The boy didn't wake up the next morning.
He was breathing, but feverish. Muttering disconnected words — names, perhaps, or fragments of memories only he could remember.
Elias placed a damp cloth on his forehead. His stock of antibiotics was low. If the mission in 14-B yielded what was promised, he'd have more. If not... well, he had seen many die for less.
Grimm kept watch on the road. Ash discreetly licked the boy's face. Elias said nothing. He wasn't the type to scold affection.
He stepped out to search for dry wood.
The storm from the previous night had left everything heavy, soaked, as if the earth itself was trying to wash away what little remained of the world.
That's when he saw it.
A field. Dry. Ancient. In the distance, the ruins of a primary school. Broken windows. Playground swallowed by weeds.
And further ahead, scattered like seeds on the wind — bones. Small, white, far too clean.
Elias walked among them. No graves. No crosses. Only silence and absence.
The war hadn't been fair to anyone.
But to the children... it had been cruel.
He knelt before a tiny skull. Picked it up carefully.
There was something caught between the teeth: a chain, or what was left of it.
On the corroded medallion, he could still make out a letter: "L."
He closed his eyes.
For a moment, the world disappeared — the war, the mission, the feverish boy lying back at the gas station.
Everything vanished except the image of that child.
Then Elias stood up.
He pocketed the medallion.
Not for remembrance — but out of respect.
There weren't many things left worth respecting.
---
If you're enjoying this story, don't forget to vote with PowerStones!