Burning Hell

It started not long ago.

No one woke up when the main door fell in crumbles as the fire went over the halls, burning everything in sight.

Servants rushed the halls, trying desperately to find the Queen and her brother. With hoarse throats they ran out of the manor, panicked, remorseful and disappointed because they couldn't do anything more than wait.

And hope. They murmured, wishing that the Queen would find her brother and get them out of there.

"It was easy", were the words the servants were desperate to hear. The ones Albion needed to hear.

They knew deep in their chests that, Hero or not, there were a few that survived the burning intensity of fire.

Minutes went by and they lost hope. Soon enough the townsfolk became quiet, waiting, praying to hear anything over the crackling fire.

Steps. Irregular steps and harsh breathing. They heard grunts and movement turning weaker. The shadow came out of the manor, and spoke with kindness and remorse, his voice changed by the years. A young man approached the former King, with cautious steps and disdain that never really left the town.

-Where's the Queen?- he stared into the young man's eyes -. Where's my sister? - his voice broke.

The man sighed and stared down at this own shoes.

-We have to take care of you, will you come, your Majesty?

Logan's heart missed a beat, dread ran over his body, his extremities felt numb, his breath halted. They hadn't found her. She was still in there.

He mumbled. Unable to make coherent sentences, he watched the young man walking away from him, trying to take him somewhere.

The man stared back at him, waiting. Logan shook his head, rand his hands through his hair and turned his back on him. He wasn't leaving her behind, never again.

He found his way down the corridors when he heard the door collapsing behind him. There was no way they'd get out the front door, and by the look of it, he needed to hurry. He heard the crackling structures around him, watched as the fire reached the rooftops and burned the family paintings.

He knew only one place she would be where no one would think of looking. There used to be a room behind her favorite bookshelf where she went when she needed to clear her thoughts, she had to be there. He pictured her, struggling with the door, fighting for her life.

He started running. His clothes felt heavier with every step he took, hot air filled his lungs and made his chest ache, but he was so desperate for her that he didn't care at all.

He tried shouting her name, with rough voice and between coughs and trips. He went down the main corridor with harsh breathing and close to fainting. He would die trying to find her. He knew they were lucky the building hadn't collapsed over them.

He stopped in front of her doors, and called her name again.

-Logan? - a soft voice called him. He felt hope.

With the strength he had left he tried opening the doors. Locked. He knew with enough strength he could bring them down, but he was weak. He couldn't save her, he never had.

He heard movement and sobs. She was terrified. He felt rage, useless. He was blinded with anger when he slammed himself against the door several times, until he brought it down. The door collapsed and dust filled the air.

He saw her and his heart broke. Hurt, doubled-over, with her hair over her face and burns everywhere. She tried hiding the blood on her hands to no avail.

-Good thing I got to see you -she smiled and closed her tired eyes-. For the last time, at least. Please, leave.

-Oh, please.

He walked towards her and knelt beside her, petting her head and brushing strands of hair out of her face. He ran his thumbs over her tears and took her between his arms and she sobbed. She held onto him and he closed his eyes, thankful that he had found her.

The flames came closer with every passing second. They heard the fire crackling and watched as everything they ever knew fell apart around them.

They trembled, panicked between whichever words they whispered against each other's backs. He felt the burn, the aggravating irritation that expanded from a single point to the rest of his body. The pain ate them. His embrace became stronger and they closed their eyes, dragging breaths from their unwilling chests:

-I love you.

-I love you, too.

They wouldn't die alone, at least.

Fin.

I don't own Fable.

C. C. Cr0ss

EDIT: May 10, 2015.