It was a tense day in the village.
The wives weren't washing the clothes down in the stream, the children weren't running around the houses and the clanging of the blacksmith had gone silent.
Everything was silent, and young Niklaus, behind some of the other children, tried to take a peek at what was the cause of the silence.
There were newcomers, all of them were covered in shining armour, purple capes and weapons on themselves. The elders were talking to what seemed to be their leaders, judging by the golden laurels on their heads.
It wasn't that strange that half of the group were women.
No, they were seemingly as intimidating as the males.
The strange part was that all the stories shared by his older siblings and the town youngsters were true.
The children of the gods they believed in actually existed!
And the presence of the winged horses being handled not that far off were a statement to their identities.
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Drowning • Niklaus Mikealson
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