A soft blue glow emanated from Nina's hands, bathing Zoh's burns in cool light. The pain immediately began to recede, replaced by a tingling sensation that spread across his damaged skin. Before his eyes, the angry red burns faded, blisters shrank and disappeared, and raw skin knitted itself back together.
"How are you doing that?" Zoh whispered in awe, though he had seen similar displays before. He flexed his fingers, marveling at the absence of pain where blisters had been moments ago.
Nina's healing magic had always been a part of Zoh's life—a scraped knee healed overnight, a fever broken unnaturally quickly—but he had never seen her use it so overtly or powerfully before. There had always been an unspoken agreement in their family to keep his mother's abilities private, away from the suspicious eyes of villagers who might not understand.
"It's a gift," Nina replied softly, a weary smile touching her lips. "A gift that must remain our secret, especially now."
When the blue light faded, Nina looked noticeably more tired, the lines around her eyes deeper than before. The healing had clearly taken a toll on her own strength. She swayed slightly, catching herself against the earthen wall of the cellar.
"Mom, are you okay?" Zoh asked anxiously, steadying her with small hands that were now perfectly healed.
"I'm fine, darling," she assured him, though her breathing was slightly labored. "The magic takes energy, that's all. I'll recover quickly."
Zoh nodded, understanding dawning on his young face. So that's why she doesn't heal everything all the time, he realized. It weakens her.
"We need to find a way out of here," she whispered, glancing up at the ceiling of the cellar where flames were beginning to peek through the cracks. The refuge would not remain safe for long. Slivers of fiery light illuminated dust particles dancing in the air, creating an eerily beautiful display against the darkness.
Reality came crashing back as Zoh remembered that only two of them were present. His heart clenched with sudden fear. "Where's Dad?" he asked, his voice tight with worry. His father had left early that morning to help a neighboring farmer with a broken fence. Had he returned to the village? Was he searching for them even now?
Please be safe, Zoh thought desperately. Please be somewhere away from the fire.
Nina's face softened, and surprisingly, a small smile touched her lips. "Don't worry," she said with such certainty that Zoh felt his fears begin to subside. "Your Daddy will be back."
"How do you know?" Zoh pressed, needing reassurance. "Did you see him?"
"No," Nina admitted, brushing a lock of soot-streaked hair from Zoh's forehead with tender fingers. "But I know your father. He's strong and smart, and he loves us more than anything in this world. If there's a way to survive this, Matt Kuroz will find it."
There was something in her tone—an assurance that went beyond mere hope—that calmed the rising panic in Zoh's chest. His father was the strongest man he knew. If anyone could survive this catastrophe, it was Matt Kuroz.
Dad always comes back, Zoh reminded himself, clinging to the belief that had sustained him through years of occasional absences when his father took on work in neighboring villages. He promised he would never leave us.
A loud crash from above reminded them of their precarious situation. Pieces of burning wood were beginning to fall through the cellar ceiling, landing dangerously close to where they stood. The air grew hotter, making breathing increasingly difficult.
"Your father built another way out," Nina explained, moving toward the far corner of the cellar where several barrels were stacked against the wall. She gestured for Zoh to help her. "Come quickly. We need to move these barrels."
"Dad built a secret exit?" Zoh asked, surprised and impressed as he hurried to assist his mother. "I didn't know that."
Nina nodded, pushing against the first barrel with all her might. "There are many things your father prepared for that we hoped would never happen. This was one of them."
Together, they pushed the heavy barrels aside, their muscles straining with the effort. The barrels contained preserved foods—apples, pears, and berries from last autumn's harvest—that Nina had carefully prepared and stored. Under different circumstances, Zoh might have asked for a sweet treat from one of the barrels, but survival now took precedence over all else.
"He always says to be prepared," Zoh remembered aloud, echoing one of his father's frequent lessons as they worked. "I guess this is why."
"Your father has seen much of the world," Nina replied, her voice soft with reminiscence. "Before we settled here, before you were born, he learned that peace can be fragile. He wanted us to be safe, no matter what."
As they moved the final barrel, they revealed a narrow tunnel reinforced with wooden supports. It was just wide enough for an adult to crawl through, sloping gently upward toward what Zoh assumed was a point beyond their property line. The sight of it stirred both relief and curiosity in the boy's heart.
"When did Dad build this?" he asked, peering into the darkness. "I never saw him working on it."
"Little by little, over many years," Nina explained, already guiding Zoh toward the entrance. "Sometimes when you were asleep, or away playing with village children. He didn't want to frighten you with talk of dangers that might never come."
But they did come, Zoh thought soberly. The dangers are here now.
"This leads to the edge of the forest," Nina continued, her voice calm and instructive despite the growing heat in the cellar. "Once we're out, we'll make our way to the river where the villagers gather during emergencies."
Zoh hesitated, looking back at the cellar that had been part of his home. His gaze lingered on the shelves that held their winter stores, his father's tools hanging on the wall, the corner where he sometimes hid during games of seek-and-find. Everything familiar, soon to be lost forever.
"What about our things?" he asked, thinking of his practice sword, his father's prized blade, his mother's book of remedies—all the physical elements that had defined their life together. "Can't we save anything?"
My wooden knight that Dad carved for my birthday, he thought with a pang of sorrow. The stone from the mountain stream that looks like a heart. Mom's silver hairpin that was Grandmother's before.
Nina placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Her eyes, though tired, held understanding and wisdom beyond her years. "Things can be replaced," she said softly. "Lives cannot. Now come, we must hurry."
A loud cracking sound from above emphasized her point as more of the cellar ceiling began to give way. Sparks floated down around them like malevolent fireflies, threatening to ignite the dried herbs hanging from the beams.
"But what if Dad comes back looking for us?" Zoh protested, even as he allowed himself to be guided toward the tunnel entrance. "How will he know where we've gone?"
"Your father knows about this tunnel," Nina assured him, her voice gentle but firm. "He built it, remember? If he returns to the house, he'll know exactly where to look for us." She knelt beside him, looking directly into his eyes. "Trust me, Zoh. Trust your father. We will find each other again."
Zoh searched his mother's face and saw only absolute conviction there. He nodded, swallowing his fears. "Okay. I trust you."
With one last glance at what remained of their home, Zoh followed his mother into the narrow escape tunnel. The entrance was small, requiring him to duck down and Nina to crawl on her hands and knees. The earthen walls pressed close on either side, cool and damp compared to the heat of the cellar.
It's like the cave of a fox or badger, Zoh thought, trying to make the tight space seem less frightening. We're just animals seeking safety.
As they crawled through the darkness, guided only by a small magical light Nina conjured in her palm, Zoh's thoughts turned to his father and the uncertain future that awaited them beyond the tunnel's exit. The light cast eerie shadows on the tunnel walls, making ordinary root tendrils look like reaching fingers.
"Mom?" Zoh whispered, his voice small in the confined space.
"Yes, darling?" Nina replied from just ahead of him.
"What happened to our village? Why is everything burning?"
There was a pause, and Zoh could sense his mother considering her words carefully. When she spoke, her voice was measured, revealing only what she deemed necessary for him to know.
"Sometimes, Zoh, there are people who want what others have. They take by force what they cannot gain through kindness or trade." Her words were simple but carried the weight of a harsh truth. "Our village was attacked."
"Attacked?" Zoh echoed, horror and confusion mingling in his young mind. "But why? We're just farmers and craftspeople. We don't have anything valuable."
Nina sighed, a sound filled with knowledge of complexities beyond Zoh's understanding. "Peace and happiness are the most valuable things of all, my love. And sometimes, those who lack them seek to destroy these treasures in others."
Zoh frowned, processing this difficult concept as they continued their slow journey through the tunnel. "That doesn't make sense," he concluded after a moment. "Burning our homes won't make theirs any better."
"No," Nina agreed softly. "It won't. But anger and hatred rarely follow the path of reason."
They crawled in silence for several minutes, the only sounds their breathing and the occasional distant rumble from the collapsing village above. The tunnel seemed endless to Zoh's young perception, though in reality it couldn't have been more than a hundred yards long.
"Are we almost there?" he finally asked, his knees sore from the rough ground beneath them.
"Almost," Nina confirmed. "See that faint light ahead? That's not from my magic—it's daylight. We're approaching the exit."
Sure enough, a pale glow was visible in the distance, growing gradually stronger as they made their way toward it. The sight filled Zoh with both relief and trepidation. What would they find when they emerged? Would other villagers have survived? Where would they go from here?
"When we get out," Nina instructed, her voice taking on a tone of quiet authority, "we'll need to stay low and quiet. We don't know if those who attacked the village are still nearby."
"Who are they?" Zoh asked, his imagination conjuring images of monstrous beings or terrible demons from the stories his father sometimes told.
"Men from a neighboring kingdom," Nina explained simply. "Men who follow orders without questioning whether those orders are right or wrong."
This concept was difficult for Zoh to grasp. His father had always taught him to think for himself, to question and understand before acting. "I would never hurt someone just because I was told to," he declared with childish certainty.
Nina smiled sadly, though Zoh couldn't see her expression in the dim light. "That's because you have a good heart, my son. And because you have parents who taught you the difference between right and wrong."
As they neared the tunnel's exit, Nina extinguished her magical light. "From here, we rely on stealth," she whispered. "Follow my lead, stay low, and move only when I tell you to."
They emerged from the tunnel into a dense thicket at the edge of the forest that surrounded the village of Mish. The afternoon sun filtered through the leaves above, creating dappled patterns on the ground. To their right, visible through the trees, smoke continued to rise from the burning village.
Nina pulled herself out of the tunnel first, then reached back to help Zoh. Once they were both clear, she carefully rearranged the brush to conceal the tunnel entrance. No casual observer would notice anything unusual about the thicket now.
"There," she whispered, satisfied with her work. "Now, let's catch our breath for a moment before we continue."
They crouched in the sheltering undergrowth, their backs against a large oak tree. From this vantage point, they could see portions of Mish through the trees but remained hidden from any eyes that might be searching for survivors.
The village of Mish was burning, their home destroyed. Yet as his mother had said, they were alive. And as long as they lived, there was hope—hope of reunion with his father, hope of rebuilding, hope of understanding why this calamity had befallen their peaceful village.
"Mom," Zoh whispered, his eyes fixed on the distant flames, "when I grow up, I'm going to be a knight who protects people from things like this. I'll make sure no other children lose their homes."
Nina's eyes glistened with unshed tears as she drew her son close, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "You have the heart of a true knight already, my brave boy. Your father will be so proud when he hears of your courage today."
One thing Zoh knew with certainty—the path to knighthood he had begun to walk with such childish enthusiasm had suddenly become much more real and urgent. If he ever needed proof of why protectors were necessary in this world, the inferno consuming his village provided a stark and terrible lesson.
I'll become stronger, he vowed silently as they rested beneath the oak tree. Strong enough to protect Mom, to help Dad, to prevent something like this from ever happening again.
"Are you ready to continue?" Nina asked after they had rested for several minutes. "We should reach the river before nightfall."
Zoh nodded resolutely. "I'm ready."
Behind them, the sounds of destruction grew fainter. Ahead lay uncertainty, but also possibility. Zoh reached for his mother's hand, finding comfort in her unwavering strength. Whatever came next, they would face it together.