Aeoryi

I ran my hand down the shaft of the pike once again. It was made of this strange, silvery metal that glimmered blue in the sunlight, and was fairly light.

It had rectangular, rigid edges, and was the height of my shoulder when planted against the ground. The actual blade part of the pike was more like a spearhead with a hole in the center, making it appear as if it were two prongs.

I was sitting down, probably by the charred willow- which used to be one of the oldest trees in the town that the local owners donated to the town altogether because of the amount of children that wanted to climb it- and looked through what I had gleaned from the nearby houses. 

Surprisingly, the stone foundations lay unaffected by the inferno of yesterday, which prompted me into checking some of the basements. While most normal houses didn't have a basement, some did, and used it for storage. As far as I could tell, there was actually no one left alive to really want these food things, and so I assumed it was justified.

I had about a half sac of food, and opened it. Most of it was raw vegetables, meat, or fruit, but occasionally there was also water. Of course, all of these supplies were fairly rare, so I tried to pace myself.

As I nibbled on the edge of an apple, I looked up at the mountains surrounding my destroyed town. The entire town was nestled in a massive alpine bowl, making it relatively difficult to leave the town and come to it without preparation, which was why I was confused about what Garudak had said, and why he had come.

Perhaps he just came here to start his empire? I thought, but then why murder everyone here?

I still hated him.

I could remember the words he said, what the color of the leaves on the trees were, what the blade he used was made of, heck, I could probably even time how long it took. I was never forgetting that memory. No matter how much I hated witnessing it again, I knew it was my job to regret and revere those memories.

Perhaps that was why I turned the sadness into anger, and the anger into hatred. Hatred for Garudak, and his influence. I hated him for his quest, and his ulterior motives. I hated him for the grief and cataclysm he had caused.

The wood, or at least, what remained of it, was blackened like my emotions. Most of the traces of the fire were gone now, and a thin layer of autumn leaves covered up the egregious act.

I missed Arasi. My childhood friend, who would always find the good in things. I ripped apart a leaf with my pike to distract me from the inside conflict of never being able to see my friend again.

“Live your life,” he would've said, “Because I ain't going to live it for you.”

Oh how I missed him. 

I kindled a fire later that day, when the sun was going to finish it's duty for the day, in remembrance of him.

I can't believe I missed so many people. Corpses weren't common among flames. Many had been incinerated, or burnt in the original combat.

I planted my pike upward in the ground, and then rubbed my hands together to keep them warm and then I let my thoughts wander.

Parts of me wanted to recount that gruesome tale, but I avoided it. Remorse was for another time.

Instead, I ended up dreaming of memories from my childhood in a place now erased from the scorched earth.

Save me Arasi, I thought, imagining my only friend, You always knew better than me.

And certainly he did, because he was the one who woke me up the next morning.