Sons of Hatred

Preface

The dust covers every nook and cranny of what was once a magnificent hall, now reduced to rubble. The walls, once adorned with luxurious tapestries, are torn and blackened by fire. The air is thick, filled with the acrid smell of iron and ash, a suffocating mixture that clings to the skin. Only the faint crackling of the flames breaks the silence. It is a faint sound, as if it were the last vestiges of the souls that violently left their bodies, contrasting with the chaos that preceded it.

A woman stands among the bodies scattered on the ground. Her blood-stained hands tremble slightly, and her empty, distant eyes reveal an inner storm that has not yet calmed. Every beat of her heart is a muffled echo of the violence that has marked her, and in her mind, images of the recent past mix in a chaos of guilt and despair. Black smoke snakes around her, like a kind of aura enveloping her form, watching over the beginning of a cycle of hatred that is just beginning.

Something had broken inside him, a rift that would seal his fate forever. This was not the end he had imagined, but neither was it the beginning the world had expected.