Zarn woke with a jolt, lying unconscious in the tall grass. The night before had been chaos, and now the sun was starting to rise. His body ached, covered in soot and bruises. As he stumbled to his feet, the reality of his surroundings hit him like a tidal wave. The village was gone, reduced to smoldering ruins.

“Anyone!” he screamed into the emptiness, his voice cracking with despair. The village was silent, the only sounds were the crackling of dying fires and the distant calls of scavenging birds. He staggered through the remains, calling out for his family, his friends, anyone who might still be alive.

But there was no answer. He was alone. Tears streamed down his face as he fell to his knees, the weight of solitude crushing him. A cold breeze swept through the ruins, carrying the acrid smell of burnt wood and despair. Zarn understood then that he was all that was left of Beltok. He would have to survive on his own, he realized, as his rage and resentment grew. He would grow stronger, learn from this tragedy, and one day, he would make those responsible pay for what they had done, and anyone else that stood in his way.