Súton

Chapter 1. A familiar place

 The coat fell from his grasp, hitting the ground, the various medals adorning it clinking loudly against each other. A pool of dirty rainwater began forming beneath it, seeping into the wooden floor. Lightning struck the somber sky, flashing its cold light into the room and casting strange, crooked shadows against the mud-brick walls.

The man who had dropped the soaked woolen coat made no move to retrieve it. He let out an animalistic laugh that held no traces of joy, eyes widening to almost concerning proportions and mouth twisting in disbelief.

Theo stumbled shakily towards the table before his knees gave out and he tumbled onto the floor with a muffled thud. Swallowing became almost impossible, as his breathing fastened dramatically, leaving his throat dry as a desert. The skilled warrior who had continuously witnessed ghastly sights for the past three years trembled before a mere pair of severed arms, choking back sobs with his calloused hand.

His free hand hovered hesitantly above the familiar white marks covering the appendages. With two shaky fingers, he caressed the bloody palm of his brother's left hand, where the crest of their family lay in ashen ink. Theo had been present the day he had gotten it as his duty of patriarch of the house commanded. That same pattern was now obstructed by a large gash that went all the way through the other side of the stiff piece of flesh. One arm had been ripped clean off, while the other had signs of crewing and tearing all the way to the elbow.

„No...no, no, no, no!" His frantic gasps were only met with the quiet pitter-patter of the rain and the howl of wind racing through the wheat fields surrounding the city. In his numbing mind, it almost sounded as if the wind was laughing mockingly.

A mere moment later his expression morphed rapidly from fright to devastation and finally into something so terrible that it could not be described as simply rage. His bloodshot eyes darkened like clouds of storm and a spark flickered behind them, fuelling his soul with bitter, unbounded wrath.

Jaw clenched tightly and fingers inching precariously towards the old, yet sharp, blade attached to his hip, Theo willed his legs and got back up, using the wall to support his body. His eyes shut tightly as the air grew dangerously warmer as if the entire chamber was turned into a flaming furnace suddenly. The tips of his fingers tingled and the hairs on his back stood up as black sparks began cackling around him. Tiny dark flames, almost indigo in color, began blooming from the man's fingertips, yet he remained oblivious to this.

It was not until a curtain suddenly turned into ash beside him that whatever trance he had been stuck in was broken and the flames disappeared along with the sparks and the house was once again reduced to silence.

„Theo, please stop," the old, narrow woman in the corner squeaked in terror.

His gaze, which had turned maniacal, shifted over to the woman, his poor mother. He sucked in a deep breath, attracting some of the stray soot in the room. His teeth instantly clenched and his lips moved around. They burned and writhed helplessly as if a thousand little needles were piercing them. The man coughed and spat, inhaling more of the coal-like dust unwittingly.

„I..." he took in a sharp breath, instinctively taking a step back, while simultaneously trying to search for any burn marks on her chalky skin. A relieved breath escaped his lips as he saw none, and he straightened his back, taking a deep breath.

„I'm sorry for the curtain.", he sheepishly scratched the nape of his neck avoiding looking her in the eyes. Her eyes, - oh god! -, they were too much like his, he couldn't bear to face her. 

His mother's eyes softened, and she clutched the dark shall closer to her body. Unshed tears glistened in her paled dark eyes, and she extended a trembling, wrinkly hand to cup the warrior's bearded cheek. Her grip was fragile as a sheet of ice, yet she still held herself with the same confidence she always had, ever since they were children. The years she had raised them on her own gave her the strength of an Amazonian queen, yet not even she could stand tall and unmoving before the death of her youngest. Paired with the grief crushing her eldest, it was no surprise she was slowly shattering beneath the weight of her grief.