1917

January 22, 1918

  Felton Forest had always felt like a sanctuary to me. As I wandered along its tranquil paths, I was wrapped in a serenity that only untouched nature could provide. The canopy overhead filtered the sunlight into soft, shifting beams, while the earthy scent of moss and wildflowers drifted lazily through the air. Birds sang in gentle cadences, their melodies weaving seamlessly with the hush of a breeze through ancient leaves. Time slowed there — softened, stretched, dissolved — letting the weight of the outside world fall away piece by piece.

  But that peace shattered the moment I stumbled into him.

  Ahead, framed by towering cedars, Abel stood with a can of gasoline dangling from one hand and a lighter poised in the other. At first his posture appeared casual, almost lazy — but the tension around him felt like the stillness before a storm breaks. I froze. My mind scrambled to make sense of what I was seeing, but the truth struck hard and fast: Abel was going to burn the forest down.

  This haven of life, this ancient, breathing cathedral of green — he meant to reduce it to ash.

  “Abel, what are you doing?!” I shouted, disbelief and fury knotting together in my voice. The cry echoed through the trees, sending birds scattering in terrified bursts of color. A cold tremor crawled down my spine. Every instinct within me flared, raw and primal, demanding I shield this place from him.

  “Destroying this pitiful forest,” he said. His voice was light, careless, as if he were talking about tossing out old garbage. That nonchalance — that absolute disregard — stunned me more than the words themselves. How could anyone look at this place and feel nothing but contempt?

  The forest wasn’t just trees. It was a living world, a refuge, a memory-keeper. It housed creatures, stories, and centuries of quiet endurance. It deserved reverence, not annihilation.

  “Don’t do it — I’m begging you!” I pleaded, the desperation cracking my voice. I needed him to see reason, to realize what he was about to destroy. But my plea only sharpened the anger simmering behind his eyes.

  “Kiss my a*s, Jeremiah. You’ve done nothing but screw up my life!” he spat. His rage felt wild, misplaced, and deeply irrational — but before I could respond, he struck the match.

  The flame bloomed instantly.

  In seconds, the fire leapt from the match to the gasoline-soaked bark of the nearest tree. It surged upward in a ravenous roar. Leaves shriveled to black curls, bark cracked and peeled, and a wave of blistering heat washed over me. The air filled with the acrid stench of burning wood. Animals screeched and bolted through the underbrush, frantic to escape. Felton Forest — moments ago a sanctuary — descended into chaos.

  I didn’t think. I just moved.

  I lunged at Abel, slamming into him and dragging him to the ground. My grip locked around his arms with everything I had. He fought back viciously — clawing, thrashing, snarling — but I held tight. If he got free, even for a second, he’d light more. And then it would all be gone.

  Sirens wailed in the distance. Relief pricked through the panic as the authorities burst through the trees. They pulled Abel out from under me, restraining him as he raged and twisted in their grasp. The immediate threat was contained.

  But the forest behind us was already burning.

  By the time help arrived to extinguish the flames, the damage was irreversible. A stretch of Felton Forest — once lush and vibrant — had become a skeleton of charred trunks and drifting ash. A graveyard of what had been.

  As the officers led Abel away, he didn’t look frightened. He didn’t look remorseful. He smirked, arrogant as ever.

  “I want a fair trial,” he said mockingly, as though justice was just another game he expected to win. As though his family’s money could scrub away arson the same way it had scrubbed away everything else.

  His entitlement sickened me — but for once, he wasn’t walking free. Not immediately. Not this time.

  The forest, however, wouldn’t recover so easily.

  Felton Forest had been a symbol of harmony, resilience, and quiet beauty. Now, blackened stumps and drifting smoke marked the wound Abel had carved into the land. The loss wasn’t just mine — it belonged to every creature that fled in terror, every person who had walked these trails seeking peace, every memory held in the shade of ancient branches.

  Justice might reach Abel.

  But nothing could bring back what he stole from the forest.