"I am what I was ages ago," the old man whispered, his voice strained and ragged. Despair filled his eyes, mingling with disdain for the world.
He was in the barn, surrounded by the scent of dust and hay. The air was unusually thick, a staleness that oddly brought him a measure of rest in this hay-filled refuge.
This was the place he had trapped himself, hidden away, as the world he had built crumbled around him....
A few moments ago....
A group of war-torn mercenaries trudged through the dense jungle, exhausted from their recent battle against enemy soldiers. Dead tired in the pitch-black night, they could barely keep walking as their leader occasionally consoled them with false promises.
Just as hope seemed to slip from their grasp, they spotted a light in the distance across a stretch of open plain, it was a farmhouse.
With newfound joy, the leader exclaimed, "There's a house nearby! We can rest there, men! Buckle up, we've got a place to stay tonight!"
The mercenaries exchanged glances, turned their eyes to the barn, and burst into hearty laughter.
One of them cried out, "I hope they have a bath!"
"Yes, me too. And a woman too."
Laughter echoed after that.
"I just need food, and a lot of sleep."
They all spoke of their demands as they slowly made their way down the hill towards the farmhouse.
Laughter echoed through the forest as they passed.
Before long, they arrived at their destination.
Standing before the door, the leader knocked.
An old man answered, with an elderly woman standing behind him, "How may I help you, sir?"
The leader of the group gestured toward his men.
"We are mercenaries hired by the Dounfas kingdom," he said, then emphasized his next words.
"We recently encountered a battle, as you can see. Therefore, without taking much of your time, can we ask for your help as fellow citizens?"
The old man, in a hoarse voice, replied, "We are not part of any kingdom, we are not."
He paused before continuing, "But you can use the barn for rest. That much I can provide."
From the back, one of the men sighed heavily, "Darn it, I wanted to take a bath!"
The old man added, "There is a well at the back; you may use it as you need."
With that old man gave a bow with respect as he gave parting gesture, closed the door.
Before he could fully close the door, a hand shot forward and placed itself in between, halting and stopping the door.
"Old man, you need protection."
He then flung the door open, causing the old man to stumble backward and fall onto his back.
"From guys like us!"
One by one, the mercenaries entered the house, searching. They tied up the old man and moved on, until a girl appeared from upstairs.
The group fixed their eyes on her. She trembled in fear and screamed.
Her mother tried to fight off the men approaching her daughter, but one of them shot her in the chest, killing her instantly.
The girl let out a cry, her mother's body hurled aside by the force of the blast.
The old man, stunned, gazed at them.
Their eyes gleamed with malice, shadows grotesquely twisting across the walls as the girl's protests echoed through the room.
It was a true monster, one that had invaded their home today...
---
Moments later, he managed to break free and ran toward the old barn he had once offered them. He collapsed inside, shaking and crying in silence.
He could still hear his daughter's cries. They dragged her through the dirt, laughing as she begged for help. They took turns with her until she stopped screaming. When they finally let her go, she stumbled away, empty and trembling.
He thought she was trying to find shelter. Instead, she climbed onto the edge of the well. Under the pale moonlight, she stepped forward. The sound of water was the last thing he heard.
He let out a bellowing cry.
He pressed his hands against the barn wall, too weak to stop what was happening. His strength was gone, his body frail, and though his heart burned to fight, his limbs would not move. All he could do was watch as his life was destroyed before his eyes.
His cry, soft and whimpering...
This was the price the kingdom, the strong, demanded from the weak.
A weakling can never survive without the protection of the strong; that's the rule everywhere.
Now he sat in the dark barn, silent, crushed by the weight of memory.
His breath came shallow and uneven.
The quiet felt like a coffin closing around him, until the door creaked open.
A figure stepped inside.
For a moment the old man thought it was a child.
It was small, thin, his clothes loose, his hands clean. His face held a strange softness that did not match the sharpness in his eyes.
When their eyes locked, the old man racked his memory, struggling to recall the face, until the realization hit him.
"You're with them! the monsters!"
The stranger had been with the mercenary all along, a fellow soldier.
But he hadn't caused any harm, yet he stood silently among the guilty.
The old man's heart filled with hate, though the man before him showed no threat. Dust drifted between them in the pale light.
The old man spoke first, his voice shaking.
"Who are you, little boy?"
The stranger stepped forward.
Moonlight touched his shoulders.
"My name is Rivered Callahan," he said quietly.
"I came from far away. Longer than I can count."
He lowered his head.
"Don't be afraid, old man. I won't hurt you. I see the pain in your eyes. It's too much for one person to carry. I'm sorry."
He paused, his tone faint and tired."Hold on a little longer. This will pass. When the sun rises, we'll be gone."
The old man's chest shook with a weak breath.
Stranger's words felt they held no cruelty, but a similar sorrow.
"I know what you want," Rivered said softly.
"But revenge is not mine to give."
"But rest assured, there is no mercy for the wicked."
Silence filled the space between them.
For a moment, the old man felt something familiar in the stranger's voice, though he could not name it.
His anger broke through his grief.
"Why did you come here? To comfort me?" he said bitterly.
"I don't need your pity."
He tried to stand, but his legs failed. His body sagged back into the shadows.
His voice cracked.
"Why did you come today? What harm did we ever do? We lived quietly. We helped when we could. We were good people. So why us?"
His words dissolved into a broken sob. His fists clenched until blood ran from his palms.
"For once, I thought we were safe," he said.
"Far from the city, far from its filth. I thought we could grow old in peace. But cruelty found us anyway. It tore through my home, through my family, through everything I loved."
He bowed his head, shaking.
"They took everything. And I couldn't stop them. Do you know what that feels like? To be alive and useless? To watch it all fall apart?"
For a long moment, only the wind and the barn's creaking filled the silence.
Then Rivered spoke, his voice heavy with pain and sorrow,
"I know."
....
Outside, the mercenaries were leaving, their laughter fading into the trees.
One paused, turned back, and hurled a torch at the house. Flames rapidly consumed the dry wood.
"Yeah, burn that stupid barn! No one can rest in that dump."
Another man chuckled and threw a second torch into the barn.
"Yeah, let the shithole burn."
Others laughed as they watched, some chiming in as well.
The hay ignited instantly. Heat surged. A cry echoed from within, deep and broken, lost in the growing roar of the fire.
Rivered stood still in the orange light. He did not move or speak. The fire reflected in his eyes, and whatever life had been there slowly faded into emptiness.