Few knew the reason behind the small memorial headstone built atop the hill, looking out towards the Mountains of Moore just outside the village. That was to be expected, for there were only four in the village who really knew its purpose. The memorial was a way for the survivors of a certain tragedy to remember those who had died in a terrible tragedy.
"It's been ten years since we put this up, huh?" Dean asked as he wiped the small amount of snow that had piled up on top of the stone.
"You really can't stay silent or sit still for long, can you?" Joan muttered, not even opening her eyes as she prayed.
She was right, of course. Every time he approached this place his heart grew heavy, and he felt as if he would break down crying if he didn't find some way to distract himself. Silent prayer simply wasn't his thing.
They had lost so much back then, and here he was on the eleventh anniversary trying to keep everything he had protected safe. It was an insignificant gesture, but he wanted those who had lost their lives to be remembered in some fashion, and so he had requested to erect this stone as a memorial. He looked up towards the distant mountain range, imagining the ruins of the place that was once the Mount Moore monastery and academy.
"Not a day goes by that I don't think about it. Sorry, I know I'm rambling a little. It's just Matin hasn't even visited this place in years and you're off doing… church things. The only one I can share anything with is Cait, and I sometimes feel like I'm unloading too much onto her, so yeah."
Joan looked up at him, seemingly unbothered by his torrent of words. What a fool he was being, setting a poor example for her. Though he supposed she was long past the stage of being impressionable. Dean, having said what he needed to say, went back to praying silently, though the process was still rather alien to him.
"Can a hero who has outlived those he swore to protect really be called a hero?" She asked suddenly.
"What did you-?" Dean asked, before pausing and shaking his head with a wry laugh. "I mean, who can say? I don't think so myself."
Cait had gotten into the habit of calling him her hero ever since he had taken her and the others from the monastery. He himself felt like he was the last person who deserved such a moniker, but if it made Cait happy, he was willing to put up with it.
Joan shook her head.
"You still haven't been able to move on, have you? You need to accept that most of those who died have surely found joy in their next life by now," she said, putting an emphasis on 'most'.
A stout believer in the Goddess, the years had only tempered her faith. At times, Dean was jealous of her ability to accept death. The thought of moving on to a happier life was comforting, but it was a thing without proof that he just couldn't get his heart behind. He tried, but every time he closed his eyes, he would see the corpses of his friends and the orphans. There was no escaping the guilt or the nightmares. He took a drink from the small flask he was carrying and felt the warmth of its contents ease the pain slightly.
Perhaps he should have died at the monastery, saving Matin, Joan and Cait. Things would have been far simpler that way.
Naturally, the events that occurred at the monastery had long-lasting effects. The death of the emperor and two of the most powerful members of the nobility in Marianne and Morgan sent the empire into yet another civil war. Little of that mattered, however, in the small farming village Dean had taken them to after their escape.
Initially, the villagers had been suspicious, but it was difficult to turn down four able-bodied young people when there was plenty of hard farm work to be done. Over time, they integrated and were now seen as locals themselves. Well, all save for one of their number.
They had eventually found a place in the small hamlet. Joan became a sister's apprentice as soon as she could and took over a small chapel not far outside the village. She eventually became a full sister not long into her adulthood and seemed more than happy with the arrangement. Although it seemed she had much more planned.
Dean and Cait were married in that same chapel not long after they arrived. The villagers were happy at the prospect of new life being born into their community, and their union was blessed. However, they soon discovered that Cait could bear no children.
Dean stubbornly stayed with her, refusing any offers from the village elders to marry their daughters or granddaughters instead. He did his best for her, but there was always a deep-rooted sadness in Cait's eyes, as if she felt hollow or incomplete. Their daily life was mostly peaceful, though sometimes bad memories and stress would irritate him, and he would sometimes take those frustrations out on Cait, the only person who constantly remained at his side. He truly hated himself for that.
Matin never showed much interest in marriage. In fact, he didn't interact with the other villagers much at all. He spent his days studying any books he could get his hands on and would only visit Dean and Cait when he needed some sort of advice or help. Otherwise, he remained a complete recluse who never shook that initial suspicion the villagers had of him.
"I think it's about time I returned to the chapel. And Dean?" Joan asked, getting to her feet.
"What is it?"
"You shouldn't drink while paying respects to the dead."
"Mind your own business."
Not too long later, Dean returned to his home to find none other than Matin sitting at his kitchen table, no doubt looking for help with some recent issue.
"Look at it this way. We're all still alive even as the entire empire collapses around us. You'll have another chance at finding it. Just give things a little more time to settle down," Dean explained to a tired-looking Matin as they sat at the table.
Matin sat with his head bowed and hands clasped together. The watery tea which Cait had served had long since gone cold. Despite only being in his late twenties, Matin looked like a man twice his age. The color of his hair had faded somewhat, and his eyes were dark and sunken.
"It's been so long, I think the locket and mirror are probably lost to me now," Matin whispered.
After they had fled and the empire collapsed, their old homes had of course been ransacked by mobs. Matin was hoping to find some family heirlooms which his mother had treasured. He had come to Dean for help, and though Dean was happy to help him in this endeavor, they never found so much as a whisper of the treasure's location.
It mattered little to Dean. He had never been much for worldly possessions, but he understood how important those items must have been for Matin. A memento of his mother could have gone very far in helping his mental state.
"Look, just forget about it for the time being, yeah? Those things are probably changing hands daily with all the chaos that's been going on. The harvest festival is coming up, so let's wait until next summer, yeah? We can make a journey out of it." Dean said, trying to make it all sound exciting.
Dean's concerns lay almost solely with village affairs as of late. He didn't much care for anything else, but he would do anything to ensure his friend's happiness. Though in that regard, he was failing spectacularly.
"Yeah, I guess you're right. Sorry for coming all this way just to complain," Matin said with a short, mirthless laugh.
"It's never a bother, and you know that," Dean replied sternly.
Matin nodded and smiled. Dean didn't like that smile. It did little to hide Matin's true state. Pale and scrawny, with dark bags under his eyes. He genuinely feared for his friend's health, being cooped up in that small wooden shack for days on end without speaking to anyone.
"Well, it's getting late. I should get going," Matin said, as he somewhat shakily got to his feet.
"Oh, won't you stay for dinner?" Cait asked, sticking her head out from the kitchen doorway.
"Better, not. It's getting dark."
Dean nodded. While he would have preferred if Matin had stayed and had some decent food, the man looked like he needed his rest. He also knew that going outside in the dark was dangerous these days.
"At least let me go with you." Dean said, getting to his feet as well.
"No!" Matin said, a little louder than necessary before taking a breath and repeating more quietly, "No."
Dean felt his muscles tighten at Matin's sudden outburst. For a moment, he couldn't even find the words to respond. He glanced out the cloth-covered gap in the wall that served as a window. It was twilight outside, and there was still just enough light to see.
"Well, don't delay then. It'll be dark soon," Dean said finally.
With a nod and a quiet thank you, Matin left. His usual, empty smile still plastered onto his face.
Once his friend had left, Dean collapsed back onto the chair he had been sitting on and took another large gulp from his flask. Soon after, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. Basking in the comfort, he tilted his head, resting his cheek on the top of her hand.
"I'm losing him, Cait," he finally said.
"Why don't we ask Joan to talk to him?" Cait suggested.
Dean let out a short laugh.
"I don't know what to do with her, either. She's almost a bigger problem than he is."
Joan had recently decided to declare herself the true priestess and was drawing trouble to their peaceful village like moths to a flame. It was typical that she would have to do this now of all times. She had even gathered deserters and bandits to her cause and was picking fights with the local nobility.
"No, Joan can't do anything for him. He needs me. I'm the only one who can look out for him now. Only I know what's best for him."
Cait's hand tightened on his shoulder, silently letting him know that she would support him no matter what happened. Dean was reminded once again of how lucky he was to have her. As long as Cait was by his side, all would be well.
That evening, Cait burned the dinner, leaving most of it inedible. Dean, who had had a bit too much to drink that day. Lost control of his emotions and shouted at her for her failure. She didn't deserve such treatment, and yet he couldn't bring himself to apologise. The married couple passed the rest of the night in silence, eating stale bread and cheese.
*
"A beast of some sort was definitely here," Joan said as she crouched down in a small clearing within the forest. Dean stood over her, looking down at the ground which had been torn up by something with enormous claws.
"Do you think it was here today?" He asked.
"Can't be sure. I can sense the evil, but I'm not a tracker," Joan added patiently.
Joan had agreed to take time out of her busy schedule to help Dean get to the bottom of the recent disappearances in the village. She often helped Dean whenever she could, and he was thankful to her for that. Joan, being stubborn and not wanting to appear as if she was giving away help for free, had said that an evil presence near her church was as much her problem as his.
That's right, it was Joan's church now, and it had quickly become a landmark location in the empire. From all over, people flocked to her as she promised relief from the constant war. Having something like a beast or monster killing her neighbors would have been a bad look.
"I see, from what little I know of tracking, I'd say these are fairly recent. We're probably getting close. You think you're alright for another hour or two?" Dean asked.
Joan rolled her eyes.
"I'm not a child anymore, Dean. If anything, you should be worried about your own aging body."
"Ouch," Dean muttered.
Joan had never lost that barbed tongue of hers, and it only seemed to get worse once she had reached adulthood. He hoped all the religious leader nonsense wasn't getting to her head. Then again, she had been more or less like that since her days as an orphan. What a worrisome woman.
Despite it all, he was proud of how far she had come. He was happy that he had saved at least one child from that awful monastery and swore he would protect her for the rest of his life, whether she liked it or not.
The pair continued to search the forest for the next few hours, but to no avail.
"We should be getting back, Dean," Joan said.
Dean looked up through the canopy above. The sky was still bright, but beneath the trees, it was quickly becoming too dark to see clearly.
"Yeah, I suppose we should," he agreed.
Dean paused, looking longingly ahead and deeper into the forest.
"The creature can likely sense us from miles away," Joan stated. "We're better off trapping it when it comes hunting. I'll request aid from my followers tomorrow, so let's go back for now."
Dean couldn't help but crack a smile.
"Since when did you get so authoritative?" He asked, rubbing the top of her head rather roughly.
She slapped him away, an annoyed expression on her face.
"Stop disrespecting the priestess, or your next life will be one of suffering!" She snapped.
This time, Dean laughed out loud. Looking at her now, it was shocking how similar to Cait in appearance she had become. It wouldn't have been a surprise if someone mistook them for sisters or perhaps, mother and daughter. Though Cait was still much too young for that, of course. It was a shame she had little of the older woman's gentle kindness.
"Are you sure you don't want to be adopted?"
"Are you seriously still asking me that? I'm a grown woman, Dean."
"I know, sorry. Couldn't resist," he snickered.
When they had first moved here, Dean had tried his best to adopt and raise Joan with Cait, but the girl had always refused, tying herself to the church as quickly and tightly as she could.
It was just as they were entering the village limits that Dean noticed something was terribly wrong. He could hear desperate shouting in the distance, and nobody was around to greet them at the village entrance. Usually someone would be finishing up in the fields, putting away equipment or animals. Now, it was dead-silent.
"Something's not right," Joan muttered to herself as she made a sign of prayer.
"You don't think the creature has come by?" Dean asked, his voice filled with worry.
The creature had never struck during daylight hours, so he had thought it best to go looking for its den during the day. Perhaps he had misjudged it.
"I'm not sure, but we'd better hurry back just in case," Joan said.
Dean nodded, and they both quickened their pace.
As they approached Matin's hut at the edge of the village, they found the door wide open and the place empty. Various objects, from pots to cutlery, littered the floor.
"Matin," Dean said, his voice cracking in panic.
Turning on the spot, he burst out into a run towards the village center. Had the beast hunted his friend? What of Cait? He unslung the ice lythment that he had been carrying. It was the very same lythment he had used in the monastery all those years ago.
"Dean, wait!" Joan called out as she ran after him.
He halted when he came across a trail of blood. A few trails, actually, all converging and heading towards the back of an old granary at the edge of a wheat field.
"Shit," Dean cursed and ran with all his might, the lythment pointed and ready. He rounded the edges of the granary and stopped dead in his tracks.
Four corpses lay in the dirt, their bodies torn apart. People he'd known for over a decade. His mind flashed back to those wretched days at Mount Moor Monastery. The sight of Layota's body on the ground and the beast in front of her.
"No," Dean whispered, shaking his head. "No, no, no."
Scrambling to his feet, he took off at a sprint towards the village, now well within sight. The shouting had died down somewhat, but occasionally someone would shout something, or he would hear something akin to a loud jeer. Dean paid the sounds no mind. He had to make it back home, had to check on Cait. He recalled her saying that she would treat Matin to a meal earlier that morning.
Their house was right next to the village square, and Dean could see that a crowd had gathered there. That didn't matter. He didn't even stop when someone at the edge of the crowd noticed his return and called out to him.
He reached his home and slammed open the door.
"Cait! Cait, are you-"
His voice trailed off as he observed the interior of their small home. Cait lay on her back near the center of the room, her eyes wide open. For a moment Dean thought she had fainted, but the gash along her neck and stomach told a very different story. Blood pooled around her, and it was clear she had already breathed her last.
Dean ran forward and fell to his knees by her side. Unconsciously, his arm drifted towards her face and gently stroked her cheek. He placed his other hand over her neck wound as if slowing the bleeding had any chance of bringing her back to life. He could barely breathe, and his mind had stopped thinking clearly.
He heard footsteps behind him but paid them no mind. When Joan came into view, she knelt down on Cait's other side and began performing the rights just as she had done with everyone at the monastery all those years ago. However, this time she looked up at Dean once she finished and whispered.
"I'm sorry, Dean."
That was the first time she had ever tried to comfort a grieving person. However, Dean was too wrapped up in grief to hear. He couldn't take his eyes off Cait's face. They knelt there for some time before running footsteps interrupted their reverie.
"Ah Dean. Dammit, I told them to keep you away from here. I'm so sorry, lad."
The voice belonged to Kenneth, the acting head of the village. A kind, elderly man who had helped them when they first arrived.
When Dean did nothing to acknowledge him, he continued.
"It's a small comfort to you, I know. But we found the one responsible for this and could capture him using the weapons from Joan's church. His last few minutes on this earth were ones of great suffering, I promise."
Dean snapped to attention at those words.
"What?" he asked, his gaze darting to Kenneth. "Where is he?" Dean asked loudly.
The old man's eyes widened, and his mouth hung open for a moment before he could answer.
"I-in the village center, the oak tree we-. Wait!"
Dean ran out of the house. He had a horrible feeling he knew exactly who Kenneth was referring to. And as he reached the village square, he came to see the truth of the situation.
Villagers were cheering, raising their weapons, and laughing aloud. They each took turns throwing rotting vegetables at something that was hanging from the oak tree at the very center of the square. Others were using it as target practice with their lythments or farming tools.
Dean approached the desecrated corpse. As he did so, the villagers stopped throwing vegetables. He ignored their condolences, protests, and strange looks and walked right up to Matin. His friend's face was purple and blue, bruised and swollen almost beyond recognition. Dean leaned his head against the bottom of his best friend's legs, hugging the only part he could reach.
He could hear the voices of the villagers.
"I get that he was his friend, but-"
"Yeah, he had always been mad, that one. I'm not surprised he was the one behind the killings. Serves him right, the lunatic."
"Got what he deserved, I say."
That was it, then. It had taken a little longer, lulling him into a false sense of security, but he had finally lost everything. Even what little he could salvage with his own meager strength had slipped through his fingers. He truly was worthless.
"Can a hero who has outlived all those he loved truly be called a hero?"
Joan mirrored the words she had said a few days before at the memorial. At some point she had approached from behind and once again began praying for the deceased.
It didn't matter to Dean. Nothing mattered anymore. He had lost everything except his own pathetic life. He looked up at the dark gray sky of fading twilight with one thought going through his mind.
Why was he forced to stay alive when those more deserving of life passed on before him?
The dreaded gray sky held no answers for his broken spirit.