Chapter 40: Neglect
Armored Dragon Calendar Year 417 – Claude, Age 12
[Claude POV]
The tracker led me deeper into the forest.
Two blips on the device. Two tracking signals within a ten-kilometer radius of the village.
I had spent three hours searching, hoping that maybe, just maybe, some of my people had survived the teleportation and made it this far.
The signals were weak. Inconsistent, but present.
I followed the first one through dense undergrowth, past streams swollen with recent rain, over fallen logs covered in moss. The forest was alive with sounds.
Birds called overhead. Small creatures rustled in the brush.
Everything was green and growing and utterly indifferent to human tragedy.
The signal grew stronger.
I found them in a small clearing.
Two bodies. A man and a woman.
They lay together, as if they had died in each other's arms. The early stages of decomposition had begun, but I could still recognize their faces.
Somar's parents.
The woman was the one who had fallen for Paul years ago. The scandal that had rocked Buena Village.
She had moved on. Her husband had been a farmer.
Good people. Ordinary people.
Dead people.
I knelt beside them. The protection ring I had made for them lay broken on the ground nearby.
The enchantment had depleted completely. They must have fought.
Must have tried to survive. But the monsters in this forest were relentless.
The ring hadn't been enough.
I picked it up. The metal was cold against my palm.
Another failure.
I dug the grave myself. Thunk.
Twenty meters deep—excessive, impractical. But I needed the physical exertion.
Needed the burn of muscles and the sting of blisters to distract from the weight of what I'd found.
The soil was soft from recent rain. It clung to my hands, my clothes, my face.
I dug until my arms screamed, until the sun had moved and I couldn't feel my fingers.
Nobody came looking for me. Nobody interrupted.
Maybe they sensed that I needed this time alone.
When the grave was deep enough, I climbed out and carried the bodies down. Placed them carefully at the bottom.
Arranged their hands together, the way they had been when I found them.
"I'm sorry," I said to the darkness.
"I tried to prepare. To save everyone."
The words fell into the dark and didn't come back.
I climbed out and began filling the grave. Handful by handful.
Shovelful by shovelful. The work was mindless.
Repetitive. Exactly what I needed.
By the time I finished, the stars were emerging.
I marked the site with an enchanted tracker. Something to lead me back here later.
Something to remind me of what I had lost.
Then I washed the dirt from my hands in a nearby stream and walked back toward the village.
Rudeus was lounging in the chief's house when I returned.
He was recovering from his exhaustion, attended by servants, comfortable and safe. The sight of him made it worse.
He looked up as I entered. Hesitation crossed his face.
"Claude, I—"
"Ask the guards what I did this morning."
I brushed past him without waiting for a response.
"Before you woke up."
"What?"
"Ask them."
I left him staring after me, confusion plain on his face. Let him find out himself.
Let him see the fresh grave outside the village. Let him understand what the teleportation had cost.
I was too tired to explain. Too angry.
Too empty.
Ruijerd found me at the village gate as the sun was setting.
He didn't speak. Just fell into step beside me as I walked the perimeter.
We moved in silence for a long time, our footsteps matching without effort.
"The teleportation incident," I finally said.
"Have you learned more about it?"
"Gustav explained what he knows. Eris and Rudeus were deeply affected."
"Good."
"They needed to understand."
Ruijerd was quiet for a moment.
"You carry anger toward the boy."
"I carry anger toward a lot of things."
"But toward him specifically." He studied me with ancient eyes.
"Why?"
I stopped walking. Looked out at the forest beyond the village walls.
"Because he should have known." The words came slowly. Reluctantly.
"He should have asked questions. Should have cared enough to find out what happened to his family."
"And you believe his ignorance is... malicious?"
"No." I shook my head.
"That's what makes it worse. He wasn't trying to ignore them. He just... forgot. Got caught up in his adventure, in his survival."
"Many people would do the same."
"Many people didn't have my warnings."
"I sent letters. Made preparations."
"Built an entire organization to help people survive disasters like this, and none of it mattered, because the one person who could have made a difference was too busy playing hero to pay attention."
Ruijerd was silent.
"But that's not fair, is it?" I continued.
"I never told him the full truth. Never explained what I knew or how I knew it."
"I kept secrets because I was afraid of what would happen if I shared them."
"Afraid of what?"
"Of being dismissed. Of being called insane." I paused.
"Of certain... entities... noticing that I was trying to change things. There are powers in this world that don't like meddling with the future."
"The Dragon God."
I glanced at him sharply. Not the correct entity, but close enough.
"You know about Orsted?"
"I have lived for centuries. I have heard many things." His expression didn't change.
"The Dragon God remembers everything. Every loop, every timeline. Those who know too much attract his attention."
"Then you understand why I couldn't be more open."
"I understand fear." He started walking again. I fell into step beside him.
"Fear makes people blind to what they need to see. It makes them keep secrets that should be shared."
"It makes them blame others for failures that are not entirely their fault."
I didn't have a good answer to that.
"I'm not afraid," I said.
"You are." No judgment in his voice. Just observation.
"I can see it in the way you move, the way you carry yourself."
"If I'm afraid, I have good reason."
"Perhaps." He stopped at the edge of the village, where the trees began.
"But fear is a luxury we cannot afford. Not anymore."
I stared at the forest. At the darkness between the trees.
"How do you do it?" I asked.
"How do you keep going after everything you've seen? After all the people you've lost?"
"I focus on the people I can still save." His answer was simple. Direct.
"The dead cannot be helped. The living still need us."
The living. My family, scattered across the world.
Mike's network, hopefully still intact. Somar, wherever he had ended up.
Everyone I had tried to protect.
"Rudeus didn't cause the teleportation," Ruijerd continued.
"He didn't scatter your family. He simply failed to ask the right questions."
"I know."
"Then perhaps your anger is misplaced."
I thought about it. About the graves I had dug and the people I couldn't save.
"Maybe," I admitted.
"Maybe I'm just looking for someone to blame."
"There is no shame in that, but blame does not bring back the dead."
He placed a hand on my shoulder.
"It only distracts us from helping the living."
I found Rudeus the next morning.
He was standing at the edge of the village. Staring at the fresh grave I had dug.
His face was pale.
His hands were shaking.
"I asked the guards," he said without looking at me.
"They told me what you did yesterday."
I stood beside him. Looked at the mound of earth I had piled with my own hands.
"Their son's name is Somar," I said.
"I didn't know."
"No. You didn't."
Silence.
"I'm sorry," I said finally.
"For blaming you. For being harsh."
Rudeus turned to look at me. Surprise in his eyes.
"You couldn't have known what I knew," I continued.
"You couldn't have prepared the way I prepared. I expected too much from someone who was just trying to survive."
"That doesn't make what you said wrong."
"No. But it makes it unfair."
I reached into my pouch and pulled out a small bundle.
Fresh flowers, gathered from the forest edge.
"Help me replace these—the ones I left yesterday are already wilting."
We knelt together at the grave. Pulled out the withered blooms.
Placed the fresh ones carefully against the mound.
"I hope their son survived," I said quietly.
"I hope he's out there somewhere, still fighting."
"We'll find him." Rudeus's voice was steady. Determined.
"We'll find everyone we can."
I looked at him—the boy who had infuriated me, kneeling at a stranger's grave, making promises he couldn't keep.
Maybe that was enough.
"Thank you," I said.
He nodded. And together, we finished honoring the dead.
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