The beginning of his day was a blur to Liam. He knew he had gotten up pretty late after having stayed with the refugees almost all night. Then he gathered some food for himself, and walked in the afternoon sun.

He knew all those things, but they still were

Liam stood in a crowd so thick he couldn’t breathe. He was barely able to think. It was like his mind was numbed. He was balling a fist, but even the pain from his nails digging into his palm was muted.

He had still listened to the first part of the speech disbelieving. As soon as they started leading them onto the stage though, Liam felt a gaping hole appear in his stomach.

There were half a dozen nobles on the stage. More than Liam had ever seen at one time. More than anyone had ever seen together at one time in the commoner parts of town probably.

Each of them wore the distinct colors of their houses. One of them wore a bright, almost glowing orange tunic, speckled with emeralds. Another one wore a dark shade of gray, interwoven with silver elements that glinted in the sun. The rest of them, all five, wore the bright blue and golden that House Neyana prided themselves in. The residing family of Charville, and the one that set Liams blood boiling the most.

They had talked a lot about justice. A lot about what they were doing for the city, keeping it safe, keeping it prosperous, and how the commoners repaid it to them by stealing and murdering one of theirs.

It was a long and winding speech. One that usually would’ve sent Liam onto his way away from the square again, looking for a way to vent his rage. But somehow he couldn’t find it in him to move.

And for that, they needed to statue an example.

Liam had seen where all of that was supposed to go, it wasn’t the first time the nobles held a public execution to scare them. The two men with giant axes were already a pretty good indication. It was still different to see them leading a small group of people onto the stage like lambs to the slaughter.

What made Liam’s heart drop, and his vision whiten in rage, was when he saw a familiar face in the small mass of people being led there. There were eleven people of all different walks of life. A few seemed vaguely familiar, probably urchins like Liam he had seen on the streets. One or two of them seemed to stand out, their clothes looked more well off, and Liam idly wondered if they had kidnapped random people out of their homes, or if these men had anything to their guilt.

In the midst of them there was a little boy though. One Liam had seen not too long ago. One he had played football with less than a day ago. The boy clutched his small stuffed animal, his eyes wide with fear as he stared into the masses.

Liam wanted to scream and cry at the injustices, but he found himself unable to even speak. It was the same with all the people. They stood like an attention seeking crowd.

The first two people were executed. Liam saw their blood coloring the wooden planks of the stage red, pooling, and finally dripping into the dirt below.

All the while he only had eyes for the little boy that was moving ever closer to the two men with their expressionless faces.

Liam felt lost at sea. He flared his inner energy, anxious and desperate to find some source of strength. Warmth flooded his muscles as the familiar power churned in him.

It was like glass had shattered around Liam. He was suddenly able to draw breath in again, his mind spurn into gear again, shaking off the last remains of its numbness.

He looked around the masses, for the first time taking in the other peoples faces. Their faces were impassive, stone masks, yet their eyes spoke of terror. It was like all of them were bound in the spot by some spell forced to watch while remaining impassive.

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What was happening? There was only one explanation Liam had.

He turned his attention towards the six nobles on stage. Only now for him to realize there was a seventh man standing in the midst of them. He looked a little older than the rest, but was clad in the same rich robes.

The man wore the same colors that the rest of the majority on stage wore. House Neyana. Differently than the rest of the nobility on stage though, the man had his eyes closed in deep concentration.

At first Liam thought he imagined it, but the closer he paid attention to the man, the surer he became. There was a deep thrum reverberating from that man. He could almost feel energy going out from him, energy that felt scarily familiar to the one Liam felt burning in him at the moment.

Liam wasn’t surprised that the man was blessed. Most of the nobility were. What surprised him was the fact that he seemed to have an active skill going on.

Looking around at the masses of people, standing in trance like he had just moments ago, it wasn’t hard to imagine what the skill the elder used must be. What was mind boggling though, was the sheer idea of how powerful the skill must be.

There were more than a thousand minds gathered in the square, all of them up in turmoil and outrage, yet the man was able to put iron shackles on all of them. He made their bodies unmoving, their thoughts sluggish, and dampened their emotions, while at the same time giving their consciousness the full force of what was happening. Just one person was doing that.

The pure thought sent shivers down Liam’s spine. He felt small and helpless. How was he supposed to act against that?

Another person was beheaded on the scaffold. The dull thump sound returned Liam back to reality.

He wanted to run towards the scaffold and free the prisoners. But a look at the nobles stopped him. If one of them was able to do all of that, just how strong would six of them be? How was he supposed to act against that? It would be suicide.

Conflicting emotions in Liam threatened to tear him apart. He thought about simply leaving for a moment, pretending this had never happened. But he knew he couldn’t. Instead he opted to watch.

And watch he did.

One person after the other he saw being led to the scaffold and beheaded. At the end of all, came the boy. His eyes were darting through the masses, looking for help that his mouth couldn’t articulate.

They settled on Liam. For one brief second there was a spark in them. His mouth opened in hope. Then the axe fell down.

Liam felt cold penetrating all the way to his bones.

He would remember these images. And no matter what happened, he would repay them for it.

Miylorun stood on stage and watched the commoners rowed up in front of them with contempt. It was such a waste of time, and of an precious afternoon to be hear. He had complained why six of them were needed for in the first place, but Zunrta didn't let anyone argue with him.

So grudgingly Miyloruns house had sent him. He stepped as far away from the scaffold as possible. He wanted to avoid staining his clothes in blood.

It took a long boring afternoon on his legs, and he hated it.

“Do you feel that?” Benjamin asked to his left.

“What do you mean?”

“There is a signature in the crowds.”

“Don't be silly.” He snorted. “No aristocrat I know would deem themselves down there.”

“What if it’s no aristocrat?”

Miylorun had to stop himself from laughing. “What are you saying the gods started wasting their divine powers on the peasants.”

“They do it on them in the capital too,” Benjamin almost wanted to say. But two of the other nobles behind them snorted, and Benjamin blushed letting the topic drop.

He couldn’t understand why House Jul had sent him, but he didn’t press the issue. He knew they were powerful in the capital. But still, such foolishness.

The afternoon continued as unpleasantly as it began. Much to Miyloruns dismay, he couldn’t totally avoid the spillage of blood. Two droplets made it onto his bright blue tunics.

He would make the cleaning commoners they held get them out. Maybe he would even go for a stroll in the evening to make some commoners pay for it.

After all they were only commoners, and that was their purpose. To serve the nobility in all that they could. They might not fully understand it, but that was one of the few things Miylorun couldn’t fault them for.

They were a stupid bunch. Barely able to think on their own. They didn’t even dare to question the order of things or hope. They were nothing but…

He stopped.

In the middle of the crowds, there was one boy. No, a man. And he stared at him intently. He held eye contact. When he saw Miylorun return his gaze, he smiled.

The commoner smiled.