The sun hung low in the sky, casting an orange hue over the scattered ruins of Emberfall. Once, this village had been alive with the laughter of children, the scent of fresh bread, and the hum of blacksmiths at their forges. Now, the air was thick with dust and silence. A silence only broken by the occasional creak of a long-abandoned cart or the distant whisper of wind through empty streets.


    Thorin stood in the middle of what had once been the village square, his boots sinking slightly into the damp earth where the cobblestones had been torn apart. The ruins of homes stretched out before him like the skeletal remains of what had been a proud settlement. The charred remains of timber, the ashen remnants of people’s lives, and the empty windows staring back at him like hollow eyes. Only the faintest trace of life remained.


    A crow circled above, cawing mournfully as it drifted lazily on the wind. Thorin didn’t look up. His eyes were fixed on the ground in front of him, but his thoughts were far away. They were always far away.


    He swallowed hard, the hollow feeling in his chest intensifying. He could still hear the sounds of the raid—the clashing of steel against orcish axes, the screams of those he had loved and failed to protect. His father''s voice, booming commands to fight back. His mother’s frantic cries as the flames took their home. His brothers, full of youthful exuberance, charging into battle with reckless bravery. All of them gone. All of them torn from him in the blink of an eye.


    The raiders had struck like a storm, swift and merciless. The orcs were a savage, brutish force—fueled by bloodlust, with no regard for mercy or life. The village of Emberfall had stood little chance against the onslaught. In a single night, everything Thorin had known was lost. His father, Alaric, who had been the village elder and the cornerstone of their community. His mother, Mira, with her warmth and laughter. His two younger brothers, Dorian and Eryk, who had followed in their father’s footsteps, learning the ways of farming and smithing. They were all gone, ripped away from him in that terrible raid.


    Now, it was just him. Alone.


    Thorin shifted his gaze from the ground and looked at the distant horizon, where the last slivers of sunlight melted into the hills that surrounded Emberfall. The landscape was peaceful now, but his heart was a battlefield, scarred by the memory of that night. How many times had he relived it in his mind? How many times had he wondered if there was something more he could have done to save them?


    Maybe if I’d fought harder …


    Maybe if I’d been faster …


    Maybe if I’d died with them …


    He clenched his fists, the nails digging into his palms, but the pain didn’t reach him. There was no pain left to feel, no tears left to cry. Grief had dulled his senses, left him a shell of who he once was. The weight of his loss had grown heavier with each passing day, and though his body was still here, his soul seemed to have wandered off to some dark, distant place.


    A sound broke his reverie. A soft rustling behind him. He didn’t turn to face it.


    Elysia.


    She stood a few paces away, her figure barely a silhouette against the dimming light. His wife. The one remaining tether to the life he had once known. She didn’t speak, as she often didn’t these days, but Thorin could feel her eyes on him. There was no anger in her gaze, no accusation, just a quiet sadness that reflected his own.


    Thorin didn’t turn to face her. He couldn’t. She had been trying so hard to reach him for months now, but he had retreated into himself. Her attempts to pull him back into the world felt like cruel reminders of everything he had lost. How could she ask him to live when the very act of breathing felt like a betrayal of the ones who had been taken from him?This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    “Thorin …” Her voice was soft, like a whisper carried on the wind. She was afraid to speak too loudly, as if the wrong words might shatter what fragile connection they still had.


    He didn’t answer.


    She took a step closer. “The sun’s setting,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “We should head back to the house.”


    Thorin’s gaze remained fixed on the horizon. He had been standing there for hours, unmoving. He didn’t know why he came here. To feel close to the past? To hear the echoes of his family, as if standing where they had once lived would somehow bring them back?


    “I’ll be there soon,” he murmured, his voice rough and distant.


    He heard Elysia exhale softly, the sound carrying the weight of her unspoken frustration and helplessness. There was nothing she could do to bring him back from this place he had retreated to, a place of constant torment where memories of his family clung to him like a shadow.


    She lingered for a moment longer, as if trying to decide whether to press him further. Finally, she turned and began to walk back toward their home, her silhouette shrinking with every step she took. Thorin’s heart twisted, but he didn’t follow. He couldn’t.


    The pain in his chest was a constant companion. It gnawed at him like hunger, relentless and unyielding. He hadn’t been the man Elysia had married. He had promised to protect her, to care for her, but now he was incapable of even protecting himself from the crushing weight of his own guilt. How could he expect her to understand? How could she live with a man who no longer knew how to live?


    As the evening deepened into night, Thorin stood motionless, staring at the broken landscape. His mind was a blur of chaotic thoughts, none of which offered any relief. He could still feel the sting of the orcish blades as if they had carved into his own skin. He could still see his father’s face as the life drained from it, his last words a final plea for Thorin to live—live for the village, live for Elysia, live for what remained. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t make sense of any of it.


    His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, his fingers brushing against the scarred leather of the hilt. His father’s sword. It had been passed down through the generations, a symbol of leadership and strength. But now it was a burden. A reminder of his failure.


    He glanced back toward the village center. The old stone well where children had once gathered to play was now cracked and dry. The bakery had burned to the ground, leaving nothing but a pile of soot and ash. The homes where families had lived, loved, and raised children were now little more than piles of blackened timber and stone. The village had been reduced to nothing.


    And yet, there was still Elysia. She still held on, waiting for him to return. To come back to her.


    Why can’t I?


    Thorin closed his eyes, allowing the pain to wash over him. For the first time in months, the weight of it seemed unbearable. He heard the faintest rustle behind him and knew it was her again.


    “You’re still out here, aren’t you?” Her voice was weary now, as if she had long since given up on expecting anything from him. “I thought you might be. You always come back to this spot. But it’s not going to bring them back, Thorin. You know that.”


    He turned slowly, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were red-rimmed, tired, and filled with a sorrow that mirrored his own. She was wearing the simple dress she had worn for years, the fabric faded and worn from the hard work of keeping what was left of their life together. Her face was pale, her features drawn tight with concern, but there was something else there, something he hadn’t seen before.


    Fear.


    “I’m not asking you to forget,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “But please, come back. I need you, especially now. ”


    Thorin’s throat tightened. “I don’t know how.”


    Elysia’s face softened, and she stepped closer, her hands reaching for his, but he flinched, pulling away. The distance between them felt too vast now, too insurmountable.


    “You don’t have to know,” she said, her voice almost breaking. “You don’t have to be the man you were before. Just come back to me. We can figure it out together … we need to.”


    Thorin stood there, staring at her, and for a fleeting moment, he wanted to reach out, to hold her, to tell her that he was sorry. But the words wouldn’t come. His throat was tight, and the guilt was too heavy. It was too much to bear.


    Finally, with a heavy sigh, Elysia turned and walked back toward the house. Thorin watched her go, feeling the tug of something—regret, perhaps, or longing—but it was quickly overshadowed by the emptiness inside him.


    Alone again, the village seemed even more desolate, the silence now a suffocating weight. He wished he could move on. But how could he, when everything he had known was buried in the past?


    The wind picked up again, carrying the scent of burnt wood and ash, and for a moment, Thorin thought he could hear his father’s voice, faint but clear:


    Live, son. Live for those who are still here.


    He didn’t move. He couldn’t. Not yet.