Year 3917 of the Almanac of Ages, Red Bird

Amelia's house stood out from the others: not for its beauty or size, but for the care with which it had been maintained despite the difficult years. The wooden porch creaked under our steps as we entered. Inside, candles cast dancing shadows on the kitchen walls, where everything had its place, worn by time but clean.

Arthur gestured to a chair. "Sit. You must be tired after the journey."

"I'm going to help mother with the animals," said Amelia, her voice still trembling with emotion. Margherite wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and together they walked out into the darkness. I watched them leave, understanding their need for a moment alone.

Silence stretched between Arthur and me like a heavy blanket. I observed him as he poured wine into two chipped glasses. His hands trembled slightly.

"You didn't ask questions during the journey," he finally said, pushing a glass toward me. "About the bandits. About how they took it."

I took the glass but didn't drink. "It wasn't the time."

Arthur nodded slowly, his eyes lost in the red wine. "They're not simple raiders," he began, his voice low. "They have... they have a system. They control the area as if it were their kingdom. Every village pays, some in gold, others in grain..." He paused, taking a long sip. "We paid in grain. Until it wasn't enough anymore."

The man flinched slightly. His eyes wavered, searching for something on the table that wasn't there. Perhaps courage. I waited. Men like Arthur need time to confess their sins.

I watched him as he wrung his hands like a man in anguish. It wasn't surprising, truth be told. Every declining village I'd seen had an invisible enemy: hunger, misery, or a hidden tyrant. Here they were just bandits, nothing extraordinary.

"They started taking the girls," he continued, his voice breaking. "First from the neighboring village, then..." He stopped, gripping the glass so tightly I feared it might break. "When they came for Amelia, we didn't... I didn't..." The words died in his throat.

The sound of the opening door interrupted his confession. Amelia and Margherite returned, bringing with them the smell of farm animals. Arthur straightened in his chair, hiding his trembling hands under the table.

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Later, in the great hall, the celebration was in full swing. The food was simple but plentiful, the fruit of every family's meager savings. Wine loosened tongues, laughter rose to the ceiling beams. Amelia moved from embrace to embrace, her smile growing tired but still present.

I sat apart, observing. There was something discordant in that joy. Glances fled when they met, the laughter was a bit too loud, a bit too forced.

"Look at them dancing on their own dishonor," whispered the voice in my head, the one I knew all too well. "Like rats celebrating being still alive after the cat has taken one of their own."

Shut up, I thought, but it was right. They celebrated like those trying to forget, not like those celebrating a victory. Disgust grew within me, fed by every false laugh, every fleeting glance.

"How long will it take," the voice insisted, stronger now, "before the bandits return to take another girl? And what will they do? You know what they'll do..."

I know too well, I answered in my thoughts. They'll lower their eyes. As always.

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I felt a familiar tingling in my left wrist. It wasn't just anger, it was disgust. For them, for their weakness, but mostly for the ease with which they pretended everything was normal.

"Shame isn't washed away with wine," the voice hissed, hammering in my mind. "It's washed with blood. Theirs, or the bandits'. But they prefer to drown in wine rather than fight."

Stop it, I tried to push it back, but the voice became more insistent.

"They're worse than beasts," it thundered in my head, making my temples throb. "At least beasts have the instinct to fight. These... these are already dead inside. Show them what it means to be alive. Show them what it means to have power."

This isn't the way, I protested weakly, but by now I could no longer distinguish if the thoughts were mine or the voice's. They merged, grew, filled me like poison.

"Make them suffer," the voice suggested, seductive now. "Just a taste. Just to make them understand..."

"It's strange," I found myself saying aloud, and my words, though low, seemed to fill the hall. The nearest conversations died out. "I've seen wolves defend their cubs to the death. I've seen deer charge bears to protect their young."

"Yes, like that!" the voice exulted in my head. "Make them see. Show them what it means to be weak. Show them the price of their cowardice!"

The mana began to condense in the air, responding not only to my anger but to the chorus of voices now screaming inside me, demanding vengeance, demanding justice, demanding blood.

"They're unworthy even to breathe the same air," growled the voice louder than the others. "Make them choke on their shame. Do it now!"

"But you?" I continued aloud, feeling the voices merge with my words, every syllable infused with their venom. "You let them in. You watched while they took everything. Your daughters. Your dignity."

The first strike came when a man near the village chief began to cough, hands at his throat. Others followed, the air becoming increasingly dense, unbreathable.

"Look how they writhe," the voices laughed in my skull. "How they beg for mercy. Just like they did with the bandits. Isn't it magnificent?"

Yes... yes, it is, I found myself thinking, a cold smile pulling at my lips. I watched their faces contorted with pain, hands scratching at invisible throats, bodies twisting seeking air. There was a terrible beauty in that justice, a dark satisfaction in seeing them finally pay for their cowardice.

"Finally they see," the voice whispered with satisfaction. "Finally they understand what it means to be powerless."

As they made their daughters powerless, I agreed, savoring every moan, every spasm of pain. The mana responded to my satisfaction, condensing even more, making the air almost solid in their lungs.

This was justice. This was...

That's when I met Amelia's gaze. She was holding her mother, who had collapsed in her arms. Her eyes were full of fear, of confusion. There was no understanding in that look, only pure terror. The same terror she must have felt when...

"No," whispered another voice, almost forgotten, buried beneath the others. It was my voice, the real one, the one that remembered who I was. "Not like this. Don't become what you swore to fight."

It was her gaze that made my blood freeze in my veins. Amelia... those eyes full of fear reminded me of what I had promised not to become. The voices in my head fell silent suddenly, as if swept away by that single look, leaving only the silence of horror for what I was doing.

I closed my eyes, breathed deeply. The mana dispersed, the air became breathable again. Moans and coughs filled the hall as everyone caught their breath.

I opened my eyes and looked at them. Their faces were marked by terror, but no one dared approach.

I rose slowly. "Tomorrow at dawn I leave for their camp," I announced, my voice steady. "Anyone who wants to prove they're worth more than a rat knows where to find me."

I headed for the door, feeling the weight of their stares on my back. Before leaving, I stopped at the threshold.

"Better to die standing," I said quietly, "than to live on your knees."

The night welcomed me with its silence, while behind me the celebration had transformed into a funeral for their dignity. The sky above me was devoid of stars, even the gods had turned their gaze away from this village full of misery.