Silverleaf

The young boy holding Alika’s hand was the first to scream. Taiga’s own voice followed, her name echoing from his throat. He ran to her, but his spine spiked, and he yanked on the hand of the little boy, ripping him from her, as another arrow flew past the child’s head.

“The order is none alive. Don’t let them escape.” The voice boomed beyond the trees, amongst the flames and crackling wood.

Behind him, the children screamed. Taiga whirled around, and though shrouded by smoke, made out a line of mercenaries, clad in silver and red. Muffled by the chaos around them, the yells of terror and death rooted him in place.

“Yes sir.” Every voice near in sync, their boots thumping closer.

“Taiga—” another boy, a couple years younger than himself, huddled against him, holding a younger girl’s hand so tight her fingers ran white. She stood lifeless, her eyes wide and dry, Alika’s body reflecting in them.

He set the two children in his arms down, though they fought to stay. When they whined, he hushed them. “Get ready to run.”

“Where?” A girl shook, her hands gripping his tunic.

“I… I don’t…” He glanced around them, frantic. Anything. Anywhere. Just something… A chance for them to escape.

A crack from above drew him to a tree, only a few meters away lit in flames. A major branch parted, barely hanging by the grace of another tree. Moments… they had moments before the branch would fall.

“Past the trees, there,” He bent down to them, hushed just enough to be heard over the flames and boots. “If we can make it to the corrupted lands, they can’t follow us, understand?”

The children huddled around him, fingers clawing at him, whines slipping between brave faces. “It’s okay,” he soothed, “the forest will protect us.”

Taiga dug his feet down, pushing scraped together magic through his toes and through the grass.

Save us.

When the scorching branch began to give way, catching on a smaller branch, he urged the children forward. He pushed them on, staying on their heels as mercenaries dove towards them.

“Run, and don’t look back!” He hollered, and the children took off between the trees and over the roots.

This was their forest, and they knew the grooves of the earth better than anyone. But they were children nonetheless. A mercenary lunged for Taiga, and he twisted around, his tunic snagging on the mercenary’s glove. Taiga ripped back, tearing his tunic just before the mercenary yanked hard. He whipped free, and fled beneath the crumbling trees.

As his foot stomped past, the flaming branch broke free, dropping its century old weight between he and the mercenaries. The fire had spread far around them, and while it would delay the mercenaries, Taiga knew it wouldn’t be enough.

“Keep running! Hide amongst the trees!” He slammed his feet down into the earth, steadied himself, and swung around. He’d hold them off, if only for a few more moments.

How… had he planned on escaping this? He couldn’t recall. Maybe there never was a plan to escape at all.

A mercenary stepped out of the smoke and flames, sword in hand. Dark eyes glistened in oranges and yellows.

He remembered them. The lack of emotion burning through those eyes would startle him awake at night for years. That, and the silver of his sword stained in the reds of his people.

“That’s enough now, don’t ya think?” The gruff gurgle of his voice curled the hair on Taiga’s head.

The man swung out, his blade slicing the air between them without the slightest of sounds. He recoiled, swinging back towards Taiga. The man paused a moment, and Taiga stepped back, finding a root and shifting further away. The glint of metal slashed at him again.

The tip of silver sliced across Taiga’s stomach, and the stinging of split flesh made him cry out. His hand fell to the wound, pressing against it. The touch hurt more, but he smothered the blood as he did his voice.

The man didn’t react, but swung down at him again. Taiga tumbled to the right, and the man tripped on the root as he strode forward. Taiga stepped back, hugging his wound. The man repositioned, turning towards Taiga again, but as he moved, the handle of a small blade revealed itself from beneath his cloak.

As the sword slashed towards Taiga again, he darted close, grabbing the handle of the sword and yanking it from its sheath. Before the man reacted, Taiga drove the blade directly between the plates of his armor, and deep into the soft under his arm.

The man let out a beast of a roar, pulling away, but Taiga held tight. The man yanked back, but Taiga moved forward to him, and in desperation, used all his strength to twist the knife and dig it deeper into the man. The man screamed, whirled around and smacked Taiga across the face.

But he kept his grip, even as the man pounded fists onto him. Each blow blackened Taiga’s vision, wavering his strength. Though he knew letting go would mean death, his fingers couldn’t keep their hold, loosening.

“Let go of me! This fucker! Get him off me!” His voice choked, hot blood and saliva dripped over Taiga’s arms and face.

Another mercenary unsheathed their sword as they ran towards him. Taiga tightened his grip once more, and yanked to the left. The man let out a final cry as the meat of his chest and the cracking of bones split. The knife ripped free, the release in force sending Taiga to the ground.

He scrambled to his feet as another sword slashed down into the dirt he lay in. Then, digging his toes into the earth, Taiga launched forward, the bark and broken branches splintering his feet. Silver flew just over him as he ducked down. He hardened his legs, then propelled forward, digging his blade under the chest plate of another mercenary.

The mercenary stumbled a grunt before dropping over him. Taiga lurched back, taking a breath for the first time in what felt an eternity. Enemy blood soaked him, boiling him in the heat and flames growing ever closer. The silver of his sword gone, his hand trembled.

He’d held a knife only once, in the kitchen, with carrots as his prey. But now as smoke choked the air, embers flickered over his hair and burned the world around him, and as the boots of mercenaries drew ever closer, this stained silver was his only ally.

His legs moved before his mind ordered, and carried him through the once familiar trees, after the kids he’d helped escape, and towards freedom, if they could reach the corrupt lands of the south west.

Help us, please!

His breath hitched with every stride, muscles aching, his throat scorched, Taiga ran. The mercenaries drew on him, and though he knew the forest’s maze, their legs were longer and quicker than his.

Beyond the smoke and burning trees, metal reflected from ahead of him. He slowed, before catching sight of tunics littering the ground beneath the metal’s feet. He counted six of them, too young to know death, and too old to be spared of it. The children he’d bought time for lay slain across the roots of the trees, against the softness of the earth, and left to lie in the dying grasses hidden from flames.

His breath fled him as he found the boy he’d carried, tears strewn down their still face. Blood soaked around him, drawing towards Taiga. The metal ahead of him stepped forward, and between them and his pursuers, Taiga had nowhere left to run.

“One left? How many of ours died, nine? We’ll be compensated with every head lost, on both sides, so count them together,” someone behind him murmured.

Nine. For all the lives of his people, they only lost nine. Though rage flooded him, it escaped him in a laugh. But of course, his people weren’t fighters. They were the balance. They had no need to fight.

His fingers tightened over the leather handle of his short sword before turning. Several dozen mercenaries stood within the trees, and with at least another dozen ahead of his path, there was no life here.

“Just kill the kid, the smoke’s gettin’ thick,” an aged voice made apparent the leader. The man turned, waving them off. Several men moved with him, though more than not stayed behind.

“Got it,” a woman stepped forward, sword in hand. Two others followed beside her. Taiga steadied his stance. The urge to scream at them nearly overwhelmed him. But what would it do? Not even a shred of emotion made itself known amongst them, for his people or their own.

He stepped back, bringing his short sword in front of himself, ready to defend. His fingers trembled, a reflection of his heart as it failed to steel itself. The woman took another step forward, and he hopped back.

The crunch of a tree drew all their attention away. Two centuries old, a once grand tree, crumbled in the fire that burned it and crashed down over him. Taiga tried to flee, but too late, and the great weight of it crushed him beneath its great weight.

His breath fled him in a scream, and little returned to him. The burning of the flames dug through his tunic in moments, shredding his skin and boiling his blood from him. He screamed again, though no air or sound came out.

His legs sizzled, and he squirmed them, flinging them around in any way he could to break free of the searing pain driving up his legs, through his spine, and down his arms. He struggled to keep his breath within him, his voice creeping through even the slightest of breaths.

A boot of metal stopped just short of his head, and through tears and agony, the blurry figure of the woman stood over him. She spoke something to her comrade he couldn’t make out. She waved a signal at the others before walking off.

“Wait! Please!” his voice came out less than a whisper, a rasp from desperation. The pain overwhelming his mind. He tried to push up, but his back only seared against the burning tree.

He’d burn alive like this. He’d die here, as ash and bone. He dug his feet into the ground, pushing forward. He slid maybe a centimeter before his body gave out. His legs burned and melted.

He remembered this. His legs and back were scarred.

He wriggled to his side, looking down at his bare legs.

They already had scars from these burns. If he already had these wounds then…

Why was he here?

The roar of the beast drowned the fire, the smoke, the crumbling of the trees, his screams and his pain. He lay on the grass, his stomach and back barkening, bridging over the wound caused by the once Guardian Spirit.

“Stop this now!” Mouse stood between Taiga and the beast a short distance away, his charred wooden sword in hand. He smacked a lunge of the beast’s tail to the side.

Taiga pushed up on his palms, shock reverberating through him. His legs bared no feeling left in them, and his hands tingled. How long had the corruption ate at him while he was caught in the beast’s dreams?

But he wasn’t the child from that day. He pulled his legs under him, dragging his wooden sword beneath him and using it to pull himself to his feet. While his stomach crawled with the gray and brown bark of his people, he drew bark through his hand, wrapping his sword in it.

Vines sprouted around the bark, curling and hardening into a cone at the sword’s tip. Thorns rippled across the vines, sharpening at his call. He breathed, and the bark of his sword shivered in response. He dragged its tip across the grasses, pulling earthly bound magic through it as he stepped towards the beast.