[ II ] Ruined Son ii

  "Dane—… here."

  Blurry. Muffled sounds. Blackness again.

  "Get—… over there—… this." One voice with authority commanding others.

  What is that? Is that wood? Ragnel couldn’t see past the blurriness. Log stacked walls of old, an old wooden table, two chairs about to break, and — is that soup he smelled?

  Soup. His brother’s favorite.

  Especially beef stew. This morning. Before the village fair.

  Why did he think that?

  The warmth of the fireplace caught up to his senses.

  "Fire?" he mouthed, then paused.

  Eyes widened, muscles jolted alive; "Fire!" he meant to scream. What came out was a faint, disconnected whisper.

  He raised his arms as if he were trying to block an attack. Only one bandaged arm obeyed.

  "What!?" inaudible again. He blinked once, twice, three times.

  Still missing.

  He tried to sit up. Nothing. Neck brace. He couldn’t even look down to see. Only his left arm. Only his left arm. He could feel his right arm moving, but it wasn't.

  Where is my arm?

  The door creaked open,n and Ragnel’s eyes immediately focused on the door. Mechanical arms pushed the door aside — mechanical arms. He involuntarily inhaled sharply. Floor creaking under the man’s footsteps, the man came into focus, about the same age as Greige but rougher and more weathered than him, frayed baggy pants, beaten combat boots, and an open vest with no undershirt.

  An enemy. Maybe. Why?

  The mechanical arms. Just like Kama’s, but heavier.

  The man crossed to the fireplace to check on the soup, not even glancing his way as Ragnel watched him. Stirred it.

  Making his way to the table,ble he found Ragnel awake, his expression stayed the same.

  "You're awake, Kiddo." Deep and raspy. Like boulders settling.

  A voiced exhale was the only reply Ragnel could make.

  "Well, figured as much," as he scratched his head, parting his silver hair. "Gotta heal up first, then we'll talk. In the meantime – let's eat."

  The man filled two bowls with the soup and brought one over to him. He lifted the spoon to feed Ragnel.

  A sharp grunt. As if Ragnel would allow another man to spoon-feed him.

  "Hmph. Have it your way then, Kiddo," he put the bowl down, ate his own, then left the room.

  Ragnel stared at the empty soup bowl — tears trickled in. When? Why? Why anything? Why was he here?

  He was able to move his neck just enough to find a window behind him. Darkness. Silence broken by the crackling fireplace. Fireplace. Fire. Soup. Birthday. Mechanical arms.

  He hid behind shrubs, weak. He froze in fear, weak. He watched them all die, weak. He didn’t know whether to be afraid, angry, or aggrieved. The feelings bled together like a storm.

  Sunlight peeked through the window. Ragnel’s eyes were burning. He didn’t sleep at all.

  He could move again, but the thought of moving was exhausting. His movements were delayed by thought. He eyed the plate of food set aside. An empty stare. Was this new food? So he did sleep at some point.

  The man entered and glanced at the food plate.

  "You gotta eat at some point, Kiddo."

  Ragnel's eyes narrowed. Hearing ‘kiddo,’ he tensed his fists.

  Right, fist. Struggling to look at his right arm.

  "Who are you?"

  The man's expression shifted into a grin. "Well, well, lookie here. Pretty talkative today, aren't ya?" He pulled up a chair, turned it around, and straddled it; mechanical arms resting on the backrest. "It's story time."

  Ragnel squinted. Is he always this annoying?

  Ragnel moved to sit up. His muscles ached and refused. A long, drawn-out exhale. He stayed down. This reminded him of the first time he sparred with his dad. He was so beat up the next day he couldn’t move, and his brother had to take care of him.

  Brother. Dad.

  "I said,' Who are you?" Ragnel demanded.

  "Hey, take it easy," he said, raising his hands. "Just wanted to know what happened, 'cuz your arm fell off." His hands shifted, still raised but now pointing to the corner of the room.

  Leaning in the corner was the Zwei Buster. Dusty and weathered.

  "Your other arm was still holding that sword, damn thing is heavy," returning his arms to the backrest. "Tried to see if I could reattach your arm, but it was too badly damaged. By the way, where did you get that sword?" He nudged his head towards it.

  The fireplace crackled.

  "You still haven't told me who you are." Slightly out of breath.

  "The name's Dane, I—"

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  Sharp heavy breaths; raspy grunts building. The grunts became deep, gurgling, guttural screams.

  "My arm!" he coughed. "It's burning!" he lifted his missing arm. "It's getting more painful!" He thrashed, trying to shake the burning sensation from his phantom limb. His whole body convulsed. His phantom arm was gripping fire itself. Nothing was there. What is this?

  Dane's face shifted into a dead expression. "Gotta tough it out, Kiddo." He remained in the same position in the chair. "There's no way to stop the phantom pain. I was wondering when it would kick in."

  What began as deep, demon-like grunts unfolded into hoarse whispers. Ragnel could only writhe as if he were burning at the stake.

  Dane got up from the chair and went to the door. “I’ll be back.” He closed the door behind him,m leaving Ragnel alone with the pain.

  Was he leaving Ragnel, too? Everybody was leaving him.

  Dane returned after what felt like an eternity. Ragnel was still squirming in pain,n but he was doing better than earlier.

  "Where did you go?" Ragnel said hoarsely. He came back.

  Dane lifted his hand; he was holding some sort of vial in between his fingers. "Got you a stim," he said as he walked towards Ragnel and placed it on the night table next to him. "It won't stop the pain, but it'll help."

  Ragnel eyed the stim; it was a liquid encased in a metal tube, with one end capped. He had never seen something like this. This could help with the pain? Back in the village, it would be herbs, ointments, regular medicine, and pain tolerance.

  Dane saw Ragnel’s reaction. "This is new to you?"

  Ragnel nodded, his pain remained,d but softer, as it coiled back ready to strike again. "Who are you?"

  Dane grabbed a chair and straddled it, his mechanical arms resting on the backrest.

  "The name's Dane. I got a call from a buddy to hurry over to Woodfield. Sounded pretty serious, then his comms went out. Figured it was something big since he never sounded serious. I tried signaling him, but he never got back to me. Took a while to get there—your village is deeper in the woods than I thought." he scratched his head.

  Ragnel was studying everything he heard, trying to make sense of the timeline.

  "I started seeing fire and smoke, by the time I got there —” Dane pointed at him. “It looked like things were finishing up."

  That’s right. Kama was going to finish me.

  He patted something on his hip. "Fired a couple rounds off with my Gauss Slinger here."

  Ragnel shifted focus to the weapon. A regular-looking slingshot with an open-channeled barrel in the center of the fork. How could this have scared off Kama?

  Ragnel’s left eyebrow crept upward while inching his head sideways. "And that scared him off?"

  "Well, yeah, kiddo." Dane's eyebrows furrowed, his head shifted backwards. "Something as small as a pebble could make an impact crater the size of a large boulder."

  Ragnel pursed his lips. "Right." He didn't know whether to believe him or not.

  His dad rotted away in seconds.

  His brother was 16 years old for a couple of hours.

  Watching his mom die in front of him felt like an age.

  What was there to believe?

  Dane noticed Ragnel’s blank expression. "Your turn, kiddo." Ragnel’s head jerked awake. "What the hell happened?"

  His eyes were distant again; "I don't know." No eye contact, just staring a hole into the floor.

  "It was my brother's birthday. He turned 16.” His eyes shifted up and sideways. “Mom made some beef stew for him,m and we were all eating. All of us: Mom, Dad, him, me.”

  His hand found the edge of the blanket and pulled it closer. “Dad disappeared. I went looking for him.”

  Dad never disappeared without telling anybody. He would wake Momm up to tell her he was going to check on the farm in the middle of the night. It was unlike him to disappear.

  Dane stood up. "Keep talkin, I'm just gonna put some food on the fire," he walked over to the fireplace and started cooking, Ragnel watched closely. "Keep talkin, kiddo."

  "Ok... I saw him going into the forest. He had his sword and shield with him —"

  "Sword and shield?" Dane’s reply was a mix of confusion and disbelief. Ragnel nodded.

  Dane looked at him. "Go on." He left the pan over the fire to cook longer and straddled the chair again.

  "Yeah, sword and shield—we only used them while sparring.” Dad tried teaching his brother, but he always made an excuse to end early so he could tinker with tech. He was more tech than brawn.

  “I followed him and —” RagneI froze. “I hid —" Ragnel's hands trembled, his voice started to shake. Did he have to tell this man anything? No. There was no —

  "Kiddo." Ragnel looked at him. Dane’s eyes pierced his, "Talk." His whole demeanor changed, a complete reversal. Those two words meant business as if telling death ‘no’. The way Dane said those two words… Dad sounded like that whenever he was scolding Ragnel for sneaking out.

  "I—," words escaped him as if his voice ran away.

  "I hid—, I hid while I saw this thing kill my dad. It was some sort of magic."

  Dane's head inched forward. "Magic?" his tone didn’t change. "Ok... go on."

  Ragnel's face sagged, his eyes glazed over. "Everything around this thing started dying and decomposing. The grass. The trees.” He remembered the putrid smell and gagged inside. “Dad…"

  …

  Dane remained silent, taking in the information.

  Ragnel looked at Dane like a wounded animal. “Its wounds… the cuts sealed themselves. It was as if life was stolen… taken.”

  Ragnel didn’t know much about magic, only that it existed. He had never been outside Woodfield; maybe magic is more common. Dane’s reaction was —

  "What did it look like?"

  Ragnel’s eyes drifted to Dane’s arms. "Tall. Mechanical arms like yours, but only its right arm. His left arm seemed human.” He paused. “Long hair, iron jaw. Legs were mechanical, too."

  Dane’s expression didn’t change. It seemed that this was a normal occurrence to him. Not a word, just a stern focus.

  A long exhale. “The legs turned into some kind of rocket. It went in the direction of the village.”

  Like a rocket?" Dane’s eyebrows pulled in.

  "Yeah, like a rocket—I didn't know what to do, I couldn't think — you know, like when in a stressful situation you can't even hear yourself think, you just do.”

  Dane waited patiently, analyzing his face.

  “I called my brother — comms died…”

  He was struggling to breathe. His heart started beating faster.

  “I was… afraid.”

  Ragnel had never been more still.

  “The village was burning. I had to find them.” His eyes became watery as he stared off in the distance.

  Dane went to check on the food. “Just a little bit more,” he whispered to himself. Ragnel broke his gaze and watched him. He returned to the chair and sat on it properly. Arms on his knees.

  “My brother — I was too late.” All he knew was — he was too late.

  Ragnel pointed at the sword with a little tip of his head. “That was the only weapon I could find”, his missing arm reached for it. The cramping pain resurfaced — not yet a full attack.

  “I lost. It was going to kill me. Then mom saved me. I was powerless. I was too weak.” His left arm squeezed the blanket, trying to reduce it to atoms.

  Short, quick breaths. “It… did the same thing to mom…” Ragnel had tears trickling down onto the blanket while his face remained blank.

  Silence.

  “Hmm.” Dane stood up and checked on the food. Not a word. He prepared two plates and set them down on the table. He was still standing, looking down at Ragnel. Was it pity or was it empathy? Ragnel couldn’t tell.

  "Well, that sucks," his carefree tone returned. He sat down and held the plate out toward him.

  That sucks.

  Death.

  That sucks.

  His stomach rumbled. He eyed the food. His fist clenched even harder. Why was he offering him food when he couldn't even move?

  "Oh." Dane caught on and retracted the plate. "Right, you can't move,e and you won't let me feed you. That sucks, kiddo."

  A long breath. His eyes closed.

  "Hey." Dane's serious tone.

  Another exhale. His eyes opened. "What?"

  "Who was your dad?"

  "My dad?" Why did he want to know? "My dad was Greige. Greige Gareil."

  Dane's eyes widened.

  Did he know Dad? He would have sat up and leaned forward if he could.

  "Did you—"

  "Greige was my buddy."