Clive stepped over the debris, boots pressing, eyes scanning what little was left. There were no voices. No survivors calling for help. Only silence.

The wagon had collapsed near the treeline. Branches snapped beneath its weight. Splinters of wood and tattered cloth scattered like bones across the ground.

That was where he found you.

Curled beneath the wreckage, too still, covered in soot and streaks of dirt that clung to your skin like the forest itself was trying to swallow you whole.

For a moment, he couldn't breathe. The shape of you, small, trembling, brought back the image of another child left behind in the rubble. The memory of Joshua, wide-eyed and afraid, burned sharper than the smoke ever could.

But it wasn't the past. You were here. Breathing. Fragile, but alive.

Clive knelt beside the wagon. His hand hovered for a moment before settling gently on your shoulder. His palm was rough with old scars, but the touch was careful.

"You are coming with me." His voice was quiet, steady despite the ache slowly creeping in.

The cloak slipped from his shoulders as he wrapped it around you. It carried the scent of fire and the road, worn thin from years of travel but it would be enough.

He lifted you easily. Too light. The same weight that had once clung to his arms when his brother was small and fragile, before fate had torn everything apart.

The forest stretched around him, blackened and quiet. The path ahead was uncertain but this, at least, would not end the same way.