War Of Freedom- Fallen (book One)

Ch 8: The Culture Of War

Outskirts of a village, Altiplaria. 

"Dally, love. Where are you?" Mittaz frolicked across the hall in search of his beloved wife. Wrinkles formed around his eyes as he grinned with delight. Today was a special day—a Centenary Day—marking the hundredth day since the birth of his son and a day to name the child. 
 
Dally was nursing his son at the back of their little hut. "Yes?" She asked, reciprocating with the same excitement Mittaz felt. Her cheeks blushed, her blue orbs glittered, and her pink lips pulled into a wide grin—a sight Mittaz had loved since the day his eyes fell on her. 
 
"It's time for their arrival. Give him to me." Mittaz stretched his hands forward. 
 
Dally unhooked the baby from her breasts and wrapped him in a cosy cotton towel. Mittaz dropped his grin a bit. The baby should've been wrapped in gold, emerald, or pearl-studded satin cloth. Instead, it was just a plain, half-worn-out cloth.
 
The baby knew no difference. It closed its eyes and entered a deep slumber after feeding its stomach full. Mittaz couldn't ignore it though.

He promised his son that when he grows up, he will be capable of achieving anything he desires. Mittaz would see to it that it happened. He took the baby with gentle care and planted a small kiss on the baby's tiny eyes as a promise of his resolution. 
 
Dally adjusted her gown. She squinted her eyes and raised her palm to shield from the sun at daybreak. The sun rays bounced off her soft red curls, adding glitter to the faint freckles on her pale skin. Her thin pink lips stretched to accommodate all her tenderness as she said, "The day is bright, isn't it?" In the sweetest tone that he had ever heard of. 
 
There was something in the air that carried love and bliss today. Even the murky vegetable garden in the backyard didn't bother him like it usually did.
 
There wasn't a single temple or a single Haven Lord Mittaz hadn't prayed for this winter day to be brighter than the blazing solstice: a blue sky clear enough to bestow the Haven Lords' solar blessings upon the people, and green leaves swaying in the gentle breeze as cuckoos sang praises about the gods—a sign of auspiciousness. A miracle of the almighty. His wish had come true at last. 
 
This was the only thing he could wish for after being banished by the entire village. An inevitable destiny it was. He knew it from the day his heart fell for the beautiful lady standing in front of him. She knew it too. Nevertheless, she chose him. 
 
Dally went inside the hut to receive their guests, and Mittaz followed her soon. 
 
Dally never complained, nor once regretted marrying him. From the moment she opened her eyes in this world, everything laid at her feet—food, gold, and jewels. All she had to do was ask for it. People say he was lucky to have such a loving wife. Glancing at the interiors of their tiny hut, he couldn't agree more. 
 
The hut wasn't opulent—an old, deserted one no one dared to undertake after the mysterious death of its old tenet. Mittaz avoided this for the same reason. He could endure the streets, struggle for the last piece of rice one day at a time, and even resort to begging if he was forced to. But if Dally chose to tread on the heels of such a life for him. . .Mittaz would die.
 
He had no choice but to take shelter in this hut. It was only temporary. Once he found an employer that could employ exiles like him, they would leave the hut behind and embark on a new life. 
 
Their life in the hut wasn't unpleasant. It gave him some memorable moments to remember. Like their first step as a married couple, their first intimacy, their first small vegetable garden at the back, and many more. Out of all, the day Dally yelled in delight with a hand on her belly was when he finally had the courage to leave the harrowing past behind and welcome the future with hope. 
 
If life were a shred of thorns, he would wake up with a smile as long as Dally and their son stayed with him. They were his strengths and weaknesses. They were his everything now. 
 
A flock of guests arrived at the doorstep. Their attire reflected their status in Savernia. Pastel-coloured clothes with gold prints that ended with meticulously trimmed ends. Their attire mocked Mittaz's shabby clothes without uttering a word.