[Muse]

It took him hours to find enough wood around the desert to suit a funeral pyre. Tyrael had worked, and he did not sleep for two nights. He was determined to make sure that he got the wood.

He finally had a tall, about four feet of height pyre of dead wood, stacked neatly into horizontal and vertical rows.

He grunted, time going past in the grueling sun that seemed to never go away. He dragged his parents and his brother one at a time onto the funeral pyre.

He had gone in the city, sighing as he looked down at a two inch tall urn of his that was empty and attached to a silver chain. He then looked to his family, stiffling back tears as he used his flint and tinder.

He set his family alight, the fire climbing high up into the air as he simply sunk to his knees and watched blankly as the skin and flesh of his family slowly melted and burned, the bones breaking down and crumbling into ash as the hours went on. He had no expression on his face.

He was blank. His face was blank. His mind, however, was full of strife and grief.

Once his family had finally turned into complete ash, he slowly moved forward. He opened the urn with the tip of his thumb, flicking it open as he grabbed small pinches of ash from several different spots of the fire and sprinkled it into the necklace ornament before he closed it full to the brim.

He clenched his fist around the urn. He stared at the sand, now consumed with overwhelming rage.

He swore from that moment on, that he'd find the assassins that ended his family.

And he'd be the one doing the assassinating.