Chapter 3: The Road Without Her

The moment Amelia turned her back; something shifted in Luz’s posture. His gauntleted fingers tightened around the reins, the black leather groaning in protest. The crimson glow in his eyes intensified for a fraction of a second– a visible tremor running through his as if an unseen current had just passed through his body. “Commander,” Salvaxe’s voice cut through the air, dripping with suspicion. “Your orders conflict with our standing protocols. Evacuating civilians weakens our strategic position.” Luz’s head snapped towards Salvaxe, his jaw working beneath the helmet’s visor. “Silence.” His voice was low but carried the weight of command– yet there was something else underneath it now; something raw and strained. “This is not a negotiation.”

Amelia enters Luz’s line of sight again, with a brown bag over her shoulder. But then she sees an elderly woman packing her cart and she stops to help the women. For the first time Luz notices how little has change in her appearance in the last six years. Her long, wavy red hair falls naturally past her shoulders, framing her face. Her hair has a rich copper tone that catches in the light. Her skin is fair with light scattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose and her eyes are a striking green. But he also notices the changes that have occurred, how she is taller and womanlier. She is wearing a cream blouse with slightly puffed sleeves, a brown bodice, and a long earthy toned shirt with an apron.

Amelia picks up a large woven basket filled with vegetables– leafy greens, cabbages, and bright orange carrots. Besides her the elderly woman has a warm, grateful smile. She is wearing a simple, worn dress in muted brown tones and a light green headscarf that frames her grey hair. In her arms, she is carrying a bundle of small sticks. Amelia places the woven basket of vegetables in a wooden cart with large, spoked wheels. Inside the cart there are already sacks with food and some personal belongings, along with some herbs resting on top. Luz’s gaze followed her movement like an arrow locked onto its target.

After about forty minutes, most of the villagers had cleared out of the village, disappearing into the thick woods. Amelia stayed behind helping other villagers gather their things. Her gaze kept roaming back to Luz. The army of Corrompido grew restless as their waited for the evacuation to finish. Forty minutes bled into fifty as the last stragglers disappeared down the muddy path. The village laid silent, doors hanging open, empty hearths cooling under the bruised sky. Luz’s black horse shifted nervously, sensing the growing impatience of the Corrompido companions. Luz remained perfectly still upon the black horse, a statue of obsidian and crimson against the dying light. Yet something had changed in him.

The rigid posture from earlier had softened almost imperceptibly; his shoulders were less squared; his gaze fixed not on the retreating villagers but directly on Amelia’s figure.  Salvaxe strode closer to his commander’s side, his gaunt form casting long shadows across the trampled earth. “Commander,” he purred with mock concern. “Our patience grows thin. These humans are slower than snails.” Finally, the final villager vanished into the trees, leaving the village utterly desolate. Dust motes danced in the fading light filtering through the skeletal branches of winter-bare trees. The silence felt heavy, broken only by the distant murmur of demons growing restless on the ridge.

Luz’s gauntleted hand lifted slightly, then dropped back to his saddle horn. His crimson eyes swept over the empty homes, the abandoned wells, the marketplace now stripped clean of life. For a heartbeat, the hard mask seemed to crack– not visibly, but in the way his shoulders sagged infinitesimally. “Burn it,” he commanded his voice flat and devoid of emotion. The words sliced through the twilight air with practiced finality. Salvaxe’s smile returned, sharper this time. “Excellent choice, commander! A proper cleansing.” He gestured sharply to nearby Corrompido soldiers who immediately began unstrapping torches from their saddlebags. The Corrompido soldiers moved with chilling efficiency, their armoured boots crunching on the cold ground as they fanned out across the village square.

Torches scraped against stone walls, catching easily on dried thatch roofs and neglected straw piles. Orange flames quickly spread across the deserted structure, painting the twilight sky with thick columns of black smoke that billowed upward like mourning spirits. From atop his horse, Luz watched the destruction unfold with detached observation. His hands rested on his thighs, gauntlets gleaming dully in the firefight’s new illumination. The crimson sigils on his armour pulsed brighter with each lick of flame consuming familiar landmarks– the bakery where Amelia once bough bread for her family, the schoolhouse where she learned her letters alongside other village children. Salvaxe circled back to Luz’s side, his black eyes reflecting the growing inferno. “Such a waste,” he commented idly, though his tone suggested satisfaction rather than regret.

As the last flames died down to smouldering embers, Luz finally turned his horse northward. The blackened ruins of Amelia’s home village receded behind him, a graveyard of memories consumed by fire and ash. The Corrompido army moved with terrifying coordination, their armoured boots thudding rhythmically against the frozen earth as they formed disciplined columns stretching across the horizon. Salvaxe rode beside Luz’s mount, his pale, yellow face catching the faint orange glow from the dying fires. “A thorough cleansing,” he remarked approvingly. “No trace remains of these insignificant villagers. Mestre Escuro will be pleased with your efficiency.” Luz’s gauntleted hand adjusted its grip on the reins; his crimson eyes fixed straight ahead at the winding road leading into deeper territory controlled by their master. The amber flicker had vanished entirely now; only cold command remained in his expression.

…

In the forest, Amelia was walking alongside the elderly women’s cart with her brown bag slung over her shoulders. Moldeador, the blacksmith, came up from behind and started walking along side Amelia. He is a large, broad-shouldered middle-aged man. He has long, slightly wavy black hair that falls to his shoulders and a thick, full black beard that frames his face. He has strong, rugged features– a broad nose, heavy brows and weathered skin. He is wearing a loose, beige linen shirt with frayed edges and a sleeveless brown vest that looks aged and well-used. Around his waist he has a sturdy leather belt with pouches attached and a sheathed dagger hangs at his side. He is wearing dark, rugged and similarly worn trousers. In his hands, he holds a large, rounded brown burlap sack tied at the top with rope. The fabric looks coarse and heavy, and his grip suggests it has some weight.

“Everyone is heading east, to Terra Invernal,” he said casually. “We’ll follow along until the Osos river and then we will go our separate ways.” Amelia grinded her teeth at how he made decisions for her. “We are heading to Campo de lirios,” he continues. I have a cousin that works in the mills. At the beginning of winter, her sent me a letter say the blacksmith had passed away.” Amelia looked towards him with an expression of disbelief. Their village had just been burned to the ground by an army of Corrompido and he wants to drag her to some unknown village? “You will love it,” he added unaware of her contentment for him or this conversation.

“I went there last summer for my cousin’s wedding. They have the most beautiful lily fields.” Amelia tightened her grip on the bag slung over her shoulder at the mention of weddings. She gazes back towards the black smoke rising above the forest in the distance and then she cleared her throat. “Would you excuse me,” she said quickly and turned to Moldeador. “I need to relief myself really quickly.” Before he could respond, she strayed from the path and disappeared behind a thick brush.