From afar, dark clouds rose from the horizon. It seemed to be marching straight up to the heavens. Nothing seemed to have accompanied it; neither the low drumming of thunder nor the blinding flash of lightning. This cloud refused to rain, rather it spread itself throughout when it reached the doorstep of heaven, conquering it.
It's a different story up close. The dust settled. The fire nearly extinguished; the flame danced on top of the straw roofs for hours, crackling and sizzling; it's ember still threatened the ones left untouched, unharmed. The mud walls burned and so did the things inside them, the people inside them. The walls became harder, stronger; but the people lay unmoving. They were not as strong as the huts they created. The earth showered with red, became corrupt, dirty.
Carcasses strewn here and there, their insides spilling over, blood rushing out. Mother earth drank the blood quickly, soaked it all up. Puddles of it formed when she was done, when her thirst quenched. It was the fate of those who dared to escape the fire.
It was the second time that month. The people of Tirimo shared this fate with countless other villagers along the northern border. A new empire was on the rise. It's just what the new ones always did- stretching too far too fast. They often tore themselves apart. If not this then they would grow old, tired and helpless. The Sanzeds came from the far north, craving power and glory.
The recent events demanded the attention of the emperor. The situation had grown so dire that even The Emperor Theseus, along with The Crown Prince [who had left his pregnant wife], rushed to the northern border, with their generals and army. This event touched the hearts of the southerns.
However, the same could not be said for the northerns. The local army of the kingdom of Auluria had been useless. After all, they had been recently annexed. It had pledged its service to the Empire.
The Imperial army had arrived late. The crimes had been committed and the criminals fled. The Imperial army of Threnacya had grown too lazy and disorganized. The Empire didn't have any threat in the region. Most were allies and those who had rejected were conquered long ago. [To secure the peace and stability of it's people of course]
The Emperor stood with all the might of his army behind him, but they were useless. Only a few villagers survived. The cowards who hid survived to live. The chief's wife, and his 2 year old son were among them. That fair skinned woman would not survive for long though- a poisoned arrow had grazed her skin, either she was quick enough to almost dodge it... or it was just dumb luck [ either way she was thankful]. She didn't have cowardice within her and didn't have enough speed to flee. The Sandzed raiders would have stayed a bit longer and made sure that they had "looted" all Tirirmo had to offer; and its residents wouldn't survive to speak of the atrocities committed [ They wouldn't want to be remembered in history as tyrants and savages, they were a new and brave empire after all!]. All if not for the arrival of the army.
The woman cradled a baby in her arms. Feeling- no, cherished the weight of her baby bellowing in her arms. This sound had been numbed to her ears. After what seemed to be hours of crying, sobbing screaming and wailing around her.
She walked to greet The Emperor with the pride of a lioness, regardless of her situation. Pride did not suit weaklings for they could not protect themselves. It's been repeated in history and it will repeat in the future; the proud die, and the cowards survive.
She stood in front of her Emperor and her Prince. They stood in their gleaming iron armour. For a moment, they were equals. Her name was Neria, they didn't ask for her name and they wouldn't know. Their armour reflected the glow of the dying fire behind her, the fire that took all she had; all except her son.
The survivors came out from their hiding, and kneeled, she didn't. She had malice in her eyes, she wanted to scream, to cry and to tear her hair out. But, she couldn't. No. She wouldn't. She had yet to secure her toddler. She had to stay calm, though she felt the warm liquid flowing down her back. She knew. The back of her rough and ragged dress was wet, it had been tinted with the familiar metallic smell that clung all over the place. Her face was painted with dirt, she was drenched in sweat; she had to bear it though, for the sake of her child. The lad had survived through two attacks, he wouldn't live after the next.
She would be forgotten, by them, by her son, by history. History only remembered the mighty, and the cravens who glorified the mighty. She would have lived a long life; death at barely 19.
They had regret in their eyes. But they wouldn't show it, they couldn't. It would be shameful for a leader to let weakness show in the presence of all his followers. So they stood stoic, expecting; maybe a kneel or maybe for her to speak, no one would know.
The air hung still, not even a breeze; the flame pleasantly warm on the skin from a distance, after all the smell of burned flesh had not reached them to that distance. Only, Neria knew about the additional warmth trickling down her sides. Her lips parted at last, "Take care of my Hyacinth, my lord", she turned her neck to look back, and then again to look at The Emperor, "...and protect my people...what's left of them".
She had looked eye to eye to The Emperor, and stood firm, with courage. She might have been punished for her insolence, for not kneeling, for her bold "request" [though it had been more of a command] and for her treasonous statement [these were not HER people, these were the subjects of The Emperor.] She might have been executed but she's dying anyway. There was no point at all in all the useless titles and formalities.
Still, she had to stay calm, for her son and for her people. Emperor or not, this man could not save her from the embrace of Death, her clock was ticking out. Medics rushed forward and so did the slaves. A slave woman, chained in bronze collars and handcuffs, took her crying child from her embrace; her baby... her Hyacinth. She looked at him, possibly for the last time, praying to the cruel gods that he would be safe.
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