They lay in the main room, arranged as if sleeping. Sarah, Willem's wife, still wore the blue dress he'd given her for her last birthday. Her golden hair caught the light from the fires outside, creating a halo effect that made her look almost peaceful. Little Tom and Mary were curled against her sides, their faces serene in death. Tom still clutched the wooden sword Willem had carved for him last winter, while Mary's favorite doll sat propped against her chest.

  Here, in their home, there were signs of the life they'd lived just hours ago—a half-finished meal on the table, Mary's drawings pinned to the walls, Tom's muddy boots by the door. A family's life, frozen in time.

  The only violence was in the darkness that had spread beneath them, staining the floorboards black, and in the terrible stillness of their forms.

  Willem made no sound. He simply fell to his knees beside his family, the axe slipping from nerveless fingers to clatter on the boards. The weapon that had seemed an extension of his arm through their desperate flight now lay forgotten, as meaningless as everything else in the wake of this discovery.

  With infinite gentleness, Willem arranged their limbs, smoothing hair away from cold faces and adjusting clothing with careful precision. He straightened Mary's doll, made sure Tom's wooden sword lay properly in his small hands. Every movement was deliberate, almost ritualistic, as if by making everything perfect he could pretend they were just sleeping.

  When he was done, he rose unsteadily to his feet. The movement caused fresh blood to flow from his many wounds, but he didn't seem to notice. He began methodically smashing the lanterns hanging on the walls, his movements mechanical once more. Oil spread across the floor, catching the light from the fires outside and creating dancing patterns that reminded Ren of festival nights that would never come again.

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  A hunter's roar echoed from somewhere in the burning wheat field. Closer now. Much closer.

  Willem's eyes met Ren's. They held a depth of pain that made the boy's breath catch, an ocean of loss that no words could ever hope to capture. But there was something else there too—a fierce determination that hadn't died even in the face of this devastation.

  "South," Willem said, his first word in what felt like hours. His voice was wet with blood, barely more than a whisper. "Highkeep. Find a man called Trev and tell him that I... that Bull says that he’s sorry, and that it’s time to bring the group back together.”

  He nodded to the axe lying on the floor. When Ren hesitated, Willem's eyes hardened.

  "But—" Ren started, his own voice cracking.

  "No." The word carried the weight of mountains. ?They're coming. Either you do it, or I kill you and do it myself.?

  Ren gripped the axe's handle. It was still warm from Willem's hands, slick with blood and ichor from their desperate journey. The weapon felt right somehow, as if it had been waiting for this moment. "We can fight—"

  Willem shook his head once, fierce and final. He looked down at his family, peaceful in death, then back to Ren. His eyes had softened again, carrying a weight of memory and loss that made him seem ancient.

  ?They were lucky,? he whispered, blood staining his teeth. ?Your parents. They wouldn't want that fate upon you. I’ll tell them you are safe.?

  Shadows moved outside the windows. The clicking sound grew closer, accompanied by the wet slide of muscle on stone. Through the window, Ren could see more hunters emerging from the burning wheat. Dozens of them now, drawn by the scent of blood and death.

  The farmer knelt beside his family, gathered them close one last time. His massive frame seemed smaller somehow, but his back was straight and his head was high. Here, at the end, there was no fear in him. Only acceptance, and perhaps a terrible kind of peace.

  Ren raised the axe. It felt heavier than the whole world.

  Willem closed his eyes and pulled his family closer, his expression finally softening into something like contentment.

  ?On the count of ten,? he said, leaning his head forward. ?One. Two.?

  Ren raised the axe. It felt heavier than the whole world. Willem closed his eyes. ?Three. Four.?

  The axe fell, as did a tear from Ren’s eyes.