The Genesis of the Dead

At the crack of dawn, as the first rays of the morning sun warmed Zoran's bare chest, he lowered his stance and readied his trusted spear for practice. His opponent was a wooden dummy, which he faced with the same seriousness he brought to his training every morning. He charged forward with impressive speed, thrusting his weapon.

A loud cracking sound echoed as his once-intact sparring partner splintered at his feet. He wanted to sigh; it was difficult to get any meaningful training done in such a remote place. When he was a younger man, he had greater opportunities, but now he was just striking wood. He was about to move on to another wooden opponent when a high-pitched exclamation came from behind him.

"Asha, come out here, please," he ordered without turning around. Only one child frequently snuck up on him during training; the rest were too frightened of him.

A small girl, no older than eight, stepped out from her poorly chosen hiding spot. Her hair was a shade of blonde reminiscent of gold, and her eyes were a beautiful blue, reminiscent of a cloudless day. She retorted with a stubborn, pouty expression on her face. "Why can't I just watch? It's not like I'll get in the way."

"It's dangerous. What if I make a mistake and accidentally hurt you?" Zoran explained, bending down to meet the small girl's eye level.

"You won't! You're the strongest person in the village!" the girl insisted, her pout turning into a shout. "I'm going to be the strongest soon, so I have to learn!"

Zoran's expression shifted from stern to slightly playful. "Oh, you're going to get stronger than me?"

"That's right! First I'll beat up all the monsters in the woods. Then I'll kick that nasty old witch out of the woods, and—" The girl began listing her grand ambitions, but Zoran cut her off.

"Listen closely, little one. That witch is not someone to provoke. Never say something so reckless again." His playful demeanor vanished as he gripped her shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. His serious tone almost scared the girl, but her haughty attitude quickly returned.

"Hmph. Just you wait and see. Even if all the grown-ups are scared, I'm not!"

The man sighed at the difficulty of this determined little girl, whom he had watched grow up over the years. This wasn't the first time she had snuck a peek at his training, nor was it the first time she'd been told off. But it never worked. Whether scolded by him or her mother, Asha would always return. Zoran realized he needed a different approach.

"Fine. If you want to get stronger, I'll help you on two conditions," Zoran said with the tone of a teacher.

"Really?! You will?!" Asha screamed, jumping with joy, completely ignoring the mention of conditions.

"Listen to the conditions first," he said, ruffling her hair.

"Hey! Stop it!"

"First, you must do as you're told. If I tell you to run, you run. If I tell you to train, you train. No complaints. Got it?" Zoran asked, ignoring her protests.

"Second, you need your mother's approval. I'm not helping either you'll have to convince her; that's all on you."

"But she always gets mad when I watch you train! Can't you just train me without telling her?" she pleaded. In her mind, her mother's anger was the scariest thing in the world.

"Nope. And until you get her approval, I'm not lifting a finger. So you'd better get to it. Consider it your first training task." Zoran was unmoved by her pleas and shooed her away.

"Fine. Stay here. I'll be back soon," she declared, turning and running off.

Zoran stifled a chuckle. That girl was always entertaining. In truth, he didn't mind training her. She already had the drive, and it might teach her valuable lessons about hard work and perseverance. However, he wasn't her father, and making such a decision without consulting her parent would be a grave mistake.

With his interruption gone, he returned to his wooden foes, treating each strike as if it were real combat. A couple of hours later, he was done. Sweat drenched his body and trousers as he panted rhythmically, catching his breath. At his feet, dozens of wood chips lay scattered around his makeshift training area.

He returned to the small hut he called home, fetching the water bucket he had prepared earlier. As he washed, his reflection stared back at him. He wasn't fond of his appearance. His hair was a dirty brown, unruly even when cut short. His eyes, the same muddy brown, reminded him of the filth from which he had come. But what he disliked most was the old scar on the left side of his face.

He had earned it on the same day he received another along his chest. At the time, he had been a soldier from a neighboring city, sent with his platoon to confront a fleshripper—a rare and dangerous beast in the region. His arrogant commander had sent him and ten others to fight it, leading to disastrous results.

His friends died, and he barely survived, left half-dead and permanently scarred. He owed his life to this village, which had overheard the commotion and sent help. Asha's mother, the only healer in the village, had saved him. Much like him, she had come from the same city but chose to settle here for her own reasons. She had Asha with a man Zoran never got the opportunity to meet.

Instead of returning to a commander who cared nothing for him, Zoran decided to stay in the village, helping where he could. As a trained soldier, he was far stronger than the average villager and served as a protector against wild beasts and bandits. Though the village had healed and accepted him, he still felt somewhat like an outsider.

While washing, he heard a knock on the door. After pulling on a basic tunic, he opened it to see a younger man, just returned from travel. The man's horse chewed on hay as he greeted Zoran warmly.

"I'm back. Hope nothing happened while I was gone. Listen I've got bad news—you were right. Genahven is gone."