It didn’t take long before I was back in those narrow paths leading to our house. It felt more surreal with every step I took. Was I not the one who always said that I will not partake? What changed? I don’t understand. Is this the emotions that humans often write poems tales about? How useless, pointless and painful it is . . .

As I got closer to the house, the sound of battle soon lit in my ears and I began to smell the blood that was covering the place. I rushed inside, and pushed the door open, a trail of blood caught my attention and led me across the hallway, and there I saw members of my family, lying in a pool of their own blood. But next to them were many Bertrams as well, there was no doubt.

I closed my eyes for a moment, to try and sense who was there, and...

Please subscribe to keep reading.