Chapter 12: Harlenor in Flames

The next few days passed quietly, the caravan continuing its journey through the Riverlands without incident. Merchants chatted animatedly about the profits to be made, their spirits buoyed by peaceful travel. Even the children seemed more lively, chasing each other near the wagons under the watchful eyes of their parents.

Ethan shared a knowing glance with Bjorn. The road had taught them both to be wary of complacency.

"Enjoy it while you can," Bjorn muttered under his breath. "Good moods don't last long on journeys like this."

Ethan nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. The wisdom of experience was hard-earned.

As the sun dipped toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the landscape, the caravan halted for the night. Campfires sprang to life, their flickering light illuminating weary but content faces. The scent of roasting meat mingled with the earthy aroma of freshly dug soil. Stars began to prick through the twilight sky, casting a tranquil canopy over the camp.

Borin's cousin, a stout man with a grizzled beard, strode purposefully toward Ethan and Bjorn. His usual affable demeanor was replaced by a grim expression.

"Word from ahead," he said tersely. "Harlenor's under attack."

Ethan's gaze sharpened. "By who?"

"Don't know," Borin's cousin admitted, frustration flickering in his voice. "Just that the villagers are in trouble."

Kieran, who had been tending to the horses nearby, overheard and hurried over, his face pale but resolute. "We have to help them," he said urgently.

Bjorn's jaw tightened. "What do you think, Ethan?"

Ethan's mind raced, torn between the pragmatic reality of their situation and a desire to help. The village was clearly under siege, and even without knowing the full extent of the danger, charging in seemed reckless.

As the tension thickened, the group crested a hill overlooking Harlenor. Flames devoured thatched roofs, smoke billowing into the darkening sky. The orange glow of fire painted the landscape in hues of destruction. Desperate screams and the clash of weapons echoed through the valley below.

Ethan's breath caught in his throat. The scene was a stark reminder of the brutal world he now inhabited—one where safety was fleeting, and survival often demanded impossible choices.

"Damn it," Bjorn cursed. "There must be at least thirty of them."

Ethan assessed the numbers quickly. There were eight of them—including two children—against a force of hardened raiders. The odds were insurmountable.

"We can't win this," Ethan said quietly, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him.

Kieran's face twisted in disbelief. "What? We're just going to let them die?"

Bjorn clenched his fists, his knuckles white. "Ethan—"

"We're outnumbered," Ethan interrupted firmly. "We go down there, we all die."

A heavy silence settled over the group. The weight of Ethan's decision pressed down on him like an iron shackle. His mind flickered back to his past life—to choices made in sterile boardrooms, where risk calculations determined outcomes. But this was no corporate negotiation. These were lives.

Kieran's heart raced as he watched the burning village below. The screams tore through him, louder than the crackle of flames. Memories of his own home flashed in his mind—the night raiders had come, leaving nothing but ash and death in their wake. He had survived by hiding like a coward. His parents hadn't.

"Not again," he whispered, his hands trembling around the hilt of his sword. He couldn't stand by while others suffered. Not this time.

Ethan's words echoed in his ears: "We can't win this."

Coward's talk, Kieran thought bitterly. How could they just watch and do nothing? He glanced at Bjorn, whose face was twisted with the same anguish Kieran felt. But Bjorn wasn't moving—none of them were.

A surge of defiance welled up inside him. If they wouldn't act, he would.

"I'm not hiding," Kieran muttered to himself.

Without another word, he broke into a sprint down the hill, sword drawn. The wind whipped past his face, the heat from the fires growing stronger with every step. Fear gnawed at the edges of his resolve, but he pushed it aside. This was his redemption.

"Kieran!" Bjorn roared, starting after him.

Ethan and two others grabbed Bjorn, holding him back by sheer force. "Let me go!" he bellowed, struggling against their grip.

"It's suicide!" Ethan snapped. "You'll die too!"

Bjorn's face contorted with rage and anguish, but Ethan's words anchored him. He stopped fighting, his breaths ragged.

Down below, Kieran plunged into the fray like a comet crashing to earth. He fought valiantly, his sword cutting through the chaos, but the numbers were overwhelming. A raider's blade caught him in the side, and he stumbled.

Ethan watched, his heart pounding in his chest, as Kieran fell to his knees. Another blow struck, and then another. The boy's defiant spirit was extinguished under the merciless assault.

Bjorn sank to the ground, his shoulders shaking. The others averted their eyes, the grim reality settling over them like a shroud.

Ethan's jaw clenched. He forced himself to watch, to bear witness to the consequences of his decision. The village of Harlenor burned, and with it, a part of Ethan's soul.

As the screams faded into the night, Ethan spoke, his voice hollow. "We move at first light."

Bjorn said nothing, his grief palpable.

Ethan knew the weight of this night would haunt them all—but especially him. And yet, he had made his choice.

In this world, survival was the only victory.