Lapse

Exordium (Prologue)

NAPLE-

Life is a tracker of death.

Light shone through the cracked roof top overhead. Fire streaked and crackled along the wooden sides, gluttony guiding its every action. This was the time, Naple was finally going to achieve his clan's freedom. Just a few more.

Although even he knew that wasn't going to be true.

Death is a tracker of souls, whether or not I do anything they are all going to die anyway. It shouldn't matter.

Naple's thought process wavered for a moment, unsure if his choices were indeed pure. The house made a large moaning noise, a last call from a mom to a child. The call was futile. The small hut toppled like an avalanche. Naple frowned, closing his eyes so he wouldn't witness the crash.

Not like it helped any, the sound reverberated through his mind like thunder.

He stepped out of the house, brushing charred wood and hot straw from his arms.

If I were anyone else, i'd be dead.

He held in a gasp when he scrutinized the wreckage. Old moss hung over dead limestone blocks, fire engulfed and spit out what seemed to be remains of a bathhouse, and the smell of death hung over the town like rain; constantly pouring and spreading without remorse.

I wasn't even trying.

The realization hit him like a beam of light in a dark passage, and he frowned at the possibilities. He shoved those doubts down his thoughts and went through the numbers one more time.

Two villages, four towns, one Dome that keeps supplies.

I've never been so close, but my mind has never been so far.

Naple scanned his surroundings, sighing at the view of the dead village. Blackened wood and straw heaped in piles of ash and forgotten truth. Small fires were laid about the village still, encroaching like animals to consume everything for the acres of land that the village once claimed. A scrap of papyrus paper flitted by quietly, and he narrowed his eyes and traced it back to where it came from. He stepped through the wreckage, hearing cracks and snaps below him. He refused to look down.

Souls are a tracker of life.

Fifty eight people.

When Naple made it to the small heap of rubble, he grabbed the large ripped paper.

It was a map.

Even though the sides of the paper were scorched, and small holes sprinkled the map; it was still readable. Naple smiled to himself and silently marked where he currently was by sticking his finger through the gentle paper and making a small hole. A grin ripped through his smirk as he noticed a small red dot only a few miles away.

One town, and one Dome. That's all I need.

And there was a Dome, the only thing between him and completing his mission. Jenisalf mountain.

Get ready, The Dome.

'Cause i'm coming.