Missing Home
Razar saw his family for the last time 28 years ago...
The fire crackled in the fireplace when he added another piece of firewood to the flames, where it was quickly engulfed and consumed. The black dragonborn set himself down on a wonky share, which let out a tortured creak under his weight. Thick, black nails fished out a small trinket, made of few conical seashells, wooden beads and a larger cut of wood. They had once been painted with bright colors, but the shades had worn out, the beads had slowly been rounded by touch and the conical seashells had chipped during the years he had held onto it.
It did feel like an eternity, like some completely other lifetime, when he had said goodbyes to his family and gotten the trinket, which he had been awarded with like it would have been the greatest military medal of honor. The text carved with tiny hands was barely legible. Letter had been wonky from the beginning, but one could, if they had sharp eye, make out the words ‘best dad’, written in Dragonic. Myastra and Awar had been only three back then. The twins had been quite a bother, to be honest. Always in trouble, stealing apples, teasing lifestock and jumping into the river, even when they didn’t even know how to swim. He hadn’t had time to teach them yet, but he had promised to do so when he would get back from the war.
It had felt like a perfect plan. Joining the army, fighting one war and coming back. Easy and quick, and with the salary he would have gotten they would have been able to pay back the mortgage of their house in full. Finally. It had been a beautiful little house. Razar had not had previous experience on housebuilding, but he had always been good at learning by doing. Of course they had gotten help. His father Dheragaz had been a tremendous help, and couple of neighbours had lent a hand. It had been small, but pretty little house, on top of a small hill, in the middle of wheat fields. They had had a vegetable garden and a barn. Such a lovely little house he had made them. A home. Just in time, as the twins had been born two weeks after he had finished thatching the roof.
And that home he had seen in ruins; fire had blackened the collapsed supporting beams, the door had been hanging ajar, supported only by the lower hinge. The walls were no more, and only stairs which led to nothing had been a reminder of the second floor which had collapsed in the roaring flames. Weeds had taken root in their garden and saplings pushed up, towards the light from the seams of the bent floorboards.
This lousy little windy cabin, previously used for storing farming equipment in it, was nothing compared to the little house in the middle of the fields. This was not a home, and it wouldn’t be a home, Razar knew. Home is where the family is. This shack was a necessary evil, a place to rest until death would finally take him away and back to his family.
“Nerise…”
His fingers caressed the trinket in repetitive motion. It calmed his nerves to fidget with the keepsake, it drove the voices of the death away, if only for a short moment. No magic lasted long, not with the weight of the burden he carried.
They had been friends ever since they had been just hatchlings. She had been a bit shy, but when they had grown to known each other, she had proved out to be quite a determined young girl. Nerise. We all need a person that can be true, and she had been his. They had shared things, and a bed, too. It had been a easy choice, a choice that had formed itself without any hardships. They had always been together, and they had been happy. When they had been young and having a visit into the bigger city, she had gaze din awe of the bigger houses and adored the architecture. He had promised he would build her a house, if they would marry. And marry they did, true. Not because of the promise, of course not, but Razar still held his end of the bargain. It had been an inside joke between them. It had been a pretty house. And she had been a pretty wife, her scales gleaming like just polished silver spoon. Strong-willed and a good cook. She had been determined, but soft at right times. They had been almost a perfect match, like two young saplings which had been crafted together, entwining to live as a one big tree. And now he was alone. His counterpart was gone, his home burnt to the ground.
“Nerise… Kids…”
Razar pressed the trinket against his chest. Tears wouldn’t come. And maybe better that way, it was difficult to breath when one was crying, anyway. Only solace he could find was that they were now in a much better place. Yet, he was still stuck here, abandoned and broken.
He was ashamed of himself. What would they say when he’d meet them in the afterlife, if there even was a such thing. Would they hate him because he had not been there for them? He could have put out the flames. He could have saved them… Yet, he hadn’t. Of course he understood there, in all seriousness, had been factually anything he could have done. He had been stationed on the Island and they had been on the other side of the continent. How on earth could he had saved them, he wasn’t a mage and didn’t know any teleporting spells!! But guilt didn’t leave him be.
Razar sighed quietly and slipped the trinket back into his pocket.
He wished that he would just see them again. Just once, and then he could leave everything behind.
Razar Tiaraad reminiscences over the death of his family. There are a few references to previous fics which I'm going to post after the WorldEmber. -Dark
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