Utopia Shattered Ideals Chapter 2

The attackers paid no attention to Tragir and X.
They had already flooded into the village, cutting down the remaining villagers in the streets.
No mercy. No hesitation.
Life after life was extinguished in seconds.

Almost at once, flames erupted.
Within moments, the village was ablaze.
The peaceful silence of the valley was shattered by the screams of the villagers and the crashing of collapsing roofs.
The sky, once clear and blue, was now blackened by relentless smoke rising over the chaos.
The ground was stained red with the blood of those who could not defend themselves.
The assailants swept through like a dark wave of cruelty, leaving nothing but death and ruin in their wake.

X felt the scorching heat of the stone streets under his bare feet as he clutched desperately at his younger brother’s hand.
The little boy, barely able to comprehend the danger, stumbled again and again as X dragged him forward.
One single thought gripped X’s mind:

“We just have to get to Dad. We’ll be safe there.
We just have to get to Dad. Just to Dad!”

Behind them, the merchant stood motionless.
His dark eyes were fixed on the distant silhouette of the brothers’ small house at the far end of the village.
A thin, loose smile played across his lips — as if he were watching a fate long since sealed unfold before his eyes.

X risked a glance over his shoulder.
The sight of the merchant sent a cold shiver down his spine.
That calmness — that chilling indifference toward their desperate flight — only made X run faster.

“Faster… I have to go faster… Come on, faster!”

The merchant showed no urgency.
He knew their escape was pointless.
But X refused to accept it.
He would not accept it.

“We can make it.
We can make it.”

The words were not meant for his little brother but for himself — a mantra to keep his strength from faltering.

“We can make it…”

With each step that brought them closer to their home, to the protection of their father, hope flared in X’s chest — a fragile hope he clung to with all his might.
He forced himself to think clearly.

“That bastard thinks it’s over.
But we just need to reach Dad.
We can do it… We can get away…
Please…”

His fingers tightened around his brother’s small, sweaty hand.
Yet even as he ran, he couldn’t shake the sickening feeling that they weren’t the first to be allowed to flee by that man — and that it had always ended the same way.

Moments before the attack began, little Micael had obediently followed his mother’s usual evening instructions.
Having shed his dirty clothes, he had jumped into the prepared bath — his personal sanctuary.
Every evening at 7:30, the time he was supposed to be home, his mother made sure it was ready for him.
On winter days it was almost hot; on summer days pleasantly cool.

Here, he let his thoughts wander, as only the mind of an eight-year-old could.
He often thought of his father — what kind of man he might have been, and why his mother refused to speak of him.
He dreamed of the future, of life in the great wide world.
But the thoughts that warmed his heart the most were of his mother.
No matter how often he got annoyed at her, deep down she was the most important person in his life.

Despite raising him alone, she had always given her best.
She sewed clothes, towels, bedding, and more for the villagers while keeping the household together.
She cared deeply about his education so he could grow up self-sufficient.
Most of all, she tried — again and again, whenever she could — to make him feel that he was loved above everything else.

As Micael dipped his head under the warm water, a memory surfaced.
He had once loved playing at the edge of the village with her.
Now, of course, he was far too old to play outside with his embarrassing mother — but the memory made him feel warm, and sometimes he wished he could do it again.

That afternoon had been bright and sunny.
The streets were lively: young children with their parents, older teens in small groups, couples and families all out to enjoy the good weather.
The smell of fresh grass filled the air, a gentle breeze cooling the warmth of the shining sun.

He and his mother were playing his favorite game: tag.
As they ran, his mother chasing close behind him, little Micael smacked face-first into the village barrier.

“Owww! Stupid barrier!”

“Ohh! Are you all right? Do we need to cool that?”

“Nooo! But this dumb barrier is always in the way! Even when I play with Tragir. I hate it!”

“Calm down, my little one… does it really not hurt?”

She checked his scraped knee.

“And you have to remember, the barrier is there to keep us safe.”

Micael pushed her away.

“We don’t need a dumb barrier! It’s because of people like you we even use it! Maybe that’s why Dad never came back!”

“Micael, that’s enough!”

He ran crying back into the house.

“I don’t care!!!”

A quarrel on a beautiful day.
In his childish immaturity, the brief pain had sparked a fight with his mother.
Who could blame him?
At his age, such things were bound to happen.
And being the only boy in the village without a father surely hadn’t left him unscathed.

His mother, understanding this, followed him inside.

“Micael! What do you think you’re doing, talking to your loving mother like that? You’re in for it!”

She grabbed him by the waist and pulled his small, weak body close.
She began tickling him, and being as ticklish as he was, he couldn’t hold back his laughter.

“Mooomm, stop! What are you doing? Hahaha!”

“You’re not getting away until you behave again!”

Micael could barely control his laughter.

“Okay, okay! I give up! I give up! I’m sorry! Hahaha!”

By then they had both sunk to the floor.
She loosened her grip and hugged him warmly.
Her voice was soft and gentle.

“Listen to me, Micael. I know it’s not always easy here, but this is a good life.
We have food, we have water, we have a roof over our heads.
But do you know there’s something I treasure far more than any of that?
Do you know what it is?”

Micael guessed with conviction:

“Your bath?”

His mother giggled.

“No, my little one… you.
You mean more to me than anything else in this world.
That’s why I want you to be safe — and the barrier gives us that safety.
I know you’d rather live in the city or leave the barrier more often, but that’s just not possible yet…”

“I know… I’m sorry for what I said earlier.
But Tragir’s always bragging about his strong dad, and his dad controls the barrier…
But one day I’ll be strong enough that we won’t need the barrier!
And then I’ll rub it in Tragir’s face!

I’ll also buy you lots of things so you won’t have to work so hard anymore.
And I’ll protect you! I’m going to be the strongest in the whole world! I promise!”

Micael’s mother was deeply moved by his words.
She smiled lovingly, her eyes misting with tears.

“That’s a wonderful plan… thank you.
But please, don’t feel pressured.
Just try to live your life happily.
And remember… I don’t like fighting with you.
I love you very, very much, Micael.”

“I love you too, Mom.”

As Micael soaked in the warmth of the bath, he remembered the warmth of that embrace.

“I’ll apologize to Mom, that was stupid of me earlier…”

Suddenly:

“Aaaaahhhhhhh!!!”

The screams of the villagers tore through the walls of the house like a violent storm.
Startled, Micael leapt from the bath as the terrifying noise echoed through the village.
At first his legs trembled from the cold as he stood naked, then from fear.
Pulling on his pants in a rush, he bolted down the stairs, his wet feet squeaking on the steps.

“Mama! Mama! Mama?!”

He entered the living room.

“Mom! Mom, what are you doing? Mom, please get up! Please, Mom, please do something!”

The room that had once been so familiar and welcoming was now an inferno of flames and ruin.
And in the middle of it she lay.
His mother — impaled — in a pool of blood.

Micael screamed in horror.

“Aaaahhhhhhhh!
Mom! Mom, I’m so sorry! I love you so much! Please, you have to get up! Please, I love you, Mom! I’m sorry! Please, Mom!”

Her eyes had already been lifeless for seconds, her breath long gone.
Yet the voice of her child — her precious little one — gave her the strength for one last effort.
She drew in a shallow, ragged breath and forced a faint, fragile smile onto her pale lips.
Her eyes flickered open, her breaths came in gasps.
Her lips shaped silent words she tried desperately to say.

“I…”

A choked whisper escaped her throat — barely audible, a shadow of what she wanted to say.
Micael’s mother realized these would be her last words to her son.
Tears welled in her eyes as she fought to speak to him.
But her voice failed her completely.
She stared at him as if sheer will could make her words reach him.
Her gaze spoke of love, deeper and more tender than any words could ever express.
A final, trembling exhale… and her eyes closed.
Her lips remained parted, the unspoken “I love you” fading into the silence of the room.
She was gone.

The flames had already begun to consume her body.
The once-familiar face was scorched and distorted, the sight of her charred remains searing itself into Micael’s soul.
His thoughts spun wildly.

“No… no, that’s not Mom…
That can’t be her… please… it can’t be her…”

Micael screamed.

“Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh!!!”

The cry that tore from his throat was a raw, broken howl of despair, swallowed by the heat and smoke.

At that moment, attackers emerged from the shadows of the room and seized him.

“Help! Please! Please, help her! Please save Mom!”

He begged desperately.
A few of them grabbed him harder, dragging him away from the burning body.
And in that instant, Micael realized no help would come.
All hope was lost.

The fiery glow and the thick smoke clouded his vision.
The heat was unbearable.
Tears stung his eyes, mixing with the sharp, burning pain of the smoke that nearly choked him.
With every step they dragged him farther, the sight of his mother grew blurrier.
The smoke veiled her from view, while he desperately tried to save one last image of her in his memory.
In the end, the flames danced around her and consumed what remained.
The vile stench of her burning flesh etched itself deep into the innocent child’s heart.

The warmth he had once felt from her presence — the warmth of countless tender memories — twisted into something of hatred and pain.
The image of fire, once comforting, became a symbol of his loss.
The cold reality of her death hit him like a heavy blow as he was dragged out into the night.

Micael began to realize:

“Mom is dead…
Mom is dead…”

He tried to scream.

“Aahhh!!!”

His heart was broken, the grief so heavy it nearly crushed him.
Tears and snot streamed down his face uncontrollably.
His voice, hoarse from all the screaming, had already failed him.

Outside, in the freezing winter night — lit only by the infernal glow of the flames.
The silence that had once blanketed the village was now shattered by cries of agony and the wailing of children.
For Micael, it was an incomprehensible nightmare.

“I didn’t apologize…
I didn’t even say goodbye properly…
Why did this have to happen?
Why?
Why?
Why?”

And then a thought struck him.
A thought that became a vow — a vow that would one day save many lives yet lay an unbearable burden on the child’s small shoulders .

“Didn’t I promise to protect Mom?”

The flames consumed his innocence.
The gentle plea of his mother — that he should never burden himself too heavily — faded into oblivion…