A death of misery and shame, writhing like a snake in one's own pain, is hardly a death at all. Yet he wondered if this was his end, if this was the legacy he would leave. His call to die in glory and brilliance was now but a distant dream, a thing not worthy of him achieving, it seemed. Yet these men around him kept calling his name, urging him to stay and continue the race. He hissed at their ghostly faces and grew dizzy at how they moved so quickly. Were they the wraiths his father spoke of? He thought he saw a face of a familiar girl, but she scowled and swept from his view. Pain coursed like blood through his body and he heard a scream. Only when his throat burned did he realize that it had been him and that he had said a name.
Ira.
_ _ _ _ _
The smoke that filled her lungs was thicker than Ira had grown accustomed to; this haze filled her head and choked her breathing. She sat upright on her pallet, holding a hand to her face and coughing into the bright room. Hissing, Ira realized that her body was burning, like a jellyfish had wrapped it's legs around her and she scratched at her skin until the feeling had subsided. Blinking rapidly, her eyes burned at the red light that had been cast across the floorboards and walls.
"Ira?"
Ira dropped her hands and looked up to see the children standing beside her, their faces hidden in shadow. She looked to the child who spoke, her eldest brother, Ren, a boy who was on the cusp of manhood, "Ira," he repeated, "the village is burning."
So calmly did he speak that Ira simply furrowed her brow and assumed she had misheard him. But as she grabbed his hand and pulled him close to her, she saw the sheer terror on his face. Ira shot from her bed and bolted to the window, the red glare turning her face a ruddy color. Her jaw tensed and she turned to the children, "Quickly, wake papa and grab your necessities." With a scurry, they disappeared in the dark corners of the house, leaving Ira to witness the destruction that occurred outside her window. For a moment, her eyes roamed the crackling, red flames, as they licked the wooden and straw houses – until she comprehended the reality that her house would soon be destroyed, as well.
Ira, frantic in her motions, opened the small cabinet beside the window and began putting all her pastes, and potions, and vials into a satchel that rested at her feet, occasionally pausing to scratch at the sensation along her skin. She swung the bag's strap over her head and ran to help the children, nearly running into her father's chest.
"Papa, the village – it's ruined. We have to get out before the house catches. Have you your things?"
He nodded slowly, staring past her head to the scene behind her. "The children are waiting at the door, did you get your medicines?"
"Yes, now we must leave. Will your crew be at the ship?"
"Surely they will – but, Ira, did you get the ring? We may need it; there will be hurt people."
Ira cursed herself and pushed past him, sprinting into his room and to a small jewelry box in the trunk by his bed. She opened the container and pulled a simple golden band from its content where she stuck it in the snug bindings around her chest.
When she exited the room, she heard the door open and she ran to catch up with her family.
"Cover your faces!" she shouted, and they all lifted cloths around their necks and situated them so they sat on the bridge of their noses, leaving only their eyes and forehead exposed. "Hold hands, do not let go! Ren, keep an eye on your sisters. Papa, are you ready?" They all responded with a nod, or a grunt, their eyes set on Ira. She inhaled deeply, taking a long glance at them all. They fed off her strength, and because of that, she could not be weak.
