He remembers that day.

The day he lost everything.

It was a particularly cold day on the continent they called hell, and he was out on one of the rockier mountain paths in an attempt to locate and collect supplies for the caravan. For weeks, they were ravaged by an unidentified sickness that was claiming multiple victims each week. The situation was dire, and that was what drove the pale colored Nopon to perhaps the most dangerous part of the continent, and area referred to as "Spiky Path."

As the Nopon ascended the path, it began to snow gently, a great contrast to the dangers that dwelled in the shadows. He was not cold, for he donned a blue and white fur coat that protected him from the harsh breeze. Though many believed it did nothing to camouflage him against the snowy white background of the mountains, he knew that he would wear it until the day he died, for it had been handsewn by his wife, Rekoto, with the help of their newly born daughter, Yori. The Nopon's heart was overcome with warmth as he'd filled his thoughts with his family, the two most beautiful Nopons he had the pleasure of caring for.

But these thoughts were not composed entirely of happiness. Recently, Rekoto and Yori had both contracted the sickness that so many of the Nopons had fallen victim to, and in an attempt to help them, the Nopon had found himself leaving the security of the caravan to search for medical supplies. Although he didn't know the terrain as well, he knew that the medicine he needed for them grew at higher elevations, a strange contrast to the other flora of the continents on the planet. So his stubby legs carried him up the hastily carved path, his large eyes squinting as the breeze picked up, throwing snow at his face.

The Nopon stopped as his nonexistent ears warned him of a coming presence. His wings tensed up, and his little arms reached for the small javelin he had strapped to his back. If it was a hostile indigen, then the egg-shaped Nopon wouldn't stand a chance, not on his own. And yet he knew that he would be alone, if it came down to a fight - and if the creatures on this continent were anything as he predicted them to be, a fight would be inevitable.

But if he got lucky…

The creature peered its head around the bend, and the Nopon was faced with a tall, hooved beast almost fifteen times his size. Its horns, which wrapped around its ears and protruded outwards, held icicles that dropped downwards. Its back was covered in blue and purple crystal protrusions, akin to the crystals that the Nopon had once seen floating on the horizon. The creature locked its pupiless white gaze with the Nopon, and neither of them moved for a long minute. The Nopon feared that it would attack, and he tried not to let his fear show. On this continent, fear was what could kill you.

The creature let out a puff of air through its nostrils, clouding the air around it. The Nopon blinked, and the creature bent its head as it began to turn away, disinterested in him. As soon as the creature was out of range, the Nopon let his muscles relax, and he decided to press onwards, keeping his mission as his top priority.

The path eventually ended, and the Nopon found himself perched upon a cliff overlooking the continent. In the far distance, he could make out the icy plains, and past a dense amount of fog lay the land strip that the caravan had considered settling on. As the strip was connected to the continent by a narrow bridge, they could have crossed. However, the area underneath the bridge was another concern; the strip was divided from the mainland by a bottomless chasm, a pitch black void of certain death if an unfortunate soul were to drop down. The caravan had named it "Foolish Drop."

Along the mountain's side, the Nopon realized, the herb he desired grew amongst a variety of other weeds. He used his wings to dig out some of the plants, and he placed them carefully in the back of his hood, as he lacked a bag to carry them in. Full of hope, he ran down the slope, losing his sense of caution as he raced back to the village.

The village was quiet, with only a few Nopons walking outside by the time the Nopon reached them. He saw no signs of the caravan's leader, Kitata, but he didn't worry about that. He beelined for the healing hut, intent on seeing his beloved wife and daughter. But before he could enter, the caravan's chief healer, Oyaso, stepped out of the tent, using his dark brown wing to push back the curtains. His face was solemn, causing the Nopon to ask with a frantic tone, "How is Rekoto? And Yori?"

"..." At first the healer is silent, refusing to make eye contact with the Nopon. But then, in a hushed voice, he said, "Oyaso is sorry. Rekoto and Yori...not survive…"

The Nopon's reaction could only be classified as heartbroken. For a moment, his eyes closed as he tried to process the news. His wife...his daughter...everyone he held dear to him...the Nopon tried to picture Rekoto's warm smile, Yori's first steps, how they both greeted him as he came home…

And he realized he had lost that.

The Nopon did not cry. Instead, he handed the herbs to Oyaso and asked, "Where is Kitata? Does he know?"

"Kitata...also dead." Oyaso's expression doesn't change as he explains, "Kitata found sickness after Yori, and was not as strong. Kiata died after Yori. Before Rekoto."

The Nopon was taken aback, though his connection to the dead caravan leader was not as strong as the one with his family. "Then...who is next leader of Delaggo Caravan?"

Oyaso looked up, his dark brown irises resting on the Nopon as the question is raised. "Kitata knew death was coming, so Kitata told Oyaso that...that Froyoyo would be new leader."

The Nopon's name. Froyoyo. The new caravan leader placed his wings around his body as he tried to understand. Was this supposed to be payment after losing his wife and daughter to the cold grip of death? Froyoyo sighed and gazed at the healer, trying hard to stay strong.

"Let Froyoyo see wife Rekoto and daughter Yori. One last time."

Oyaso shook his head. "Oyaso cannot let you do that. Rekoto and Yori may still have sickness, would not want Froyoyo to get sick too." Before the silence could envelop them, the healer added, "But Oyaso has gift for Froyoyo. Caravan staff, and extra addition."

He ran back into the tent, and for a moment Froyoyo was given the gift of silence. But when Oyaso ran out, he carried something in his right wing: Kitata's staff, a symbol of leadership and power over the caravan. But there was something added to its grey sharpened point and its long slender wooden pole: a pale striped scarf, tied perfectly where the two staff's parts met.

It was Rekoto's scarf.

As Oyaso handed Froyoyo the staff, he caught of whiff of Rekoto's minty scent, combined with the smell of sickness. But he tried not to let it show that his pain was growing, and instead he put on his best scowl and told Oyaso, "Froyoyo will be good leader, as good as Kitata."

"Oyaso knows," He responded with a nod, "For Froyoyo has strength of legendary heropons. Froyoyo will make great leader."

The announcement to the caravan about the switch in power was quick, and some words were exchanged to grieve for the deaths of Rekoto and Yori. But the entire event was a quiet blur in Froyoyo's mind as he shifted his mind set from being a father to being a warrior.

Froyoyo will fight for Rekoto and Yori. Froyoyo will never forget.