Brought to his knees before the kingdom after ten years of hiding, Kyros believed that he would be sentenced to death for the murder of his pack. His sentence would mean the end of it all - his torment, his abuse, his turmoil.
But his destiny change...
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The cheers of thousands erupted around Kyros as he was dragged into the ring the next day. He was held between two guards, who gripped his arms tightly and yanked on the chains latched around his hands in a suffocating grip. The pain of chains rubbing against the thin flesh that barely covered the bones there caused him to gnash his teeth, and he was sure he felt a tooth crack.
His bare feet burned against the hot sand that covered the surface of the ring, and he stumbled and fell weakly against his captors.
Unlike last time, a pole was centered in the middle of the ring. It stood tall and strong, casting an ominous shadow that fell over his face as he neared it. He knew what his final punishment would consist of, and he bowed his head to accept his defeat.
He was pushed against the pole, the scratchy, splintery surface poking and prodding at his skin uncomfortably. The wood rubbed against his wounds and scars and he held his breath, taking the pain and trying to become used to it.
But it seemed he could never get used to pain.
His hands were uncuffed, only to be stretched around the pole then locked back together, causing him to hug it. He winced when the thin rag of a shirt he was wearing was cut off his back, revealing his marred skin.
What comes after punishment? Death? Kyros wondered.
"Today we gather here to witness the final act of justice for the nations. Long you have all waited for these days, and though these acts won't bring back those we have lost, they hopefully can satisfy your need for justice by holding those accountable who dare to harm our people."
Kyro's frantic eyes scanned the crowd, he didn't see Asheria sitting in her normal spot. In fact, she was nowhere to be seen. His heart thudded loud in his chest, he didn't want to be alone.
Where is she?
The heat of the sun beat down on his panicking body, and when he drew his eyes away from the crowd and looked to the left of him, he saw someone approaching him, dressed in a long, black robe. A dark mask was fitted over their face, and he recognized the clothing as executioner-type clothing.
A whip was gripped in their hands which were clothed in black leather gloves. Unlike the whips he had been beaten with before, this one had multiple tails, all wielding sharp bits of silver, glass, and broken pottery woven into it.
"Forty lashes will be given to Kyros. May he live if the goddess deems fit." The king spoke.
The executioner placed themselves directly behind Kyros. He could only lean his forehead against the post and focus on his shaky breathing. If there is any higher being out there, please take this pain from me. Please lessen the agony I'm about to face.
He heard nothing but the whiz of the whip cutting through the air in the same way it would cut through his flesh.
