Sorom walked into the large temple quickly taking in its familiar setting at a glance drops of sweat still visible from his workout and the glaring heat of the noon-time sun. He had practically built half the temple himself giving it much of its current glory. Sorom inhaled deeply of the prevailing scent of incense that was nearly trademark of the dark building. He strode through the building ignoring the priests that he was an everyday sight to by now and arrived at his custom room, passing by the statues and pews that were used by the everyday worshippers. He grabbed a torch that lay just outside the room and walked into the pitch black room that he used for his prayer and made his way through my memory.

 He lit the four candles that stood at each of the cardinal directions before extinguishing the torch and setting it down. Then he sat cross legged on the ground and removed his short sword from his belt laying it gently on the ground next to him. Sorom silently cried out to the god of doom once again as he did every day. Why had this befallen his family? Why couldn't he stop it? Why did everyone die? Why did anyone die? And secretly a small part of him asked, why will I die?