Intro - The Night that Changed Everything

---

Putt's heart pounded as he awoke in the arms of a stranger. The arms were unfamiliar, strong but not gentle like his mother's, or firm and reassuring like his grandmother, Avia's. An acrid smell of smoke and something bitter that he couldn’t place clung to this person, unlike the comforting scents of home. As he looked up, terror gripped him at the sight of an unknown face peering down. The man’s eyes, hard and unyielding, met his with a glare that stifled the scream forming in Putt’s throat. A soft hiss from the stranger urged silence.
The hood of the man's cloak was dark blue, reminiscent of the twilight sky back east at sunset. Around his neck hung a leather-strapped necklace with a metal pendant, its details obscured by the dim light. Putt focused on it, trying to anchor his swirling fear by deciphering its shape.
His body felt rigid with fright, immobilized not just by fear but by the unknown. As whispers and a child’s distant cries filtered through the trees, reality dawned on him—they were far from home. The man set him on his feet and draped a blanket around his shoulders. It was warm but carried that same bitter, smoky scent. With a rough pat on his head, the man moved away.
Surveying his surroundings, Putt saw other village children—some standing dazed, others sitting or still wrapped in slumber. A few adults milled about, all strangers. A woman handed him a cup of warm broth, its familiar aroma a small comfort in the chaos.
“Don’t be afraid,” she said in a soothing tone with an odd accent.
But fear was hard to escape. The glow of orange light flickering between the trees spoke of a dire truth. The distant roar confirmed his worst fears: his village was ablaze. Instinctively, he understood his parents were likely lost to the flames. In a twisted mercy, he was grateful to the raiders for sparing him the direct agony of witnessing the destruction of everything he loved.
This brutal night marked the cruel beginning of a new chapter in his life. Traditionally grounded, the sudden upheaval was foreign to every farmer's child like him. The journey was rough; younger children were carried, and soon, even the older ones like Putt found themselves hoisted onto the backs of the strangers for an arduous trek through the dark.
Clutching the blanket closer with one hand and gripping his carrier’s clothing with the other, Putt was determined not to be left behind in the darkness. The man carrying him noticed his shivering.
“Cold?” he asked during a brief pause, adjusting the blanket around Putt. “Try relax, maybe sleep, eh, ” he suggested, despite the circumstances.
They resumed their journey at dawn, with bread and broth to fortify them. The children who lagged behind from exhaustion were carried in turns. Putt, stubborn and resilient, was the last to accept aid.
By afternoon, they reached a camp with circular tents, greeted by a sparse group of guards. The semblance of normalcy was surreal—fires lit, meals prepared as if returning from a mere expedition. Maybe these strangers were.
At dusk, the children were given their own tent. Despite the care they’d received, the reality was stark; they were captives. The youngest kids were too small to grasp why everything was unfamiliar.
Lying in the strange tent, Putt stared up at the canvas fluttering in the wind, fighting back tears. He wasn’t the only one struggling to find sleep. In his heart, he had hoped for his grandmother’s heroic arrival, swords blazing, to save them all. But as the night deepened without a sign of his grandmother, his hope waned, replaced by a hollow feeling of abandonment.