Corrin slowly opened his eyes again. His wounds were scabbed over, and the pain was less severe. He crawled out of the table and used a nearby shelf to hoist himself up. Upon awakening, he had a clearer view of the basement. It was small, perhaps a few feet in width and length, and had wooden shelving on either side for storage.
Corrin climbed onto the table and looked out of the window. Outside, the grass turned gray, and smoke covered the sky. It was dim, and the smell of burnt blood filled the air.
He, fearing the top of the house had crumbled, climbed through the window he had originally fallen through. As he crawled out, he could feel the heat from the earth and all around him. Small fires withered and died around him, and ash fell from the sky like snow.
His home was gone.
He clutched his left side, which was deeply bruised, and started to walk, taking all of it in. The smoke and ash stung his eyes, but he was determined. It didn't take long for him to find what he desperately never wanted to see.
His father, lying dead on the ground.
His heartbeat rose. He looked at every detail; his father's face was numb and expressionless. Dry blood dripped from his mouth and nose, and a pool of dry blood soaked the ash-gray earth around him.
Corrin dropped to the ground, and silent tears began to fall from his face.
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no…"
He repeated the phrase over and over until he was screaming it at the top of his lungs. He fell and clutched his father around his body. He could feel the sweat and blood still clinging to him. He began to wail in agony, then he found himself shaking his father.
"Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!"
He knew it would do nothing. He knew his father was dead. But he didn't want to believe it.
His cheeks began to go raw from the tears falling down his face, his eyes became sore and dry, more dry than the smoke already made them. He fell back to his knees and screamed. He screamed. He screamed until his mouth was sore.
Corrin felt a bottle of hatred grow inside him; he didn't even know who killed him. Only the Imperial soldiers. It had to be them. He would kill them. He would massacre them. He would right their wrong.
He slammed his fists into the ground until the dirt around it became soft and tore from the ground. He grabbed his face and dug his nails into it until it stung. He hated how helpless he felt. He hated how useless he felt. Saliva dripped from his mouth as he cried.
He looked around. He knew there had to be one. He saw a burnt bucket of garden tools. Inside was what he was looking for: a shovel.
He grabbed the shovel and walked to where his father was. He started digging, and digging, and digging. The ash stopped falling when he was done. His left side was on fire, his legs were so weak he was on his knees, but he dragged his father into the hole.
Corrin buried him. Because he knew that nobody else would do it. He grabbed a burnt piece of lumber and stuck it in the ground as a marker.
At this moment, after all that had happened, Corrin realized the hunger that ached in his stomach. He was so hungry. But what was there to eat? Everything was burnt.
Corrin started walking. He started walking in the direction his father had been going before he died. He hoped that in that direction, maybe he would find something worth living for.
Corrin walked until he reached the end of the town and into the fields. He knew, despite the smoke and ash, that beyond that was the Cerelu Forest. The only forest around for miles and miles. Maybe it had been spared from the wreckage that befell Tenor village.
As he stood, looking out at the sea of burnt, gray wheat, he saw a figure approaching through the ash. It looked like a man. Corrin looked for the nearest place to hide, right behind a well.
He tried to run, but his legs were too weak. He instead walked with haste to the well. The bricks on the edges were crumbling off, making it smaller and harder to hide behind. Corrin watched the figure walk towards the village. As they got closer, it became clear it was instead two figures, one the size of an adult, the other slightly smaller.
Corrin eased himself, but wasn't prepared to jump out and scream his name to strange figures in a field. As they walked closer, Corrin began to make out the figures in greater detail.
The man was of relatively average height, lean, and had short black hair. He wore armor that was much different than what the Imperials wore.
Corrin then brought his focus to the smaller figure, which, upon closer inspection, he almost immediately recognized. The short brown hair, dark eyes, and tattered peasant clothes jumped out at Corrin immediately. Despite the heavily bruised face he had, there was no doubt about who Corrin was looking at.
He was looking at his best and only friend, Edwin.
Corrin raised himself and tried to shout, but his voice was weak. All that came out was a squeak. He tried again. This time, the man turned and faced Corrin's direction. Corrin raised his hand weakly in the air.
"Corrin!"
Edwin ran over and brought Corrin's arm around his neck as support.
"By the gods, what happened to you?"
Corrin didn't have enough energy to speak, let alone answer. Edwin helped Corrin sit down by the well, and the man who was with Edwin pulled a jug of water that was attached to his belt and handed it to Corrin. Corrin immediately took a huge gulp; the water burned as it went down his smoky, dry throat.
The man grabbed, from his patch, a piece of bread wrapped in cloth, which he also handed to Corrin. The man's face was serious and expressionless.
"You sure got a hell of a beating."
Corrin heard, but was far too busy eating and drinking to come up with a reply. Corrin observed while he was close. He didn't appear to have a scratch on him. On his right hip were two katanas, with a small shield resting on his right hip. An engraving Corrin didn't recognize was branded onto it.
When they finished, the man grabbed the jug of water back and looked at Corrin again. He reached around his neck, pulling up the soft, glowing shard his father had given him.
"Hmph, your father was quite the quick thinker, Corrin."
Edwin helped Corrin up. They then walked through the field of burnt wheat. As they walked, the burnt wheat slowly became alive again. The farther they travelled from the decaying Tenor village, the less the world was affected.
The skies began to clear, and the color returned to the landscape. Corrin's eyes, for the first time in what felt like days, didn't sting when he opened them. In the distance, he could see Cerelu Forest, its luscious oak trees climbing high and mighty.
They soon entered the forest and kept walking. After the sun began to set, they rested.
It was beginning to get darker. The man found sticks and put together a small campfire, then he grabbed from his pouch on his side a small flint piece and a steel rod. He put them together and struck them against each other many times. Eventually, a prickling fire began, and he turned it into a roaring flame.
He put together herbs and mushrooms found around them, and, with a small pot the size of a large bowl, began to make stew. It was then that Corrin finally found enough strength to speak.
"Who are you?"
The man looked up, slightly surprised by Corrin, and then turned back down to the stew.
"My name is Forrest Leimon. I was a friend of your father's. And his father was a friend to my father. Our families have a long lineage of companionship, so there's no need to be on edge."
He had read Corrin like a book, Corrin was on edge. He trusted Edwin enough to go with them, but he had never seen this man before in his life. Corrin geared for another question, but was quickly interrupted.
"Deeper questions will be answered by my father when we reach our destination. For now, you should eat and rest."
Forrest poured the mushroom herb stew into a small bowl and handed it to Corrin with a bit of bread. Corrin ate quickly and monstrously. When he was done, he drifted swiftly into sleep. The stress of losing his father, the weakness of his wounds, and the shock of losing his home all helped form a nightmare that kept him twisting and turning all night.
In the morning, he was forced to get back up again, but this time he wasn't nearly as weak. His wounds had naturally shut themselves, and the bruises he had had the previous day got better.
Still, the day of walking was exhausting. Around midday, however, Forrest spoke up.
"We're close. Only a few minutes now."
How he could tell was beyond Corrin (all Corrin saw was a dense tree line), but still, he was glad they were almost there, and a part of Corrin was curious as to what their destination truly was.