Hours passed. In the darkness, I waited, somehow alive but not breathing, feeling no heartbeat, no blink, no ordinary pulse of life. And yet—I felt alive. The strange realization dawned slowly as I lifted my hand, fingers brushing along my throat and cheeks. The sensation was different; my touch was sharper, my senses strangely heightened. Power seemed to pulse through my body, of many kinds, each one more mysterious than the last.
Curious, I tried to sit up. But my body felt… small. I looked around, only to find everything towering above me, as if the whole world had somehow grown massive. I tried to lift my hands but froze when I caught sight of them. Wait… whose hands are these? They were so tiny, pudgy even, like the hands of a baby.
Wait… did I turn into a child?
My mind reeled. Is this… what those people were talking about? Those voices… they actually changed me? But how is that even possible?
My head spun, panic welling up as I struggled to make sense of it all. My mind felt too big for this tiny body, like a wave crashing against a fragile shore. My emotions surged, raw and overwhelming, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. No, no—I don't want to cry. I'm not a baby!
But the emotions bubbled over, and I started to cry, my tiny body wracked with sobs I couldn't control. Whether it was because of these new baby hormones or just pure frustration, I didn't know.
Suddenly, soft footsteps came closer, and I heard a woman's gentle voice. She picked me up, holding me with such warmth and gentleness that my tears stopped almost immediately. Her face was stunningly beautiful, more so than anyone I had ever seen—elegant features, eyes that held a strange kindness, and a gentle smile that seemed to melt away my fear.
Who is she? I thought, gazing up at her in awe. I've never seen anyone like her before… or rather, I don't remember seeing anyone like her in either life.
She cradled me close, humming softly as she began to sing a lullaby, her voice calming and tender.
"Hush, little baby, don't you cry… everything's going to be alright…"
Her voice was a balm, soothing every fear, and I relaxed into her arms. She rocked me gently, patting my back, the soft rhythm lulling me into a daze. My eyes began to droop, and she placed me back in a cradle with gentle care. I watched her through half-closed eyes as she moved to a chair across the room and sat down, looking so serene, her gaze still fixed on me. Just as my eyes were about to close completely, a loud crash echoed through the room.
My eyes flew open, and I saw three men burst through the door. My heart pounded as I tried to make sense of what was happening.
The first man, tall and imposing, gripped a wooden stake, his gaze cold and unfeeling. He didn't hesitate—he threw the stake in a wide, deadly arc, aimed directly at the woman sitting in the chair. The impact was quick, brutal, and she slumped over, her eyes still on me, her body going still.
Panic gripped me as I looked from her to the men, trying to scream, to cry out for help, but I was frozen in shock, my tiny voice too weak. I couldn't do anything, couldn't even let out a sound. The second man walked over to me, his expression dark, as he lifted me up by my leg like I was some object, dangling me in the air. I was so terrified, so paralyzed by fear, that not a single squeak escaped my lips.
"This child…" the man said, studying me with cold, clinical eyes. "Its heart isn't beating. What should we do?"
Another man, standing tall by the door, spoke with authority. "Take him. Let the lords decide what to do with him. And bring the woman—tonight, we deal with her, too."
As they took me, my gaze shifted back to her, my supposed mother, lying still and lifeless in the chair. My last sight before they carried me away was the third man, a towering brute with red eyes, blocking the door, his gaze as cold and unmoving as stone.
---
I don't know how much time passed. When I finally came to, I was lying on a hard wooden stage, still unable to move. My wrists were bound, and my body felt strangely lifeless, as though I were nothing more than a doll. A crowd was gathered before me, their faces hidden in shadow, their expressions tense and curious. I lay on the stage, unmoving, my senses sharp but my body paralyzed.
In front of me, a finely dressed man paced back and forth on the stage, speaking as though he were in a grand play. He moved with exaggerated gestures, his every step practiced and precise. His voice was smooth and refined as he addressed the crowd.
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"Good evening," he began, his tone dripping with false politeness. "I apologize for disrupting your affairs, dear guests, but tonight, I bring a matter of grave concern."
He went on, his speech filled with words about "our oaths" and the "laws that bind us." I couldn't focus on what he was saying—my gaze drifted to the side of the stage where the woman who'd held me was seated, her forehead stained with blood, her gaze distant but strangely calm, focused on me with an intensity that was both haunting and comforting.
My hands strained against the bonds, my instincts screaming at me to reach for her, to somehow bring her back, but I was helpless. Just a child, barely able to move, bound and utterly powerless.
The man's voice droned on, his tone self-important. "This breach of our laws… cannot go unpunished. The sentence, of course… is death."
He steepled his hands, pretending to look pained. "Know that I am no more the judge than I am a humble servant of our lords, bound to uphold the laws as they are written." He turned toward the woman, his face a mask of false regret.
"Forgive me," he said, his voice dripping with mock concern. He took a step back, and then, from the shadows beside her, the brute who had stood guard at the door earlier stepped forward. He held a massive sword, a monstrous slab of steel engraved with runes that seemed to pulse with a dark energy. I watched in horror, unable to look away as he raised the blade high above his head.
My chest tightened, an unbearable ache blooming as if my heart were being ripped apart. No, no… why does this hurt so much? I wanted to scream, to cry, to somehow stop what was coming, but my body refused to respond. All I could do was watch, helpless, as the blade came down in a swift, merciless arc.
In a single stroke, it was over. Her body crumpled, then crumbled to ash, a faint trace of smoke rising as if she had never been there at all. And yet, even in those last moments, she hadn't taken her eyes off me. It hit me like a storm crashing down—she was my mother. She had looked at me with love, even in her final moments, her heart full, her gaze steady, as if she wanted nothing more than to see me one last time.
The urge to scream tore at my chest, but I held it back. No crying. Not here. Not in front of them.
The man on stage turned back to the crowd, raising an eyebrow as if nothing at all had happened. "And now, we come to the matter of the child," he said, his tone casual, like he was discussing some trivial matter.
A murmur went through the crowd, and then someone shouted, "This is bullshit!"
A man stood up, his fists clenched in anger. He glared at the man on stage, his expression furious. People around him exchanged uneasy looks, not sure what to make of the outburst. Other voices joined his, whispers of doubt and discontent spreading through the crowd.
The man on stage looked down at him, his eyes narrowing slightly in irritation. "If Mr. Patrick would allow me to finish… This child had no control over his birth. It would be unseemly—monstrous, even—for us to burn a child that is dead already. And we are not monsters," he added with a smirk, as though he were doing the world a grand favor.
I sagged in relief, though the pain of losing my mother still lingered like an open wound. At least I wouldn't be harmed, not today.
"Take him to the far western forest," the man commanded, gesturing toward the men who had dragged me here. "Bury him there, far from our lands. Let him be forgotten."
Patrick, the man who had shouted, looked furious, his shoulders hunched and fists clenched. He cast one last glare at the stage before storming out of the room, shoving past the crowd as he left. Gradually, the others began to follow, murmuring among themselves. The last to leave was a man with a feral look, his long hair and beard giving him an air of menace. He glanced down at me, his gaze unreadable, before turning away.
As the guards lifted me, carrying me away, I felt the weight of everything settle on my shoulders. My mother was gone, her life stolen before I even knew her. I was alone, but a fierce thought echoed through my mind, a promise as sharp as a blade:
One day, I'll make them all pay.