"A Flame that Fades"

Chapter 1: Veils of Memory

Freya's POV

I still remember it vividly—the screams, the pain, and the blood as everything lay in ruins, the remnants of our village burning down. I was only four years old, sitting at the kitchen table, drawing flowers on a piece of parchment my father had bought from a nomad who sold books at the market.

I happily showed my masterpiece to my mother, who smiled and told me I had talent. Our laughter was abruptly cut short by screams echoing outside. Large silhouettes of orcs were raiding our village, wielding massive weapons.

My father pressed us to stay hidden, but just as he went to block the door, the window shattered, and an orc's hand reached in, throwing a torch onto the floor. Flames quickly engulfed the walls, licking up to the ceiling, smoke filling our lungs. My mother pulled me close, whispering prayers to Amanare, her voice shaking.

I clung to her, trying to hide from the roaring fire, but the orc outside wasn't finished. Hearing my cries, it brought down a massive weapon, crashing it through the roof above us. Splinters and shards of wood rained down as I screamed, the monstrous hand reaching closer, swinging to kill us. Just then, my father rushed in, standing between the orc and us with nothing but his dagger.

"Stay back!" he yelled, blocking the beast's blows with everything he had. He managed to wound it, but the orc only grew more enraged. With one savage strike, the orc's weapon connected with my father. He collapsed before us, his outstretched arm trying to reach me even in his last moments, his eyes full of love and sorrow. I screamed, "Baba!" but my mother covered my mouth to silence me, holding me tighter than ever.

In the chaos, the orc's strike sent a jagged piece of wood across my cheek, carving a deep scar. I felt the burn of it even as my mother dragged me from the burning house, away from the sight of my father lying motionless. We ran from what little was left of our village, stumbling over charred remains, through the woods, away from the nightmare.

Years have passed since that night, but the memory is as fresh as if it happened yesterday. The image of my father falling, his arm outstretched toward me, remains burned into my mind. Sometimes I think I can still hear his final words, distorted by the roar of flames and the bellow of that monstrous orc. I see the vacant look in his eyes just before he fell, the way his mouth had moved in silence, as though he was calling my name even as his strength faded.

That was the last time I saw him alive—collapsed in the burning remains of our home, his hand reaching out but never able to touch me again.

The scar on my cheek aches whenever I remember that night, an ever-present reminder of how close I came to death—and how, in the end, he didn't get to hold me one last time. I can't help but relive that scene over and over, especially at night.

In my dreams, I'm still a child, helplessly crying as I watch my father fight for us, sacrificing himself so I could have another day, another breath. The nightmares rarely change; sometimes it's his voice I hear calling out, but more often, it's the orc's laugh, dark and guttural, haunting me from behind.

Every shadow seems to hide an orc, every loud noise jolting me back to that night, and the terror grips me like it did then. I feel the walls of my room closing in, smelling the smoke, feeling the heat, and hearing the crash of wood as if it's happening again. My heartbeat races, sweat coats my skin, and I wake up gasping, sometimes screaming, as I reach for the father I can no longer touch. The feeling of helplessness never really goes away, a constant hollow ache that I've learned to carry with me, but never fully escape.

Even in moments of peace, I'm reminded of the brutality of orcs, their violent and unfeeling nature. I can't stand to hear stories of their raids or look upon their twisted, monstrous visages without reliving the horror of that night. My mother says that Amanare's light will eventually heal all wounds, but I wonder if even the gods can erase the depth of that fear.