Chapter 5: Ashes and Puppets

The village was gone.

Charred ruins stretched as far as the eye could see, the air still heavy with the stench of burning wood and flesh. Blackened homes sagged beneath their own weight, their frames collapsing in on themselves like the skeletons of fallen beasts.

Leonard dismounted his horse, his expression sharp but unreadable.

His men fanned out behind him—seasoned knights, trained to remain calm in the face of carnage. But even they faltered at the sight.

"Gods above…" one of the younger guards whispered, pressing a cloth over his nose.

"Shut it," barked an older soldier. "Keep your eyes sharp. We don't know if the ones who did this are still nearby."

Leonard stepped forward, his boots crunching over the ash. He crouched near the center of the village, where the fire had burned the hottest.

There were no bodies.

Only the remains of buildings—the people were gone.

Taken, not killed.

His fingers grazed the edge of a scorched wooden beam, and he frowned.

"Sir Leonard," a soldier approached, his face grim. "We've scouted the perimeter. No survivors. No resistance. It's like they vanished into thin air."

"No," Leonard said quietly. "They didn't vanish. They were taken."

The knight turned to the scene once more, his eyes narrowing.

The ground told stories most men ignored.

The way the flames had spread. The precision of the destruction. The absence of valuables.

This wasn't a bandit raid.

It was a ritual.

Leonard rose to his feet, his cape fluttering behind him as a breeze stirred the ash.

"Markings," he muttered. "Look carefully. The patterns scorched into the ground—those are ritual circles."

The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances.

"Sir, are you saying this was…?"

"Yes," Leonard cut him off. "The Church of the Broken God."

His voice dropped, heavy with contempt.

The knights fell silent.

Everyone had heard the rumors—of a cult that moved through kingdoms like a shadow, taking villages, making sacrifices, always disappearing before any authority could catch them.

But no one had ever seen their work up close. Until now.

---

"Sir Leonard!"

A shout drew his attention. One of the soldiers waved him over, standing near the edge of the village.

Leonard strode to him quickly, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"Look there," the soldier pointed.

In the distance, walking toward them—barefoot, covered in ash, his eyes vacant—was a boy.

His clothes were scorched, torn. His arms and legs were scraped and bruised. But his face—his face was devoid of life, his eyes empty, staring straight ahead as if they saw nothing at all.

"Is he one of the villagers?" the soldier asked, confused. "How did he survive?"

Leonard raised his hand, signaling the men to hold their ground.

The boy kept walking, steady, slow, almost mechanical.

"Who are you?" Leonard called out.

The boy didn't respond.

Leonard's sharp gaze caught the faint, flickering embers swirling around the boy's fingers.

The remnants of fire.

But there was no hostility. No awareness.

He wasn't here.

"His mind isn't present," Leonard realized. "Only the body remains."

The boy stopped just a few paces away.

Leonard crouched, lowering himself to the boy's eye level.

"What's your name, boy?"

Silence.

"Do you remember anything? The attack? Where did they take your people?"

The boy's lips parted slightly, but no words came. His chest rose and fell, but his breathing was shallow, automatic.

"He's like a doll," one soldier whispered. "Just moving. No will of his own."

Leonard's eyes narrowed. His instincts screamed that this was no ordinary child.

"Sir, should we restrain him? He might be dangerous."

Leonard shook his head. "Look at him. The danger's passed. Whatever consumed him… it's already done its damage."

He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder.

It was cold. Lifeless.

But something flickered there. Beneath the surface.

There's still something inside. A spark buried deep.

Leonard straightened. "We're taking him with us."

"Sir, is that wise? We don't know what he is."

"We know enough." Leonard's voice left no room for argument. "He survived the church's purge. That makes him valuable. That makes him dangerous. I'll keep him close."

The men exchanged glances, but none dared defy the commander.

Leonard turned to the boy again. "Until you remember your name, you'll answer to Arthur."

The boy blinked. No reaction.

But when Leonard turned to leave, Arthur followed.

Step by step. Wordlessly.

Like a shadow with no master.

Leonard's expression softened, just for a moment.

"Let's get him cleaned up. When we return to the capital, I'll have him assigned to my daughter."

"Sir? Why your daughter?"

"Because she'll know how to deal with him. And if the boy's a threat…" Leonard glanced at the fire scars on the boy's arms. "…I'd rather he be near me than in someone else's hands."

---

As they departed, Leonard cast one final look at the ruined village.

The cinders were cold now, but the memory of this place would linger.

He knew the church would not stop here. He knew this boy was a piece on a much larger board.

And he intended to find out exactly where he fit.