People of the Nykia

Scarlet Arrows

        A thousand screams pierced the night like arrows shot through a pane of glass, its shards pouring down onto the people of Cantiore. Gunshots roared, new fires crackled. Families poured out of their burning homes. And chaos, as it did in most situations where common knowledge served useless, reigned supreme. Animal instincts took over, and a simple command popped into the brains of every citizen.

        Run.

        And everyone obeyed. They would run until the raging flames bit their heels, or until a bullet found itself embedded in their flesh. Their sprinting legs would carry them to the only place they could go: away. So with the goal of living in mind, they all ran off. Except one.

        Fighting the currents of the panicked crowd was young Majari Pax. Her cries were swept away and dissolved in the discord, though her cracked lips never stopped shouting. “Dad!” she shrilled once more, her heart pounding faster against her ribcage. More people crumpled to the ground as the sound of a firing gun rang out again and again. A lump rose in Majari's throat as she struggled to push through the masses. Her eyes darted in every direction, wide and dark like a frightened doe. Another gunshot fired. Majari cried out as the man in front of her hit the ground, a crimson tear sliding down his neck. She hopped over the corpse, fresh tears stinging her eyes. She cried for her father again, her voice breaking.  Thick smoke slithered its way into the child's lungs, leaving an acrid taste burning at the back of her throat. Her sanity was uncoiling thread by thread. Then, above the screams and chaos, a booming voice emerged.

        “People of Cantiore! We grant you tonight with the end of the Fifth Great General!”

        Majari's heart stopped, while the rest of her world blurred by. Her eyes darted to the wooden platform where the General once made his speeches, and caught sight of a slender figure, clothed in all black from head to toe.  His face bore a gas mask with eye panels that reflected the orange fire. He was member of the Messmorem, the deadliest force to roam the brims of the Nakia. And they were going to kill her father.

        She unfroze, the spell of paralysis suddenly snapped away, and she broke  into a full out sprint. She furiously wiped the tears off her light brown cheeks, her fear replaced with anger of her weakness. In her mind, after all this was over, she would come up to her father with dry eyes, and he would tell her how proud he was that she kept a level head. The image kept her surging forward. Her body twisted and contorted to fit  through the breaks in the mob. Dry, burning coughs  left her mouth lusting for water. Majari pulled her ratty grey shirt over her nose and shielded her eyes from the floating embers.  She was getting closer to the burning town houses. Closer to the stage that would host the death of her father.

        Please, she prayed, struggling to look over the heads of fleeing adults, just let him be ok. A gap in the crowd opened up for a moment, and a new hope sparked. There was her father just a few meters away. Even on his knees with his hands bound, the General still looked heroic. His dark face was stern, and his chin was held high. Majari knew it, there was no way he could ever-

         One.

        Two.

        Three bullets fired.

        One General fallen.

        And a thousand and one screams that pierced the night.

 

******