Hendrik felt the air leave his lungs for a second. His face went pale, and his grip on the apple tightened. He couldn't look Kael in the eye.
He turned his head away, staring at a dark corner of the wagon as his throat went dry.
He let out a faint, shaky exhale, but he couldn't bring himself to tell the truth.
"Rest now, Kael," Hendrik managed to say, his voice thick and low. He still wouldn't look at the boy.
He simply placed a gentle hand on Kael's shoulder and guided him back down toward the pillow. "Everything is going to be alright. Just sleep."
Kael didn't push for an answer. He lay back down, his eyes turning away as he slipped back into the shadows of sleep.
Hendrik watched him for a long time, then blew out the lantern. He sat in the pitch-black silence for a minute before climbing back to the driver's seat to face the long night ahead
The wagon creaked on through the night. Little by little, the quiet woods gave way. On the horizon, a cold gray light started to spread.