The Guardian is dreaming. Despite all appearances, he knows it’s not a good dream. Sure, a dwarf he somehow recognizes as his father, indistinct though he may be, is holding him in his harm and rocking him softly and humming a lullaby, but, any moment now, it’ll begin… His mother will barge in, bloodied and bruised. She’ll yell at his father. The guardian is too young to understand, but he thinks she’s telling him to get away. Hastily, his father will put him down in his crib and he and his mother will try to pack their most precious things, particularly the jewelled skull and sun pendant his she loves so. It’ll already be too late though and the Guardian wonders if his mother knows it. Through their windows, he’ll see the torches approaching. His mother will push what valuables she’ll have gathered into his father’s arms and try to push him out the secret door at the back of their living quarters. Crying, his father will resist. Desperate, she’ll take a step back, touche her pendant and shout imperatively at his father. His father’s eyes will lose focus and like an automaton, he’ll turn, pick the valuables and the Guardian up and make for the back exit. The Guardian will resist, kicking and scratching at his father, reaching for his mother, cursing his tiny hands and cursing the fools about to set her ablaze. As the door closes behind his father and him he’ll just glimpse the torches as they break through the front door and assail his mother. Although the sight will thankfully be quickly blocked, the sounds of his mother fighting back long after their house has fallen down in the conflagration will stay with him until he wakes.
He can hear her coming now, pressing down on the door handle. He screams for the dream to stop, but his tiny mouth can’t even form the words yet. The door opens; it begins. He knows he can’t stop it, but, one day… One day, he’ll make them pay. He’ll make the all pay.