"Ascended One, hallowed be your name,

Hear me now in my most desperate hour.

Cleanse my heart of malice,

So I might show the world your greatness.

I plead this of you on both my knees,

O, most merciful Ascended One,

Exalt me with your divine mercy."

-Prayer to the Divine

The stars that dotted the blackened night seemed poised to recede from the sky. Those same celestial bodies that had proven their unspoken guides were mere moments from vanishing from view. The concept brought a distinct anxiety with it, as Van let his attention flicker away from the skies above. Under any other circumstances, they would all be more than happy to greet the coming dawn, but not now. Not now, when the situation remained tense. Even while doing their best to avoid being heard, every worry and concern spoken in hushed tones by the adults around him only gave more validity to the apprehension in the air.

The small caravan had made the decision not to stop to rest for the night. Unfortunately, they hadn't made as much progress throughout those hours as everyone had hoped. Something as simple as a stuck wagon and broken wheel had set the entire group back valuable time. It had led to a few arguments, even as they hurried to remedy the situation. Some had proclaimed they'd be better off unburdening the horses and leaving the wagon behind, but what would they do farther along the journey without the gathered supplies, however meager? Even in the outskirts, they couldn't very well show up with little else but the clothes on their backs, not when they'd tried so hard to take possessions when they'd fled. In truth, it was fear that caused them to even consider abandoning them, the desperation to simply move, to put as many miles behind them as possible.

There had been a particular sort of helplessness, Van thought, standing alongside the other much younger children, watching the adults argue all while trying to free the wagon without incident. Too small to physically help, too young to figure out a solution, Van had wrung his hands in silence. Trying desperately to stay out of the way, while being unable to keep from watching them work and shout and curse one another for yet another thing they had no control over.

Van, at 11 years old, entirely too young an age, had discovered the unsettling, sinking feeling that came with the realization that adults were not as powerful as they seemed. They were not as wise nor as in charge of things as he had always thought. Yet, there was no other option for him. Nor was there anything the other children who walked with him alongside the same wagon could do on their own. So they followed the adults, because following them was at least a direction to take.

The world had made so much sense, days ago.

Days ago, Van had thought about how his chores always felt like too many, how he would rather sneak off and play with his friends than do them. Sometimes, he did just that, egged on by the promise of some kind of oddity or curiosity his friends had found. He'd get scolded, he'd feel badly, but his mother always forgave him easily.

Days ago, Van barely thought about what might've gone on beyond the dirt roads of his village. Fate, however, had been all too happy to show him exactly the state of the wider world by bringing it all to his very doorstep.

Now he could only think about the ache in his legs and the weariness that clung to him as much as the mud and dirt of the road.

Van and his mother had been at the market. This wasn't normally when they went, they barely had the coin to spare, but Van had pleaded. He'd insisted, he'd promised to do his chores later, he'd wanted to go out and walk the marketplace stalls. Perhaps to see his friends, or maybe they'd all be lucky and a traveling merchant would have something new to show them. Sometimes, bards passed through their poor village, even. She nearly said no, but Van often had a way of wearing her down. This time was no different, evidently. She forgave easily, but also just as easily yielded to her only son's whims. Their lives were difficult enough, so what was relenting to his wishes now and again? What was the harm in giving him a few simple, pleasant memories to carry him forward while they struggled to survive, just the pair of them?

One moment, he was crouched and trying to pick the better of the fish in the merchant's basket and the next, he was brusquely yanked to his feet just as the first screams hit the air.

She said to run, so he ran.

Everyone was running, his mother's grip like iron on his wrist, urging him faster even as he near stumbled on his own feet. She carried nothing, had dropped their purchases from the market when they started running. Meanwhile others Van saw were trying desperately to lug as many of their possessions as possible. If they were lucky, they managed to stow them on carts or in the saddlebags of horses before joining the throng of humanity trying to run. The moments Van dared to look back, he could see the chaos, he could hear it, the sound of breaking wood and metal crashing. The startled animals ran rampant to escape the fires being set by men in darkened armor adorned with a yellow sun emblem on the front of their pitch black tabards. They wore hoods or masks over their nose and mouth, their faces all in some way obscured. Those who tried either fending them off or proved too slow while they ran, were unceremoniously cut down with sword or bludgeon.

She said to run, so he ran.

She stumbled, and the horrifying reality came into focus when Van looked at her again. All at once, he couldn't hear anything, not the screaming, the shouting voices, the cacophony of sounds all ceased to filter into his mind entirely. He traded all sound for the deafening silence that overpowered him the moment he saw her fall. Before he could even think to stoop and try to help her up, his sight was nothing but crimson. Blood flourished like the cruelest blossom from the arrow jutting up from the center of her back. If that was the one that made her fall, its twin sticking out from the back of her neck was the one that would make sure she'd never get back up. Shaking, he pried her hand off his wrist. It was still like a vice, though it was unlikely she realized that. It was unlikely she realized anything, anymore.

His mother, her voice urgent and tight with fear, had said to run.

So he ran.

It all happened so quickly, with the sun shining brightly overhead. The clearwater blue of the sky was barely starting to suffer the invasion of blackened smoke drifting up from burning houses.

Only the truly foolish would believe wholeheartedly that bad things only happened under the cover of darkness, that everything would be alright come morning. That nothing could hurt you in the light of day.

Plenty could hurt you in broad daylight. Evils of the world did not necessarily require the dark. The malicious rarely had shame they felt compelled to hide, after all.

Van wasn't sure if it was the pang of hunger in his stomach, the ache of his legs or the agony in his heart that was worse. He was wringing his hands again, more precisely, he was running his fingers over his wrist. As much as he avoided trying to recall it, the final time his mother held his wrist, it came anyway. It seeped into his mind like rainwater through the gap beneath the door of the home he wasn't going to see again. It pooled in the center of his chest, threatening to grow brackish and festering. If he didn't somehow drown in it first, at least.

A glance around at the others traveling, or more accurately, fleeing. There was no need to call it anything but what it was, they were all fleeing. Tired, stressed adults who snapped at each other and tried to handle skittish beasts of burden, parents trying to calm their anxious children. Those who did not manage to get out with their family, were like Van, simply following in silence. He walked alongside one of the wagons, as if the thing was a lifeline. He had nothing with him other than the clothes he wore.

Van had looked for his friends, but had not found them and the possibilities were not pleasant to think about. If their families took a different route of escape, perhaps their chances were better, but the men in the darkened armor had horses and in the village, very few people could afford one. They were unlikely to outrun a mounted rider, so in the end Van could only hope for the best. He hoped they hid, he hoped they snuck off, or maybe like him, he hoped they ran fast enough.

Faster than arrows.

His eyes started to sting, but he was stubborn. Rubbing his eyes roughly, he tried to will the tears back, despite having heard scattered bits of sobs or crying the entire time he'd been with the caravan. He did not want to cry, it would not change anything, crying would only make his head hurt. It continued to sink in, the things he had seen and felt for the last time. With every mile they walked, he found himself farther and farther away from everything familiar and everything he had ever loved. It would be as if none of it existed.

He was far too young to be this aware of how ephemeral life could be, and yet here he was.

Without thinking, he lifted a hand and roughly tousled his own hair, trying to make some of the dark strands obscure his brow and shield his eyes. He was losing, in his fight to keep tears from them, so the next best thing until he calmed, was to hide it.

The sun began to rise over the horizon, the stars were leaving him behind again.

When the caravan finally decided to take a rest, it was thankfully near a stream. The fresh water was fully taken advantage of and for a moment, everything seemed almost mundane. The few horses were tended, water was collected, clothes and bodies alike were washed. Van felt, for the first time in days, like he wouldn't drown in the sadness clinging to him like a well-worn cloak. Busying his hands proved helpful in this, when he took care of cleaning up as well as washing his clothes as best he could, he set out to make himself useful to others. He couldn't help as much as the adults, nor the few older boys, but there were a few tasks that didn't need him to be strong.

One such task was simply to gather kindling, something he, like any other boy his age, would've already done before. So it was with the given chore and an almost sorrowful little pet to his hair from one of the old women of the caravan, that Van was off. He'd been told not to stray too far, so he decided to stay as close to the treeline along the road as he could, for fear he'd lose sight of the caravan and truly be on his own.

Wandering along, he felt a little relieved there hadn't been rain in the past few days. Not only because that'd make travel that much more difficult, but because it would've greatly diminished the amount of proper kindling he'd find. While it likely didn't matter exactly what he brought back, Van had already committed himself to finding mostly good sized dry twigs and tree bark, no leaves. He'd overheard some of the adults, the aim of the caravan was to get as far as the outskirts of Aiseryn, though not to the Capital proper. The outskirts were the best any of them could hope for, in fact. Aiseryn had no need for peasants and lowborn craftsmen or farmers, even Van knew that. When they arrived, Van wouldn't have many options. If he was lucky maybe someone here in the caravan would take him in. If he proved able to work, of course, so best to make himself useful on the road.

Rather abruptly, he was pulled from his examination of a particularly large chunk of bark due to the distinct, sinking feeling he was being watched.

Slowly, he turned, half expecting one of those faceless men to be standing there in that dark armor, that yellow sun emblem burned into his memory. Much to his relief, that did not come to pass, his anxious imagination had been false as he was then looking across at a girl staring at him. She half stood behind the trunk of a tree, looking at him silently. Her eyes were blue and wide beneath shaggy curls. Her expression was as if she'd never seen another person before. Blinking, Van shifted the kindling he'd gathered in his arms in order to free one hand, lifting it in greeting.

Or, at least what would've been a greeting had he not then been suddenly struck in the shoulder by what felt like a sizable stone. With a yelp of pain, he dropped half of what had been in his arms, looking toward where he thought the attack came. The perpetrator made no attempt to hide themselves, a young boy around his own age rushed toward the girl. He held another rock in hand, poised to throw it as he watched Van suspiciously. His hair was the color of faded rust and his skin just a touch less brown than Van's own.

He didn't take his eyes off Van until he reached her. Keeping the rock hoisted up, he turned his attention to the girl, free hand gripping her upper arm.

"What did I say about bein' seen? I told you to just hide, Lotte." He scolded her, shaking her arm a little as he did.

While she'd stopped staring at Van, she had dropped her gaze to the ground and mumbled something to him. So soft was her voice, that Van couldn't hear, but it wasn't like it was him she was speaking to. Confused and a little irritated, Van turned his attention away from them and stooped to pick up what he'd dropped, ignoring the vague little ache where the stone had hit him.

However.

Sometimes, Van couldn't leave well enough alone.

When he stood upright again, kindling gathered once more, he watched the pair talking. At least the boy was talking, the girl, 'Lotte', kept her head lowered and hugged her arms around herself, as if attempting to make herself smaller.

"She was hiding." Van said, flatly. "I just looked over, didn't hear her or nothing."

The boy looked to him, lips twisted in a frown.

"I wasn't talkin' to you."

Van tipped his chin up. "Well you're talking to me now, so." He shrugged. "I'm only saying she wasn't walking around or anything, she was right there, behind that tree and I wouldn't have seen her if I hadn't looked over by chance."

More like he wouldn't have if he hadn't felt like eyes were on him, but that was a little more odd to try and explain. Why bother trying to make sense of a gut feeling, anyway.

For a moment, it was something akin to a stand off, the two boys staring at one another in stubborn, youthful petulance. The silence hung in the air between them, until it was interrupted by a sniffling sound. It brought them both turning toward Lotte, who had, much like a wilting flower, crouched onto the ground and covered her head with her hands. It was obvious she was crying, and that immediately softened the boy's features. Carefully, he stooped down and put an arm around Lotte's shoulders, sighing heavily.

Van chewed his lower lip, watching them, feeling abruptly like he shouldn't be there. Averting his eyes, Van half turned from the two. He'd seen enough crying over the past few days, sure, but it didn't make it any more pleasant to see. Silence again, aside from Lotte's sniffling. The boy clearly didn't know what to say to her, and other than the physical contact of holding onto her, he could do little else.

When you were a child, there was much and more that left you feeling helpless, after all.

After a moment, Van spoke up again.

"Do you want to help me gather kindling?"

The simple statement was left to drift between the three of them. Slowly, he turned his gaze back to them, only to see both staring at him in confusion. Van shifted on his feet awkwardly, clearing his throat. He wasn't the smartest person, but it didn't take much to put together a few things. The two children were as road worn and filthy as he'd been before he'd gotten the chance to wash a little, and no one hid unless they were hiding from something. If they were out there, without any adults, Van could only guess they'd had no choice but to flee wherever they'd come from. It made a tension rise up his spine at the thought.

"The caravan I'm with, we think it might be safe enough to start a cooking fire, we're...far enough out of the way maybe." He continued, trying to be as nonchalant as he could.

Lotte wiped her eyes clumsily, letting the boy gingerly help her back to her feet.

"How...how much do you need to get?" Her voice was so small, each word seemed to shake.

The boy frowned, sighing heavily again. "Lotte."

She looked back at him, distressed.

"What the hells else can we do, Sinaht?" Lotte sounded on the brink of tears again, but a sobering steel in her eyes. "Everyone-Everythin' is burned."

Sinaht could only stand there, stumped and uncomfortable. It was clear that he had no ideas, but likely pride bigger than he was tall. Van felt himself wince inwardly, at the very simple sentence that only confirmed his prior thoughts of the 'why' Lotte and Sinaht were out there. Van knew, however, it would do no good to dwell right now. Much like the caravan, they had to keep moving.

"Not too much more." Van answered, letting Sinaht off the hook in terms of having to answer Lotte's far too big question. "I've already got some, but I want to make sure there's enough. Better to have too much and not need it, than to need more and not have it."

A nod to himself, as if he'd said something incredibly grown up, and not just repeating something he'd heard one of the adults say. Timidly, Lotte took a few steps to approach Van while Sinaht warily followed suit.

"Twigs and bark work best, I don't want to bring back leaves. As long as they're dry, no green on the twigs." He explained, wandering a little, stooping to pick up another example.

Immediately, Lotte got to work and while he lacked the girl's enthusiasm, Sinaht begrudgingly followed her lead.

With that, the trio was busy gathering kindling, crouched on the ground near the treeline and picking the best bits they could.

"I'm Van." He said, finally.

Sinaht looked up from distractedly turning over a rock with a stick to peek at the insects beneath it. His diligence with the kindling task was minimal, but Van didn't find it necessary to point out.

"Van, all right. I'm Sinaht, that's Lotte." A little gesture to her. "We've been walkin' a while. From down south in Lilhshara."

Van nodded in understanding, though in truth, he knew so little about the other towns or villages that Sinaht could've said he and Lotte came from the moon and Van would've just nodded.

"My village Mei Serin-" Van stopped himself, and for a moment, all three of them had somber expressions. "That was my village." He corrected himself, belatedly.

Was. It was his village, but not anymore.

There was likely nothing left of it now. Lihshara and Mei Serin were, like as not, pillaged, reduced to cinders and trampled underfoot of those men's horses.

Lotte looked like she wanted to cry again. To his credit, Sinaht noted it as he abruptly spoke up again as if to save her the added embarrassment of more tears.

"So is the caravan you're with goin' north?" Sinaht asked, pretending again to be looking for kindling.

Van hesitated. "I...think so?" Sheepish, he realized he wasn't exactly sure about the direction. "They were saying to the outskirts of Aiseryn. Said that real clearly, the outskirts not any farther."

Van didn't want to get their hopes up. He stood then, arms full.

"I think that's enough, c'mon." He didn't wait for either an answer or worried protest, he simply led the two out from the cover of the trees and into the open. Crossing the dirt road, he hurried to bring the kindling to the old woman who had given him the task. Before he could say a word of explanation about Lotte and Sinaht, there was a sudden overlapping of voices. Setting down their burdens, the curiosity of the trio got the better of them and they scurried over to see what was going on.

"Ascended's mercy, Luka!"

Van, Sinaht, and Lotte had all clamored onto one of the wagons to get a better look above the heads of the adults instead of trying to peek between their bodies.

"Oh, oh what happened? Are you hurt?" A woman near shrieked, falling to a kneel and in a panic, examining a young sleepy eyed boy. He was sickly pale, but with a mop of faded brown hair. Her fretting seemed a bit justified however, given the boy's clothes were bloodied.

Sinaht leaned over to Van, whispering. "Look at all the blood, he's dyin' for sure."

Van shot Sinaht a look, but it was Lotte who elbowed him.

"He is not dyin', you liar, he doesn't even look like he knows what's goin' on." Lotte hissed, before adding, thoughtfully. "Maybe he's dim."

Van shook his head. "He's not dim, he's just quiet. He used to hang around but never really played with us in the village."

Vague recollection, at best. When Van had been searching through those in the caravan for familiar, friendly faces he hadn't even thought about Luka. Probably because he'd always been a bit too quiet and never seemed willing to roughhouse with Van and his friends. Though, judging by that woman's hysterics, it was possible she was the reason Luka had usually stayed away.

"I'm all right, auntie Rosaline." Luka insisted, trying to gently get her to stop examining him. He half turned from her, pointing to a bunch of overgrowth along the side of the road. "I only got dirty because I was tryin' to help her up."

At this, everyone gathered around, the trio included, turned toward where Luka was pointing and out of the tall grass, stepped a girl with tousled dark hair and clothing soaked in blood. Her eyes were sharp, as sharp as the small knife in her shaking hand. That blade was also bloodied.

Luka put his arm down, no longer pointing at her. He looked up at his horrified aunt, apparently, not realizing why she practically blanched. He pulled from her, and approached the girl despite the gasp from his aunt. As if he held no fear, Luka gingerly grasped the girl's free hand and led her to the hushed crowd of adults.

Once they gently pried the bloodied knife from her hand, ascertaining then that she wasn't injured, the gravity of things settled over them once more. None of the blood was hers, but she wouldn't speak, merely looking at each person who spoke to her wordlessly. Luka's aunt Rosaline helped her get cleaned up at the stream, and the others went back to the tasks of setting up the temporary camp. Only long enough to sleep, everyone had been told. The intention was they'd be back on the road before daybreak.

Van, Sinaht, and Lotte were shoo'd off the wagon, and given tasks so as not to get in the way. Much to Sinaht and Lotte's surprise, none of the adults seemed to care they were hanging around, since they'd been given chores. The world was too cruel, and it seemed the adults of the caravan didn't feel the need to add to that cruelty.

However, the trio was nothing if not curious.

While they went about the simple tasks of clearing space or cleaning up, they inevitably found their way to where Luka sat on one of the wagons alongside the dark haired girl. She had her hands clasped, and was staring at the ground. At least she was clean of blood.

The three came up, but Sinaht was the first to speak.

"What's her problem, is she mute?"

He was the first to speak, but he wasn't the most eloquent to speak, and again it earned him a sharp elbow to the ribs from Lotte. Sinaht doubled over slightly, hissing with pain.

"Don't be so rude!" Lotte scolded, looking ready to elbow him a second time.

Van coughed behind his hand. "I think what he meant to ask is ah, why's she...not talkin'."

Luka blinked at the three of them, then glanced at the girl alongside him. A little nod to her, as she lifted her head. Up close, Van realized she looked weary, a hollowness to her eyes. She certainly didn't look like she wanted to talk, and he began to feel guilty for asking anything of her. They'd all been avoiding asking each other too much, after all, but something about the spectacle of blood had gripped their curiosity.

Lotte pushed her way past Van and Sinaht.

"Don't listen to them, it doesn't matter why you're not talkin', you don't have to say nothing." Lotte proclaimed, deciding to be this new girl's defense, her own meekness taking a backseat in favor of helping her. Then, sheepishly, more quietly, she continued.

"Though...I guess one word would be good? Just the one! What's your name?"

Hands still neatly clasped in her lap the girl fixed her gaze on Lotte. The silence was just this side of uncomfortable, before she finally spoke. Her voice was low, monotone.

"Hyuna."

Relief washed over Lotte's face, she nodded, smiling broadly at the other girl.

"Hyuna, then. All right, I'm Lotte, that's Van, and that idiot over there is Sinaht."

Sinaht made a face at her for that, but didn't argue. He simply folded his arms and looked off. Van was quiet, but did wave weakly to Hyuna. Lotte wasted no time in climbing up onto the wagon, seating herself next Hyuna. While she didn't immediately begin talking to the other girl again, her presence alongside her didn't seem to bother Hyuna.

"Is he your brother?" Luka asked, indicating Sinaht.

It was Lotte's turn to make a face, her expression twisting like something smelled.

"Huh? No way." She tipped her chin up, looking away a moment, then back to Luka with a bit of a perplexed squint. "Why you askin' that, we don't even look alike!"

Luka, with very little change in his demeanor, eyes still half lidded, just blinked at her.

"You called him an idiot, I just thought that's the kind of thing you can only say to someone without them getting too mad if you're related." He reasoned. "Auntie Rosaline calls my uncle Oskar an idiot all the time."

There was a breath of silence, at first, before laughter. Unexpectedly, the slight, low laughter came from Hyuna, a smile accompanying the sound. It was suddenly infectious, the others also then simply dissolved into childish laughter. Luka was a bit behind, though. He hadn't quite understood right off what was funny but it barely mattered. It felt good to laugh, even over something so small.

"All right, all right but, I'm not. Or she's not my sister, I mean." Sinaht corrected, finally. "We just used to lived next to each other in Lilhshara, is all."

He quieted for all of a moment, before continuing.

"And she's been a damned crybaby ever since then, too. Just so you know."

Aghast, Lotte sat more upright on the wagon, pointing an accusatory finger at him. Everyone else just looked from her, back to Sinaht, then back to her, following the 'discussion'.

"I am not a crybaby." She lied. "You take that back."

Sinaht, arms still folded, pretended not to hear her. He did, however, see her coming when she hopped down off the wagon and came at him. So when Lotte hauled off and tried to swing at him, he managed to duck before pushing his hand against her forehead and trying to keep her out of range. He had longer arms, so it was working even if it was only making Lotte more mad. This was clearly not the first time they'd come to 'blows' like this, the sight was more comical than concerning, so again, peels of laughter from the other three.

Even after his laughter had calmed, Van realized he was still smiling. For a moment everything felt so, so normal. Lotte had quit trying to hit Sinaht but he was not spared her pointing at him and insisting he take back what he'd said. Luka's confusion over this dynamic was palpable, but Hyuna observed in silence with a faint smile on her own features. Perhaps they felt it too, how this simply felt normal, despite the circumstances they found themselves in.

Talking to the others seemed to make Van's heart lighter. None of them looked at one another with thinly veiled pity like the adults did. They all had something in common, and that 'something' was loss, certainly.

...but the other thing they had in common was the fact that they needed to move forward. Lihshara, Mei Serin, wherever Hyuna came from, these places they'd called home were no longer something to cling to. Instead, these villages were places to walk away from, to commit to memory but not look back towards.

There simply was no going back.

Maybe, though, they didn't have to move forward alone.