Prologue:

The Boy had a quest.

He had been on his quest for many days now.

For how many, he couldn’t be sure.

What the quest was, he couldn’t be sure.

Hunger had driven out any other thought from The Boy’s mind. A veracity so deep that it numbed every other feeling. All he could focus on was the pinching grasp that starvation had on his stomach. All that existed was the raving emptiness that plagued his core as his blistered feet unconsciously carried him across the barren wasteland of his country.

What little food his parent’s had sent him with at the start of his journey had been consumed as soon as he had felt the first pangs of hunger. As seven-year-olds are want to do.

The Boy only realized too late just how much of a mistake that was.

But he didn’t have the energy to chastise himself, he had to keep walking. Keep looking.

For his quest.

Whatever that was.

The Boy shook his head, clearing the fog from his brain. A puff of dust loosed itself from him. The Boy watched as it drifted up into the moonlit-night sky, slowly disintegrating until it dispersed so thoroughly that it vanished into the starlight.

Unmade and gone.

The Boy stared slackly as the dust cloud faded into the cosmos, he couldn’t understand why but it reminded him of his mom and dad.

His honey blonde hair shook slightly in the gentle, cool breeze; matted down by the oils and dirt that had accumulated from sleeping on the ground for the weeks comprising him and his parent’s journey.

As The Boy returned his gaze to the trek that lay before, his eyebrows knitted in confusion. What looked like stars twinkled directly in front of him, not ten feet away. His eyes widened in shock as they readjusted in the light of the moon.

A dense thicket of berry bushes lay directly in his path.

The Boy delved into the glade gleefully, not having the energy to even praise his luck. He gorged himself on the raspberries and black currants within, letting the excess juice of the berries dribble down his chin freely. He didn’t care for the insects that crawled about, his aching stomach driving him to ignore them altogether. The Boy devoured as many berries as he could, the scarlet liquid spilling over him. Staining his teeth. The Boy cast a ghastly image in the pale light of the moon, if anyone were around to see it. But The Boy couldn’t care less about appearances. He could finally satiate the pit of hunger that resided deep within him.

Once his belly was blissfully full, he remembered his quest.

The Boy had wanted a quest for as long as he could remember, which wasn’t very long. At night when the air raid sirens had echoed their lamentation through his city, warning everyone to get inside and hide, his mom would whisper to him while his dad kept watch upstairs. Epics of Lancelot and King Arthur. Tales of dragons and princesses and wizards in their tall towers. Warnings of witches who could punish you if you wronged them in the slightest of ways.

His mom would always do voices along with it. Dropping her pitch as low as she could until it sent The Boy into a fit of laughter.

She held The Boy in her arms as she told him the stories. His favorite ones were of the knights. Of their journeys and honor. How they would take danger upon themselves so that others wouldn’t have to. The Boy always imagined having his own quest to help someone someday.

 Now he had one.

He was getting help for mom.

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The Boy had a handful of berries.

Rivulets of sticky red liquid dripped from between the fingers of his small clenched fist as he continued his march for help. The juice ran down his chin, staining the remnants of his father’s checkered shirt. The last thing he had given the boy before sending him off to find someone who could help mom.

The Boy drank from any stream he came across, searching desperately for more berry bushes along the way. More food.

He found none.

The glade was long ago now. He could hardly remember it. That same crushing hunger had set in again quickly. The Boy was wiser than before though, he knew to eat his remaining berries slowly.

He took one out of the palm of his hand, popping it into his mouth. Cracked and bleeding sun-bleached lips closed tightly around the sustenance, savoring the liquid within. The tart juice making The Boy’s face twist as he worked to savor the remnants of his food.

Twelve berries left.

When his strength began flagging, he thought of his mom and dad. Of the hope on his mom’s face as she turned to continue in the direction of the nearest border. She had led them fearlessly across the war-torn nation. Every night, when it was too dangerous to light a fire, his mom and dad would hold The Boy in between them so he wouldn’t feel the cold of the night. The Boy had felt so safe listening to the sound of his parent’s breath.

He could still feel his father’s strong arms as he had carried the boy through the countryside. Letting him keep a look out for any food.

The sun had felt so warm to The Boy.

Then the earth erupted underneath his mom.

His dad had turned his back to the explosion, sheltering The Boy with his body. As soon as it settled, he ordered The Boy to keep his eyes closed.

He had seen it happen though. Saw as her legs were ripped from her torso. Saw his mom land heavily on the upturned dirt. Saw as his dad’s body get pelted with debris, tearing holes in his red and black shirt.

The Boy had closed his eyes as his father said, hiding his face in his hands in fear. But he could hear. Hear his father’s words of worry, hear his desperate attempts to help his wife. Most of all he could hear his mom scream.

Her wails of pain rung in The Boy’s ears even now as he marched.

The Boy had listened for a while. He listened as his dad spoke in low tones to his mom. Their whispered conversation unable to be understood.

Their ragged breathing no longer a comfort.

Dark stains of berry red stained his parents’ clothing when his dad finally told him he could open his eyes.

 His mother was sleeping. She had a deep red towel over the bottom half of her body. His dad’s hands and forearms covered in the same red.

The Boy’s dad had spoken to him, breathing hard. He told The Boy that he would have to keep going. To find help.

He told The Boy that when he did find someone, to tell the helpful people about his mom and dad. To tell them that he was all alone and needed help.

The Boy committed it to memory. Resolving to find help and bring them back to his parents.

His dad gave him his shirt, telling him to wear it and keep warm. The dark red on his dad’s chest kept growing, slowly covering more and more of his body. The Boy couldn’t stop staring at the crimson liquid. Until his dad had put a hand on The Boy’s wheat blonde hair, kissing his forehead and pushing him onwards.

The Boy had looked back at his parents and promised to return with help. His dad had just smiled sadly at that.

The Boy wasn’t sure why.

That should be something to be excited about.

He kissed his mother’s cheek goodbye and gave his father one last hug. Then set off by himself.

The screeching sound of a drone ripped The Boy out of his memory. He blinked as he realized he had been walking the whole time. Distant mountains cast shadows over the valley he trudged through, the darkness growing deeper as the sun began its descent into the horizon.

The loud whining pitch shocked The Boy out of his reverie, his training taking over. For the past year his school had been practicing this drill every time they heard the sirens go off.