What Remains of Desmarra

A chilly gust of wind blows into the horse-drawn wagon where I lay, waking me up from my sleep. Unlike the previous winds that had woken me up during the 3-week trip to Desmarra, this one was noticeably warmer—a sign that the long winter was finally coming to an end.

Along with the wind carried the familiar scent of the mountainside—the fresh grass beneath the melting snow and the sun-dried gravel that made up the road we traveled on—smells that I came to realize were what triggered my memory-based dreams just now.

I groggily roll over and sit up, looking around the place to make sure bandits didn’t rob us overnight.

Throughout the weeks I traveled along the food distribution system, I had to switch between different wagons every few days. In order to keep the system as efficient as possible, Mr. Takayama and the other food distributors worked together to create a chain where each wagon only made 3-day trips at a time back and forth, passing along the supplies as needed.

In trade for protection from bandits and thieves that sometimes appeared along the road, the distributors allowed me to ride in the back of the wagon where all the food was, as well as take some of it for myself. My current driver was some old drunkard named Mr. Ramos. He didn’t talk much, often keeping to himself, and he was currently sleeping on the other side of the wagon separated by a wall of crates.

Suddenly, I hear a pair of footsteps snap a nearby twig outside of where the wagon was parked, and I instinctively reach for my gun. I couldn’t tell whether it came from trauma during the war or whether it was just my paranoia of bandits starting to build up, but the instincts made me more prepared.

For a moment, I sit there silently, patiently listening to the sounds to confirm where the noise came from, however, they had stopped.

Damn it, I cursed, that probably means they’re close by. If only Hyacinth was here… she would’ve detected them a lot quicker.

The enemy being this close to me also put me at a disadvantage. I wasn’t very good at close range combat and it was Peony who always handled that job. Nevertheless, I couldn't just give up here, and unless it was another ex-soldier, I still had the advantage of having a gun.

Making a swift decision, I climbed on top of one of the nearby crates, and used the top of it as a foothold to quickly jump-roll my way out of the carriage, putting as much distance between us as possible.

Upon landing on the ground, my eyes darted around the place, searching for the culprit, but instead saw no one.

Keeping my eyes on the carriage, I slowly walked around the place, checking behind the bushes and trees along the road, but there was no one around besides me and Mr. Ramos.

Just as I was about to give up however, I heard a noise coming from beneath the wagon, and my body instinctively prones down to look under it only to be shocked by what I found. The source of the noise wasn’t a thief—or at the very least I didn’t think he was—but rather, a little boy.

He wore a strange amalgamation of clothes on him; a long pant tied around his neck like a scarf, a baggy sweatpant that was clearly too big for him tied together by a shirt used as a belt around his waist, and what looked to be multiple layers of jackets and shirts over his body. Unlike an average thief, his face wasn’t filled with anger that he got found, but rather, fear as if I wasn’t the one who was supposed to be here.

“P-please don’t kill me Mrs. Esper,” he pleaded.

I noticed I was still pointing my gun at him and lowered it. Despite the many layers of clothes on him, I could tell by his facial structure that he was very skinny—most likely due to not receiving food.

“What are you doing here on the outskirts of town?” I asked, “don’t you know how dangerous it is to be wandering about out here.”

He remains silent, still looking up at me with fear in his eyes.

Suddenly I hear a little shuffling coming from inside the wagon, before Mr. Ramos lets out a big yawn, signaling that he had woken up.

“What up with all the noise?” he complains, “are we being robbed again?”

He pokes his head outside the wagon, turning to where I was and traces my line of sight until he sees the little boy.

“Oh, I see you’ve met Marco,” he says in a lazy voice, climbing out from the front.

“You know this kid?” I ask.

“Yup. I found him roaming around here one day after the village turned to shit.”

I looked at him with a confused expression.

“What happened to the village?”

“Ah, right, I suppose I should’ve told you sooner, eh? A couple months back, about a month after the end of the world was announced, the village mayor began hoarding all the food supply. One day the villagers had enough of it, and during a little fight, the mayor ended up dying, which led to a huuuuge power vacuum over who got to control the incoming food supply. The next time I came around, the villagers were slowly creeping over to me before they started savagely taking as much as they could for themselves, and a big fight broke out that led to a lot of people getting killed or injured. Ever since then, the village has been in a state of lockdown, and the people only come outside their homes to fight for food.”

That’s not good, I thought, I knew the village was in a state of distress after the attack, but to think it would turn out like this…

I looked back at the little boy under the carriage.

Seeing as he’s alone, that must mean his parents are—

“We have to fix this,” I declared.

“Tell me about it,” said Mr. Ramos, “I have to run away from my cart every time I bring the food to the village. I tried to resolve the situation by threatening to stop delivering the food, but their eyes looked as if they were about to give me the same treatment as their mayor so I had to relent. The only reason I keep coming by is because I’m afraid they’ll attack the farms if I don’t. There’s not much I can do about it.”

“Hmm…” I murmured, “well there is one idea I have.”

                                                                           -ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-

As the wagon slowly creeps into Desmarra, I stealthily peer out from gaps between the cloth, taking a look at the desolate village. The sight of its current state managed to look even sadder than the first time I saw it.

Just like Mr. Ramos said, the village was completely empty, and the few makeshift houses that were constructed and rebuilt after the attack were completely boarded up with their lights turned off. Occasionally, I see a pair of eyes peer out from the parts of the windows that weren’t covered, watching the wagon pull into city square like a predator.

When the wagon comes to a stop, Mr. Ramos gets out and runs off back to the entrance, and one by one, the villagers slowly begin to come out of their houses, warily looking at each other while carrying various household items as weapons in their hands. As they move towards the wagon, they get faster and faster, until they’re breaking for it at full speed, and I realize it was my time to come out.

“STOP!” I shout, appearing from the front of the wagon, waving my gun threateningly as the people who were running immediately come to a full stop upon seeing an actual weapon being flung around.

I wasn’t planning to shoot any of them with it, but they didn’t know that.

“Alright everyone, now listen up! You’re going to come here one by one and only take what you need to survive for the week! If there’s none left when the last of you arrives, we’ll start over, so if you want to get home quickly, only take what you need!”

Surprisingly, there were no complaints. Perhaps they were too shocked at the sudden appearance of an Esper, or perhaps they were afraid of the gun in my hands. Whatever the reason was, it was working in my favor.

The first brave villager comes up to the wagon, and only takes a handful of supplies from the crate before hurriedly rushing back to his home. Then, one by one they each come and take their fill for the week, and fortunately everyone got at least something, with enough left in the pile for me and the little boy.

When the last of the villagers lock themselves back inside their homes, I take a deep sigh of relief, glad to not have to actually get everyone to come out and redistribute the supplies again.

Upon seeing Mr. Ramos come back from where he was hiding, I said, “take the boy back to his home. I’ll be there after I finish some personal business first.”

I then turned my head towards where the entrance to the main city used to be. Instead of a wide opening to the caverns of the mountains, there was instead a pile of rocks and rubble from when it had collapsed on itself, and in the middle of it all was a tall monument.

A monument for everyone that died that day.