Call of Solitude

As the sun rose, I gathered the herbs that grew in the forest and wrapped them tightly. "I will stay here in the mountains," I said to my son, "and you can go sell these in the city." But he had been gone for too long, and worry began to gnaw at me. The sun had set, and he still hadn't returned.

My neglectful care during his childhood and the memory of the savage beast that had attacked our home and took his mother's life, leaving him with a missing left hand, weighed heavily on my conscience. They were the only reasons for my existence, along with the wooden toys I crafted. But after his mother's death, I couldn't bring myself to continue making them, except for the wooden prosthetic hand I made for my son.

With a heavy heart, I left the house and saw the smoke rising towards the city, making me more anxious. When I arrived, it was too late. A blue dragon flew across the sky, raining fire upon Splicer and destroying everything in its path. As I stumbled through the city's ruins, my heart raced. People were running around, either searching for someone or trying to save themselves from the dragon's wrath. Finally, I arrived at the shop where my son was supposed to be, but it was burnt to the ground, and there was no sign of him.

I searched frantically through the rubble, but found nothing... until I saw it, his wooden hand. It was burned beyond recognition, but I knew it was his. Still, my heart refused to accept it. I felt like this was all just a bad dream, a lie, and he would soon wake me up and bring me out of this nightmare. But it wasn't so. His prosthetic hand and the other remnants were still there, sitting beside the ashes.

On the way back, I saw a boy with black hair lying on the ground. Apparently, he had been attacked by wolves under the full moon's light and was badly injured. He begged for help in a weak voice, and I assisted him as best as I could. His left hand was severely injured, and it was bleeding heavily. I gave him some of the medicinal herbs to ease his pain, but nothing could be done about his wooden prosthetic hand.

His left eye was purple, like a dragon's eye, and his right eye was red. Although his eyes were beautiful, I could see the despair and anguish in them. After tending to him, I sat beside him and spoke about my son and all that had happened. Even though he was unconscious, it felt good to have someone listen to me. Maybe it was just the loneliness that was talking. I don't know - but after that, I felt a little better.