Sorrow and despair locked into her mind. In the safety of this town, a dark shadow had made a home within her heart. Afraid of her own thoughts, she ran across the town until the high pulse of her heart obscured her thoughts. She ended up in the residence area. Many roofs and shacks had been installed between the houses, turning the street into a cramped and narrow labyrinth of shelters.

Vatra –“This world is trash.”

Man –“Couldn’t agree more!”

The girl turned around to witness the man in question. He had lost a leg and was sitting on a crate.

The crippled man –“I got trampled by a horse. I used to be a soldier long ago, but now I’m just a burden. How did you get yours?”

Vatra –“Mine?”

The crippled man –“The scar on your arm!”

Vatra –“I took a gamble and lost, but now it helps me remember the lack of forgiveness in our world. It forces me to remember to fight for my hopes because no one else will.”

The crippled man –“Fighting is meaningless. No matter what we do, our destiny is written at our birth. The son of a sire or a lord will have a great life. The son of a lumberjack will most likely end up in the army and die on the battlefield before reaching 20. If you intend to fight, you’ll be part of these sons of a lumberjack.”

Vatra –“I was the daughter of a soldier, and a blacksmith raised me.”

The crippled man –“Same crap! Fighting will only bring you sadness and regret. You’ll end up haunted by those you killed and forgetting those you lost.”

Vatra –“I’d say it’s the other way around, and even if the odds are low, if you stop trying, what do you have left?”

The crippled man –“Your life. The joy of seeing the sun rise to see another day. There will always be people worse off than you and better off than you. Appreciate what you have while you still can.”

Vatra –“And what about those at the rock bottom of our world? Those who lost everything? What’s beneath them?”

The crippled man –“The dead! Six feet underground. You should be happy that you’re breathing and you look healthy. It’s not a given for everyone.”

As if I needed more depressing thoughts …

The girl walked away from the man and headed toward the temple of the town in the hope of finding some peace and quiet.

The crippled man –“Don’t forget, young one, nothing’s worth dying for!”

Made of stone and cement, the temple stood as tall as three houses. The door was large and full of fresco. A few gods surrounded a man. Showing him their back, the gods were surrounded by the shape of other entities. Once she arrived, Vatra pushed the door open and entered. The altars of each god were decorated with lit candles as the rest of the large area remained in the dark.

Eight gods? I only recognise three of them . . .

Vatra moved toward the altar of Ignis, God of fire. A pot of dry leaves sat on its side. She took a handful and placed it on the altar. Using the candle, she turned the debris ablaze. Its warmth made the girl loosen her stress as she gazed toward it. The fire shape-shifted as the leaves turned into ashes. Tears began to growth from within her and sprung to her eyes. She took some more leaves and lit them on fire to dry her sadness away in the heat of the dancing flame. Her eyes were losing focus. Her mind grew tired. In a slow motion, she fell asleep on the altar, alone with her silent tears.