The morning came, and punished Haghor once again. The sun shone bright as if the storm of last night hadn't happened. Which was a lie, the distraction of his village was for every one to see. Now house was spared, the death outnumbered the living. Haghor kneeled inside his crushed house, holding his son's body inside his hands. The empty eyes stared back at him. He didn't know how he would survive without his boy. A spark of unknown magic blossomed inside him, he didn't know it. But instead of the normal heat that rushed through his body, this magic brought the coldness of death. Instead of fearing it, Haghor embraced it. The magic took over his body, and made its way to his hands. Slowly the black tare that resembled the magic poured into his son. He didn't know how long he sat there, but one moment his son was death and at the other he started to gasp for air. Tears streamed down over his cheeks, dripping on to his sons' face. His boy was a life.
