Memory of The Savior

"No… no, no, no," he whispered, his voice cracking. He clawed at the ground, his fingers digging into the ash as if he could unearth the past and change it. His chest heaved, each breath labored and uneven as his vision swam with images of that fateful night.

He remembered the moment he finally forced himself to move, how he had plunged into the flames, his hands burning as he fought to pull them from the wreckage. But it had been too late. His wife, his daughter—they were gone. He had found only their charred remains, their fragile bodies reduced to unrecognizable fragments by the merciless fire. The sight had broken him, a wound that time had only buried, never healed.