Grasping the back of the wooden chair with a tired breath, I sat and gazed out at the windmill. The shuffling of footsteps on the cobblestone street stirred me from my midday, dreamy haze. Everything was so quiet and still, so peaceful, that even the slightest disturbance felt unnatural. Especially now, with the few of us that remained. Some of the Amaranthians hadn’t made it out of the portal in time, and some were still hidden throughout the city’s villages, having managed to evade the bloodshed that erupted due to the war. There were families hidden in the debris left behind in tattered pantries, cabinets, and just about every nook and cranny they could fit. Their ingenuity to hide and survive was more and more impressive each time we uncovered a new spot.And then there were the remaining guards who didn’t make it out in time, who’d once answered to Samira and Gérard’s every call. When their curses were lifted, they were trapped with us here, forced to help us rebuild a new village from the ground up, using what little supplies we had.The shuffling footsteps grew closer and I twisted in my seat to turn and find their source.
