THE LAST SECRET OF ROSHAM

The Burial at St.Gregory's

"He has gone forever!"George said. Dawn wailed, her voice piercing through the oppressive silence like a blade. In that moment, Bella stood frozen against the cracked wall, feeling as though a cruel hand had thrust a dagger into her heart, the sting of anguish making tears stream down her cheeks. At the tender age of five, she struggled to grasp the magnitude of what death truly meant, only understanding that Lance, her little brother, was sleeping eternally, akin to the motionless figures lying on the streets, their expressions marred by terror and despair. The haunting image of the unseeing eyes of the dead often invaded her peaceful moments, corrupting her innocent thoughts.

George’s world had come crashing down; his youngest child, a mere two years old, had been taken away, lifeless on the cold, hard floor. He could hardly fathom that everything surrounding him would soon crumble as well. The chaos that enveloped them felt relentless, each breath drowning in despair. Lance’s death had left an indelible mark on his heart, leading him to the harrowing belief that there was no end to their suffering—either they would perish amidst the turmoil or fade away like shadows in the ever-darkening land of Rosham.

As he gazed at the woman he had loved for all these years, sorrow pooled within him. He was uniquely privy to the truth that she was an outsider, yet she had chosen to remain there with him, in this accursed place. They had fled from Nerud, a province that lay just beyond the welcoming gates of Rosham, seeking refuge but finding instead a new layer of suffering in Kentaki, where they thought they could erase her identity as a stranger. His heart ached with the unshakeable regret that had he let her go back to her world, she might never have been ensnared in this disaster.

Silence stretched heavily between them until the weight of grief propelled George to his feet. With utmost care, he lifted his young son from Dawn’s embrace, determined to find a place for a proper burial. Unlike the many unfortunate souls in Rosham, his little boy deserved a dignified resting place, not one left to decay amidst the elements, a grotesque banquet for scavengers. "We'll go to the yard, behind the remnants of St. Gregory's church," he said, his voice hoarse but resolute. Decades ago, when Bradford came to power, he had obliterated all sacred sites, leaving only Grey’s church standing, its purpose twisted into something sinister and dark.

As they began to move, Bella gripped Dawn’s hand tightly, shivering with fear as they passed through the dilapidated alley separating the two structures. The market, once a vibrant hub teeming with life, lay in ruins; its stalls now reduced to rubble, remnants of former beauty scattered about like lost dreams. Dawn caught a glimpse of her own stall, the colorful fabrics now faded and forgotten, emotions threatening to engulf her as memories of customers ordering custom garments flickered, ghost-like, in her mind.

They walked between the collapsed stalls and meandered past simple dwellings, eventually reaching the skeletal remains of St.Gregory's church. Neither of them had ever known it in its former glory—only the echoes of grief remained. A few graves dotted the area, some freshly dug, the soil still dark and rich. George accepted the digging tool from Dawn’s trembling hands, and as he began to break the earth, darkness enveloped them, the last light of day surrendered to the night. The pallid glow of the moon provided scant illumination as they continued their solemn task.

Dawn gently wrapped Lance’s small body in a cherished cloth, the very fabric he loved to snuggle with at night, tears flowing freely down her cheeks, a heartbroken melody of mourning. Bella watched in terrified silence, her youthful heart burdened with an understanding too vast for her age. As the darkness deepened, a palpable sense of urgency overcame them; they knew they had to return home, as the night was no longer safe, especially near the graves where sinister creatures lurked.

Without realizing the imminent danger lurking nearby, they hurriedly finished laying Lance to rest, covering him with earth before placing a small stone atop the grave as a token of love. Their hearts raced as they made their way back, fearing the horrors that awaited them.

As they entered their home, Bella clung tightly to her mother’s hand, terrified at the thought of sleeping alone. "I don’t want to sleep by myself ever again," she whimpered, hiccuping between sobs as her fear spilled forth. George and Dawn exchanged worried glances, knowing they needed to explain what was happening, to soothe her frayed nerves.

George grasped a metal cover with large holes designed to protect a flickering flame from the fierce winds rattling the windows. But the night outside was more horrific than anything they had ever experienced before. In the depths of despair, Dawn resolved to take drastic measures. She had made herself a promise: she would trade Rosham for the safety and freedom of her family. Even the ruler, Bradford, seemed indifferent to the impending devastation outside his walls, safe within the confines of the Red Cross—a hidden sanctuary never marked on any map of Rosham as the world grew darker each day. The survivors were dwindling, their numbers increasingly scarce.