Chapter 15: The Calling of the Ruins.

The weak morning light was already sneaking through the cracks in the window, bringing with it the lingering warmth of a dream about his dad. Leonard woke up with a ghost of a smile on his lips, his heart feeling strangely full.

But the warmth faded as soon as he opened his eyes to the cold, empty room. The dream-joy fizzled out, leaving him with a hollow ache in its place. His body may have been rested, but his mind was still struggling with all those unsolved questions as he climbed out of the straw bed.

After sprinkling some water on his face to dispel the cobwebs, he made his way downstairs. The tavern was practically deserted now, just a few other travelers getting ready to head out. He could see the worry etched on their faces, the apprehension in their eyes. Guess everyone feels the weight of the Leirion threat these days.

Leonard grabbed an empty table and ordered some breakfast. As he ate, he watched the other travelers, wondering where they were going and what stories they carried with them. The tavern was tense and quiet, a reflection of the uncertainty that hung over Humbra.

He paid his fifteen silver coins, finished his breakfast, and left. The sun was up in the morning, but it was struggling to get through the clouds. The scent of rain and damp earth filled the air. It was looking like a storm would come soon.

As he approached the caravan, he could not tell if the twisting in his stomach was fear or anxiety. Besen. Returning there meant confronting his past's specters, the agonizing memories, and the unsolved mysteries. But maybe, just maybe, it also meant finding some answers, finally figuring out his story and who he was meant to be.

He climbed onto the wagon and settled down, his gaze drifting towards the horizon. Whatever waited for him in Besen, he was ready to face it. He'd face it with the same courage and stubbornness he'd gotten from his parents.

Soon enough, the caravan was ready to go, and they set off for Besen. The journey was smooth, thankfully. No surprises. Leonard sent a silent thank you to the Seven Gods of Humbra for that small mercy.

As he approached the old village of Besen, the landscape began to take shape in his mind, and a memory emerged from his past, vivid and colorful.

He pictured himself as a child, sprinting across the golden fields that encircled Besen outside the platform, heading for the ancient oak tree where Mia was waiting for him.

 ***

The sun began its descent behind the hills, painting the sky with a lovely blend of orange and lilac hues. Ten-year-old Leonard ran eagerly toward the oak tree, his heart racing as he looked for Mia.

She had asked him to bring her some fish for a "special guest," and Leonard could not help but wonder who it could be.

As he reached the oak tree, he noticed Mia nestled comfortably in its shade, her blond hair softly glimmering in the warm, fading light. She cradled a tiny bundle in her arms, which stirred softly and let out a gentle meow.

"Leonard!" exclaimed Mia, with a big smile. "You came!"

"Of course I came," replied Leonard, a little embarrassed. "What do you have there?"

"A kitten!" said Mia, carefully unwrapping the bundle. "I found it abandoned near the stream. It was so thin and hungry."

The kitten, small and weak, meowed and rubbed against Mia, seeking affection. Leonard, his heart melted by the scene, approached to get a better look.

"He's beautiful," said Leonard, enchanted by the little creature.

"I know!" agreed Mia, her eyes shining. "But he needs to eat. Did you bring the fish?"

Leonard nodded and handed the fish to Mia. She carefully opened it and began to feed the kitten, which ate voraciously.

"Can you hold him for me?" Mia asked, handing the kitten to Leonard.

Leonard, a little nervous, took the kitten in his arms. The little creature nestled in his lap, purring softly. Leonard smiled, feeling a wave of affection for the small feline.

"He was abandoned," observed Leonard, sadness in his voice.

"He wasn't," corrected Mia, with a mysterious look. "He was waiting for us."

Leonard looked at her curiously. "Waiting for us?"

"Yes," confirmed Mia, with a subtle smile. "He knew we would find him and help him."

Leonard didn't quite understand what Mia meant, but he decided not to question it. He was focused on calming the kitten, which seemed increasingly comfortable in his arms.

Mia, while petting the kitten, began to weave a crown of wildflowers. When she finished, she gently placed it on Leonard's head.

"For my prince, the Great Leonard!" she said, with a cheerful laugh and a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Leonard experienced a warm flush on his cheeks, blending feelings of embarrassment and joy, as a shy smile started to form. Being beside Mia made him feel unique, as if she recognized something in him that others overlooked.

"Thank you, Mia," replied Leonard, his voice low and tender.

The kitten, now calmer, began to play with Leonard's fingers. Mia watched the scene with affection.

"You would make a great father, Leonard," she said with a dreamy smile.

Leonard blushed even more, but his heart filled with a confused joy. He didn't quite understand what Mia meant, but he liked the idea of being seen as someone responsible and protective.

 ***

Leonard sighed, and a tear escaped his eyes. The memory of Mia was so vivid, so real. He could almost smell the wildflowers and the soft fur of the kitten.

But Mia was dead, as were his parents. The pain of loss was still strong, but now it was mixed with the determination to honor their memory.

He continued his journey to Besen on foot, as the caravan had taken a different route, holding onto the memories of the past.

As the sun sank beneath the horizon, he finally arrived after much anticipation. The sight in front of him made his heart sink. Besen was in ruins.

The wooden houses, once home to many families, now stand in ruins, transformed into piles of debris and ash. The once lively and busy platform now feels abandoned, with gaps and broken boards telling a story of neglect.

One of the bridges had completely fallen apart, and the other, the north bridge, where he had escaped with his mother, was in a shaky state, with several planks gone and others decaying.

Leo stopped at the edge of Lake Zafir; his breath caught in his throat. The emptiness of the location hit hard, leaving a profound impact. He gulped, a tightness rising in his throat. He needed to be strong. He needed to enter the village.

With hesitant steps, he approached the north bridge. The wooden planks, deteriorated by time and neglect, creaked and groaned under his feet.

He could see the dark water of Lake Zafir below through the cracks and holes in the wood. As Leo moved forward, the bridge trembled precariously beneath him, and the sharp crack of splintering wood resonated all around.

In the middle of the crossing, a rotten plank gave way under his weight. Leo cried out as his foot plunged through, and he lost his balance, desperately clinging to the side ropes of the bridge, which were now loose and worn.

For a moment, he hung over the abyss, the cold wind from the lake whipping at his face. Below him, the dark water of Lake Zafir seemed to beckon him, an invitation to oblivion.

With an effort he didn't know he possessed, Leo pushed himself upward, using his arm strength to hoist himself back onto the bridge.

His heart raced, and his hands shook. He crawled a bit further until he finally reached the other side, where he fell to the ground, breathing heavily and trembling.

Once Leo regained his composure and steadied his breathing, he rose to his feet and surveyed the village. The wooden platform, which used to be lively and colorful, now lay in decay.

Ravaged homes, rubble strewn all around, and an eerie stillness enveloped the surroundings. However, there was something strange.

Amidst the destruction, he noticed signs of recent activity. Extinguished fires, but still with embers, fresh footprints in the mud, and leftover food. It wasn't gnolls. It was humans.

"Thieves," he thought, a bitter taste rising in his mouth. "Vultures taking advantage of our misfortune."

Leo crept through the ruins, cautious. Every shadow seemed to hide danger; every noise made him jump. His heart pounded as he approached his old house.

His childhood home was in ruins. He searched through the debris, a mixture of pain and hope with every board removed.

He needed to find something, anything, that connected him to his past. Finally, in a hidden corner, under a fallen beam, he found it.

The letter to Mia. Crumpled, dirty, but whole. He kept it in his pocket, close to his chest, as if that could somehow protect it, protect Mia's memory. It was a promise he never made, a confession that had never been read.

Leo walked around the base of the old watchtower, now in ruins. His eyes fixed on a circular wooden structure, partially hidden by vegetation. It was the water reservoir, the place where...

He stood still, a sudden ache stabbing at his heart. Memories surged within him, sharp and haunting: the scent of damp timber, the oppressive gloom, his mother's frail voice, the heaviness of her form in his embrace, and the stench of decay.

He approached hesitantly. The wood was rotten and covered in moss. The small elevator, now just a broken platform, hung precariously in the center.

Leo closed his eyes, trying to push the images away, but it was useless. The pain of loss, the guilt for having survived—it all came back in full force.

A sob escaped his lips. He dropped to his knees, his fingers clutching the rim of the well, as if searching for a strength that had vanished.

"Mom…" he murmured, his voice thick with feeling. A silent lament in the funereal quiet of the ghost village.

Leo made his way to the village cemetery, established by Roland's guards on the riverbank after the tragedy. This time, he crossed the bridge with extreme caution. The graves of his father and Mia were there, simple but marked with stones and dried flowers.

He kneeled before them, the words of a silent prayer forming on his lips. He didn't know which god he was praying to, if he still believed in any, but he needed to believe that his parents and Mia were in a better place, far from pain and suffering.

The sun was setting as Leo left the cemetery. The shadows lengthened, and the village seemed even more frightening in the twilight. He decided to spend the night there, amidst the ruins of his old home.

Sleeping there, among the memories, was a way of saying goodbye and accepting the past, however painful it might be. Leo wanted to feel all the repressed emotions and all the possible pain to be able to bury his past and move on with his life without remorse.

He settled in a corner that used to be his bedroom. He shut his eyes, attempting to block out the nighttime sounds—the whispering wind through the trees and the groaning of precarious buildings.

Suddenly, a different sound. Footsteps. And voices. Leo jumped up, swords in hand. He heard whispers coming from outside.

He approached the entrance of the ruined house, his heart pounding. Were they the looters? Or something worse?

Leo peered through the cracks of the ruined house.

The whispers intensified, and Leo realized they weren't just the sounds of the ruined village. They were human voices, rough and impatient.

"Yo, you sure 'bout this, man? Ain't no one here, not a damn soul," growled a voice, too close for comfort.

"Hell yeah, there was someone here. The fire's still smokin', and check this out, man," another replied.

A silence. Then: "Someone's been messin' with that crib over there. Musta been here recently, yo."

Leo felt a shiver run down his spine. They were talking about him.

"They musta heard us comin', man," a gruff voice added. "Fuckin' rats... Sniffin' around for gold where there ain't nothin' but shit."

The leader, a hulking dude with a scraggly beard and a nasty-lookin' eye patch, glared into the shadows. "Find that punk," he growled. "Fan out, boys. I want that little snitch outta his hole."

Leo swallowed hard, his heart pounding. He shrank further against the wall, trying to blend into the shadows.

The bandits' footsteps approached, cautious, methodical. They were everywhere, sniffing, searching.

It was a sick game of hide and seek, and he was the prey. He needed to get out of there.

Looking around, Leo saw a broken window at the back of the house—a narrow chance to escape.

He crawled backward, each movement a silent agony, and slipped through the opening, feeling the shards of glass tear at his clothes.

As soon as he got out, he heard a shout, "There he is! Gotcha now, you little bitch... Get him!"