Walking onto the spark

The moment they stepped outside, the full scale of the chaos hit them like a slap to the face.

The first thing they noticed—before the screaming, before the shouts, before the pounding of frantic feet against the dirt—was the fire. Further north in the settlement, flames licked hungrily at the wooden structures, their glow painting the night in flickering shades of orange and red.

Smoke billowed high into the sky, twisting and curling like a living thing, carrying with it the acrid scent of burning wood, flesh, and whatever else had been caught in its wake.

 The air was thick with the sound of chaos—frenzied shouting in a tongue most of them barely understood, the wails of women, the guttural bellows of men, and somewhere in the distance, the distinct crash of something heavy collapsing into the flames.