Dedicated to GoldFantasy for the helpful and supportive comments in chapter ~1~ Thank you :)

Rubyn felt his body jerk and winced slightly. His head ached terribly and felt as though someone had been beating on it with a sledgehammer. Raising a hand cautiously to his forehead, Rubyn opened his eyes. He blinked four or five times to clear his vision and his surroundings slowly came into focus.

He was stretched out on a wooden bench with a soft, wool blanket tucked around him. The whole room bounced and jerked and it didn't take long for Rubyn to realize that he was in a covered wagon. He could hear the horses plodding along a rough terrain from outside. He could also hear the hubbub of people moving, talking, and clattering about. The area inside the wagon was crowded with benches and chests and shelves that lined the walls. At least seven other people were either resting on the benches or bustling about, but Rubyn recognized none of them.

The large, robust people who occupied the majority of the space were obviously not from his city. Their faces were rough and tan, their clothes made out of animal skins which overpowered the space with the stench of livestock. Many of the men wore their hair cropped close to their scalp and much to Rubyn's surprise, so did the few women on board. Rubyn had not often seen these type of people travel through his city, but a select few had come to fight in his platoon. He remembered the stories some of them had told, about their people being sons and daughters of peace who rebuked war. But the boys who had come to fight had seen the higher cause and gone off confident that they would return in glory. They were wrong. They should have seen it was hopeless. He should have seen it was hopeless.

As Rubyn scanned the room, he noticed, sitting on the benches with their eyes closed, one young man and a boy who both shared Rubyn's features. Their fair skin and light hair made them stand out from the other ruffians and so did the scars and fresh wounds upon their bodies. In place of where the boy's ear should have been was a white bandage already seeping through with blood. The young man's face was scarred as well and looked as though someone had dragged a knife from his right temple down across his eye and straight through his upper lip. Both of their bodies were charred and blackened in spots, whether by smoke or by fire itself, Rubyn didn't know.

Rubyn turned away and closed his eyes again, his stomach churning. He had no doubt that they were unfortunate survivors from the wreckage of his home, or perhaps from one of the other countless ruined cities.

"How are you feeling, my son?" A rich, low voice said, and Rubyn turned to look. A man was crouched down beside him, his forearms resting on his thighs. His eyes, nearly black, held concern and a gentleness Rubyn had not seen in months. His face was half shrouded in a thick, dark beard and his coarse hair only reached an inch or so above his scalp. He wore a sleeveless, shearling garment as a shirt and Rubyn could clearly see the man's skin stretched tightly over the bulking muscles of his arms.

The man smiled slightly as Rubyn continued to look him over without uttering a word. "You don't talk much, ey? I don't blame you. Let me take a look at your chest. May I?" The man gently pulled back the wool blanket as Rubyn continued staring at him with dull eyes. On Rubyn's bare chest there lay branded into his skin three small circles overlapping each other in the shape of a triangle.

As the man inspected the irregular shape, Rubyn refused to look down. He knew that if he did--if he acknowledged the still relatively fresh wound--he'd only cause himself an immense amount of pain. But as hard as Rubyn tried, his mind wouldn't rest. He squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath as if that could help erase his memory. He could feel himself fading, slipping back into history, back into that dark, crowded room in which everything had gone wrong.

"What's your name, son?"

Rubyn snapped out of his daze and turned to face the burly man again. His lips moved to form the shape of his name but not a sound came out. His throat was as dry as parchment. The man gestured behind him to one of the women going from person to person with a jug of water in her hand and she smiled and held up a finger.

As the two of them waited for their turn with the water, the man continued. "My name is Joab. This is my family." He gestured vaguely around the wagon. "Not literally, of course, but where we come from, everyone is family. Those two over there," He pointed to the two fair-haired males, "we managed to rescue them from the city next to yours. They were the only survivors. We've taken in four others who survived the attacks, but they're already back in Shroudspire, our home. Your city was one of our last stops."

Joab nodded kindly to the woman who handed him a bowl of water. Joab tilted Rubyn's head up and he was able to swallow mouthful after mouthful of water.

"You've been unconscious for about a day and a half." Joab continued, "We found you lying on the street. We gathered by the scar on your chest and your clothes that you just came back from the wars?"

Rubyn looked into Joab's eyes as he said this. They had suddenly turned anxious and he looked at Rubyn as if he had a burning question but was too afraid to ask. Rubyn wanted to address the look but the fear in Joab's eyes caused him to dismiss the question.

"Rubyn," He said instead, his voice much clearer this time but still rough and cracked.

"Excuse me?"

"That's my name. I traveled back home from the last battle as soon as it ended."

"Did you... travel with anyone else?"

Rubyn shook his head slightly. "No. I was the last survivor."

Joab's eyes seemed to cloud over. As the wagon dipped and bobbed over the uneven terrain his eyes simply rested on a spot close to one of the many shelves and something in his demeanor changed. He seemed to deflate slightly, as if something inside him, something that had kept him going and given him hope, was suddenly gone.

I did this. Rubyn thought to himself. I caused all of this. The war wouldn't have ended the way it did if it weren't for me. I'm a coward. And look what I've done now. I've stolen whatever hope that this man clearly had. I'm no better than Killoran.

At the very thought of his name, Rubyn involuntarily shuddered and felt the goosebumps rise all over his body. Rathickar Killoran. The "Chosen One" who had sided with the enemy before his quest had even truly begun over a century before. The one whose obsession with power was so profound the people eventually had had no other choice but to fight back. Rubyn had seen Killoran with his own eyes once.

And once had been enough.

Beside Joab, a boy Rubyn hadn't noticed before appeared. His hair was as short as the others but while the others had tight curls, his was far wavier. His skin was slightly lighter than the rest of the people and his eyes were mahogany brown, opposed to the dark color of the other men and women on board. About twelve-years-old, Rubyn guessed.

Rubyn scrutinized the boy. The boy scrutinized him back. "You're awake." He remarked bluntly. "You should be dead. Like everyone else."

"Avery!" Joab's tone was sharp, his eyebrows furrowed menacingly.

The boy, Avery, turned to him, his eyes void of emotion. "You know it's true, Joab. You didn't come out here to rescue him. You should have just..."

The rest of his words were cut off as Joab stood abruptly and grabbed the boy's shoulders in an iron-tight grip. "Get some good rest, Rubyn." He said, his voice low and tight. "Your mind needs to heal."

As Joab hauled Avery to the far corner of the wagon past the bustling men and women, Rubyn closed his eyes again. You should have just left him there to die. That was what the kid had been saying. And Rubyn couldn't have agreed with him more. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be alive. He didn't deserve to be alive. And the worst part was, he was alone. Like the boy said, everyone else was dead. And he should have been, too.

So why was he the only one alive? Why had fate chosen him to walk off the battlefield with nothing but a scar?

Shoutout to @jcdwriter who was the first to comment AND vote on the last chapter! Thank you so much :)

If you want this to be you, be sure to vote and comment on this chapter for a shoutout in the next ;) Chapter 3 will posted this coming Monday.