The night was deathly silent, the stars were cold as a sixteen year old boy yanked a woolen pouch away from his father's neck, his father still, cold, and pale. He slipped the cord of the pouch around his own neck and tucked it under his tunic, away from the view of anyone else. Inside the pouch itself was a priceless artifact, one that had come with a terrible burden to any who carried it. The boy's breath hitched in fear as a twig snapped somewhere around him, and he bolted from the side of his father, and only ran faster as his voice shattered the silence of the night. "Go ahead and run, boy! Run as far and as fast as you can! Create as much distance as you possibly can from me! I will find you! I always will find you!"

The boy gulped and pushed himself, despite his exhausted body, fumbling steps, and heart laden with grief for his late father, to run faster, harder. And he didn't stop running for a very, very long time.