The orphanage ward was steeped in darkness, moonlight slipping through cracked windows, casting faint glimmers on the worn floor. Mira lay on her cot, her small frame barely moving, her breaths thin and faltering. The rash on her neck flickered, a red lattice dimming with her pulse. Ethan stood close, his green eyes heavy with sorrow. He knew, with a piercing certainty: Mira was about to die. She was so young, her spirit so bright, and the sadness for her gripped his heart, a quiet, unyielding ache.Yeman loomed at Mira's bedside, its form a terrifying specter—black as pitch, jagged and towering, its red eyes glowing like bloodied embers. Yet beneath its fearsome visage, the God of Death carried truth, a steadfast guide through fate's unyielding path. Its gaze met Ethan's, fierce but honest, acknowledging Mira's end with no malice, only clarity. Ethan's scratch, a searing scar from the Peirie Alien's claw, throbbed sharply, unsoothed by Yeman's fearful presence.Ava knelt beside Mira, her dark hair veiling her face, freckles lost in the gloom. She held the girl's hand, her touch tender, whispering, "Stay with me, kid. You're okay." Her care was a gentle flame, pouring love into Mira's final moments, a shield against the ward's despair. Ethan watched, his grief for Mira deepened by Ava's tenderness, her trembling hands betraying her exhaustion even now.Yeman's red eyes drifted to Ava, their glow softening briefly, as if noting her heart's truth. Then, with measured precision, it raised its noose—a cord of pale light, steady and true, pulsing with purpose. The air sharpened, carrying a faint scent of ash and honesty, cutting through the ward's stale fear. Yeman's task was simple: to guide Mira's soul, to uphold death's truth, nothing more.Ethan's werewolf blood stirred, claws prickling, but he held still, respecting Yeman's fearsome yet truthful role. The noose settled around Mira's soul, a delicate thread drawn with care. Mira's breathing faltered, her chest heaving with soft, suffocating gasps, her face tightening as the light tugged her free.Ava's panic surged, her voice breaking. "Mira, no—hold on!" She gripped the girl's hand, turning to Ethan, desperate. "Ethan, get Patel—now!"Ethan stood silent, his eyes locked on Yeman's red gaze. The god's stare was a mirror: Her time is done. Ethan's sadness swelled, but he knew no doctor could change this. His silence was a heavy choice, born of grim truth, as Ava's plea went unanswered.Mira's gasps softened, her body easing into peace. With a final, gentle breath, she was gone, her hand limp in Ava's. The rash faded to gray, like a star gone cold. Ava's sob tore free, raw and loud, her tears soaking the cot as she bent over Mira, whispering, "I'm sorry, kid." Her grief was a storm, her body slumping, weak and tired, as if Mira's death had drained her last spark.The ward stirred, children and volunteers gathering, their soft cries rising like a lament. Sam stood clutching his bunny, tears glistening in his wide eyes, while others murmured Mira's name, a shared farewell. Ethan's heart carried Mira's loss, a quiet wound, but Yeman's fearsome form urged him forward.Yeman moved, Mira's soul—a faint, glowing wisp—trailing beside it. The god's black silhouette glided toward the door, its red eyes beckoning Ethan. He slipped out, leaving Ava's grief behind, his senses locked on Yeman's dark glow.The village lay under a stark moon, clouds parting to flood the forest with silver. Ethan trailed Yeman to a clearing, trees looming like silent sentinels. His blood roared, and he let it take him—bones shifting, fur rippling, until he was the wolf, green eyes sharp in the dark. Yeman faced him, its black form stark, red eyes piercing, Mira's soul fading as it passed on.Yeman's voice rumbled in Ethan's mind, fearful yet truthful: Listen, wolf. A pure soul waits—, hidden in shadow. It alone can sacrifice itself to shatter the Peirie Aliens' hold. You are bound to find it, to carve its path. Seek truth, and let it lead.Ethan's growl was low, his claws sinking into the earth. Yeman's words were a beacon, pointing to an unknown soul, a destiny tied to his fight. The Peirie Aliens were near, their threat—You will be killed soon—a blade at his throat
As morning broke, the village stirred with a heavy silence. Mira's burial was held in the small church near the orphanage, its stone walls bathed in pale sunlight. A simple wooden coffin rested before the altar, draped with white cloth and scattered with wildflowers picked by the children. Stained glass cast soft blues and reds across the pews, where everyone gathered—children, volunteers, Ava, Ethan, Patel, and Sam, his bunny clutched tight. Ava stood by the coffin, weak and tired, her eyes hollow, her shoulders slumped as if grief had carved away her strength. The chocolate wrapper was tucked in her pocket.
Tears streamed down her pale face, and she swayed slightly, exhaustion plain. Ethan watched, a sharp pain twisting in his chest—not just for Mira, but for Ava, her fire dimmed, her fragility cutting deeper than he could name. Sam sobbed, burying his face in his bunny, his small frame shaking, while other children wept, clutching each other, their cries a soft hymn of sorrow. Patel bowed his head, glasses fogging with tears, and volunteers whispered prayers, their voices cracking with grief. The church echoed with sadness, the ritual binding them in shared heartbreak, Mira's absence a wound felt by all. After the burial, Ethan stood outside the church, the morning air cool against his skin. Patel approached, his face drawn but lighter. "Ethan," he said quietly, "the kids are getting better. Fevers are dropping, rashes fading. We still can't figure the cause of this disease, but I'm glad to see them healing—like their own willpower's pulling them through."Ethan nodded, his scratch pulsing faintly, Yeman's words echoing. "Good news," he said, his voice low, but the relief felt hollow, overshadowed by Mira's loss and Ava's weary form etched in his mind.The day ended with pain, the village quiet under a fading sun. Grief hung like a veil, unbroken, binding them all.
To be continued...
Dear My Loved Ones, Thank you so much for reading my stories! As a beginner writer pouring my heart into this, I would be so grateful to hear how you think I'm doing. Please comment and share your reviews; your feedback is invaluable to me as I have no one else to guide me. I'm hoping you will all be my mentors. Thank you for being here; I cherish each and every one of you.