The world was a hazy blur, colors bleeding into one another like a half-forgotten dream. Lucius found himself drifting in and out of memories, his heart reaching for fragments of a life that already felt distant.
In one memory, he sat at the kitchen table, a wooden spoon too large for his hand as he stirred a pot of stew under his mother’s watchful eye. She laughed softly, her blood-red hair glowing in the sunlight filtering through the small window.
"Careful, Lucius," she said, her tone playful but warm. "Cooking takes patience, just like life. Rushing only leads to a mess."
The memory shifted. He was outside, running barefoot in the grass, the world around him alive with the chirping of crickets and the rustling of leaves. His mother chased him, her laughter ringing out like music. When she caught him, she scooped him into her arms, spinning him around as he giggled uncontrollably.
"Remember, my little star," she said, pressing a kiss to his forehead, "you’re braver than you think and stronger than you’ll ever know."
The warmth of those memories suddenly turned cold. The sunlight dimmed, replaced by the pale light of the moon. He saw her again, but this time she wasn’t smiling. She stood before the villagers, her hair fluttering in the wind, her red eyes sharp and defiant.
Then came the moment. He saw her head, chopped off cleanly, held in the arms of the hooded figure as blood dropped on the ground.
“Mom!” he screamed, his voice a desperate wail. His small hands reached out, but no matter how fast he ran, he couldn’t reach her. “Wake up! Please, wake up!”
The scene faded, and his cries echoed into the darkness.
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Lucius jolted awake, his chest heaving and his breath shallow. His head throbbed, and his body felt heavy, as though it had been weighed down by unseen chains.
It took a moment for his vision to clear. The world around him felt wrong. Groggily, he glanced down and noticed the rough ropes biting into his arms and torso, binding him tightly to something sturdy. A tree.
His house loomed in the background, but something about it felt ominous now. Turning his head, he spotted the villagers gathered in front of him, their faces painted with a mixture of fear, guilt, and grim determination.
"W-what are you doing?" Lucius croaked, his voice cracking as he strained against the ropes.
The crowd parted slightly as the mayor stepped forward, his face twisted with scorn.
“You dare to ask, boy?” the mayor sneered. “You, the spawn of a witch, have no right to question justice.”
Lucius’s eyes widened, confusion swirling into panic. “No! You’re wrong! My mom wasn’t—she wasn’t a witch! You’re lying!”
The mayor let out a bitter laugh, spreading his arms wide to address the villagers. “Look at him! Still defending that vile woman who cursed our village with her evil. Do you see the resemblance? The blood-red hair, the dark eyes? This boy is no ordinary child—he’s her descendant, tainted with her wicked magic!”
Lucius struggled harder, shaking his head violently. “No! I’m not! We did nothing! She was just my mom! Please, stop this!”
But his pleas fell on deaf ears.
The mayor turned back to the villagers, his voice rising in fervor. “We cannot allow this evil to fester any longer. Tonight, we free this land from its curse. We will purge it all—starting with this cursed house that has hidden her dark secrets!”
He jabbed a finger toward the modest cottage.
“No! Please!” Lucius screamed, his voice raw with desperation. “Don’t! Please stop!”
The villagers hesitated, a few exchanging uneasy glances. Some shuffled their feet, clearly uncomfortable with the turn of events.
One woman muttered, “He’s just a child…”
The mayor’s sharp glare silenced her instantly. “Do you doubt the danger this house poses? After what we’ve seen tonight? Everything inside could be tainted with witchcraft. Would you risk your children’s safety for pity?”
The crowd murmured in reluctant agreement, and the mayor’s lips curled into a triumphant smirk.
“Burn it!” he commanded, his voice echoing with finality.
Two villagers stepped forward, torches in hand, their movements hesitant but compelled by the mayor’s authority.
Lucius screamed again, his cries mingling with the crackle of flames as the torches were thrust against the cottage walls.
“Stop! Please! That’s all I have left!”
The dry wood caught quickly, the fire spreading like a living thing, consuming the home that had once been his sanctuary. Lucius watched helplessly as the flames devoured everything he knew, their orange glow reflected in his tear-filled eyes.
The flames licked hungrily at the cottage, climbing up the wooden walls like fiery serpents. The roof, once sturdy and protective, crumbled under the onslaught, collapsing inwards with a deafening roar. Thick black smoke billowed into the night sky, blotting out the pale light of the moon. Embers danced in the air, glowing like fireflies before vanishing into the darkness.
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Lucius watched in horror as the place he had called home was consumed. Every memory, every corner filled with his mother’s warmth, reduced to ash. The flames reflected in his tear-streaked eyes as he struggled against the ropes binding him to the tree.
“That was our home,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling. “That was… all we had…”
The fire crackled and popped, the sound taunting him as if mocking his helplessness. Each snap of wood felt like a knife twisting in his chest. He could almost hear his mother’s voice in the walls as they crumbled, her laughter in the gentle creak of the floorboards, her love in the faint aroma of herbs that had clung to the kitchen.
“Mom…”
The mayor turned away from the burning cottage, his face illuminated by the glow of the flames. His expression twisted into a cruel smirk as his eyes landed on Lucius.
“Now, to rid ourselves of the last remnant of this witch,” he declared, his voice dripping with malice.
The villagers murmured uncertainly, their gazes flickering between the fire and the boy tied to the tree. Some looked away, their expressions torn between fear and guilt, but no one stepped forward.
The mayor walked up to Lucius, holding his torch high. “This is justice,” he proclaimed, his voice loud and commanding. “This is how we cleanse our land of evil!”
Lucius hung weekly as he struggled weakly, his voice breaking as he cried, “Please! Stop this...”
Lucius’s eyes darted around wildly, searching for something—anything—that could save him. Then a drop of blood fell on his nose. His gaze turned upwards, landing on a dark shape above him, silhouetted against the light of the fire. He blinked, trying to make sense of it, but the realization came too quickly.
His mother’s headless body dangled lifelessly from the branches of the tree, her blood dripping slowly onto the ground below.
A sharp, guttural cry tore from Lucius’s throat. “No! No! Why?!”
The sight burned into his mind, and for a moment, all he could feel was the raw, unrelenting ache of grief.
“Look at her!” the mayor spat, noticing Lucius’s gaze. “Your witch of a mother, displayed for all to see. This is what happens to those who defy the natural order.”
Lucius’s heart shattered as his tears streamed freely. His chest heaved with the weight of his anguish. He wanted to scream, to run, to do something, but his body was bound, and his voice was drowned out by the villagers' chants of approval at the mayor's words.
Suddenly, Lucius felt heat creeping up his back. His surroundings blurred as he realized the mayor had thrust his torch against the base of the tree. The dry bark caught instantly, flames licking up the trunk and curling around the ropes that bound him.
The pain was immediate, searing into his skin, but what struck him harder was the sight of the villagers.
Their faces twisted with fear, their eyes wide as they stared at him. But it wasn’t just fear he saw—it was relief. Relief that he, a boy, was taking the brunt of their cowardice. Relief that they could feel safe again at the expense of his life.
Something inside Lucius snapped.
“Is this what makes you feel strong?!” he roared, his voice hoarse and filled with anguish. “Hurting someone who never did anything to you? Taking away the only person who ever cared for me?!”
The villagers recoiled slightly at his outburst, their fear deepening.
“You didn’t help us! You never came to our house! You didn’t even look at us unless it was with hate! And now—now you think this makes you better?!” His voice cracked as he struggled to breathe, his body wracked with both physical and emotional agony.
The mayor’s lips curled into a smirk as he turned to the villagers, spreading his arms wide. “Do you hear it, my friends? The demon curses us as it burns! Proof of its evil nature!”
The crowd murmured in agreement, their unease slowly giving way to a misplaced sense of righteousness.
Lucius’s vision blurred with tears, his voice trembling as he screamed, “She was my mom! She was just my mom!”
The fire crept higher, its heat overwhelming. The villagers’ faces swam before him, their fear, their cruelty, their apathy. His pain twisted into something darker—a deep, seething rage.
Lucius tilted his head back despite the agony that wracked his body, his blurred vision locking onto the night sky. The stars above twinkled coldly, indifferent to the inferno consuming him, and the pale moon hung like a silent sentinel over the darkened hill. For a moment, everything else seemed to fade—the jeers of the villagers, the crackling flames, even the weight of his despair.
It should be my birthday, he realized bitterly, a cruel twist of fate tightening the knot in his chest.
The stars had always been a source of comfort for him. His mother would point to them, her voice soft and loving. “On the night you were born, Lucius, a red shooting star streaked across the heavens. I knew then that you were special.”
The memory of her words sent fresh tears streaming down his soot-streaked cheeks. His heart clenched with longing. She had always said to make wishes upon stars, not prayers. “Stars listen to those who dare look up to them,” she’d told him with that kind smile.
Now, staring up at them, their cold beauty seemed so far removed from his suffering. The weight of his grief and rage bubbled up, consuming his thoughts. What could I even wish for? He wondered bitterly. What star could undo this nightmare?
And then he saw it.
A streak of crimson tore across the night sky, fierce and blazing, leaving a vivid trail that outshone every other star. It was mesmerizing, ancient, and wild—its fiery brilliance reflected faintly in the tears staining his cheeks.
Funny... The day I was born there was a red star... Now the day I die it's here too.
Something primal stirred deep within him, an ache that transcended pain or sorrow. It was a hunger, a rage, a yearning to make the world feel the torment he bore. His lips parted, and words spilled out, raw and venomous, their malice laced with a hatred he could no longer contain.
“I wish…” His voice cracked but grew stronger, louder, carrying the weight of his anguish. “I wish for them all to burn! To burn in flames hotter than mine! To scream as I scream! To suffer… endlessly!”
The venom in his words lingered, cutting through the cool night air like a blade. The villagers’ faces, blurred by his tears, became faintly visible through the flames. Though they still watched with fear, there was something else—relief. The sight of it stoked the embers of his fury into an inferno.
"I want them all to burn in pain and suffering! To scream and cry and beg for as long as they can! To suffer a hundred times what I've suffered!"
He stared at the crimson star, the wish tearing through him like an open wound, and in that moment, he felt something shift. The sky seemed to darken further, the moon's pale glow fading as a presence filled the void around him.
A voice broke through the silence, low and resonant, ancient and otherworldly. It carried a strange, melodic cadence, as though it was not meant for mortal ears. It was neither comforting nor cruel, but something far older than either.
“Then grasp that fire,” it said, each word curling around his mind like smoke, sinking deep into his very soul.
Lucius gasped as his vision darkened, the flames roaring in his ears. The voice echoed again, impossibly vast and unyielding, pulling him into the void.
“Grasp it… and make the people, the land, the sky, and the world burn.”
The last thing Lucius saw was the crimson streak fading into the heavens as his consciousness slipped away, leaving the villagers and their cruel faces behind.