Enemy of The Gods

An hour of Justice is worth seventy of prayer

Another man, head hung low, placed a rose on top of the grave, which was now flooded in the red flowers. Okin stood with those who had already placed their offerings, his bright white robe contrasting with the dark colours worn by the rest of the gathering.

It was a decent day in Metheno, quite grey but clear and of amicable temperature, and while the ceremony brought back tragic memories of tenuous times, the air didn't feel as grim as it should have.

Okin didn't really know how to feel— the people were all dressed in black, the women with the customary veils, and only the sounds of footsteps could be heard, but it was mostly soft smiles during his obituary, and he didn't see any watering eyes.

Despite the chaos and sense of dread that this death had brought all those years ago, the people seemed rather at peace with the man's death, and Metheno was more vibrant and tranquil than even before the incident, which was quite surprising for Okin.

As Okin stood there, in mindless thought, his focus was shaken by a distant clamour. Instinctively, he turned his head to where the noise was coming from— and saw a small troop of guards on horseback aiming their muskets at a man dressed in foreign clothing. The upward-curving brim of his hat made Okin believe the man was from Apathasaw, as he had seen these hats worn by some Apathasawian traders, but he still wasn't certain.

Okin twisted his way through the crowd, failing at his attempts to be unnoticed. Some of the crowd had turned towards the shouting, but most just stood still, staring at the face of the grave.

Okin drew closer to the scene. The strange-looking man raised his arm towards the circle of guards, and a small object glistened in his hands, it was unrecognizable at the distance. Possibly a small chisel, or shovel? It looked too shiny to be a tool like that though, even if it was brand new.

The foreigner was tackled by another man, dressed in a white but stained linen shirt. The guards got off their horses, intently aiming at the wrestling men as the shiny object tumbled down the hill.

One of the guards ran down the hill, fetching the silvery object, while the others surrounded the two men. Okin's skin popped and he flinched as he felt something touch his shoulder.

"Sorry, sorry, it's just me," Gendro said, patting Okin on the back. "This looks like dangerous business," the bald man pointed his thick chin towards the commotion.

"It looks like they've got it under control. I'm just curious what a foreigner would be doing out here that would call for six armed city guards," Okin replied as he continued his march towards the scene, followed closely by Gendro.

It became clear that the guards had subdued the two men, their arms tied behind their backs with rope. It looked like the larger one in the strange attire was scolding the other man, but was forced to turn his head by one of the guards. As Okin drew closer to the group, the man's voice grew louder. Now he could clearly hear what was being said, or more accurately, shouted.

"I was so close, but now I'm never gonna get to see him again. Why do you always have to get in the fucking way?" The man in the hat shouted, before being nudged by one of the guards, his face turning towards Okin.

See who again? Who would he be coming here to see? A fallen relative?

Then Okin saw his face. It was very different, but the look in his eyes, the build of his companion, the fact that he was arrested when coming to the cemetery—

It was Billy.

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