Aaron stepped forward, his posture rigid as he tried to address them. "Listen," he said firmly, his voice cutting through some of the noise but not enough to silence it entirely. "These two aren't innocent—"
"They're children!" someone interrupted angrily.
"They're dangerous," Aaron continued sharply, his tone unwavering despite the rising hostility around him. "They were working with the Joker—"
"The Joker?" a man scoffed loudly. "You mean that lunatic clown? He's dead now! What threat do these kids pose?!"
"They were part of his plan," Soren interjected calmly but firmly, stepping beside Aaron. "They attacked us—"
"They're kids!" another voice shouted from within the crowd. "You're grown men! What kind of cowards attack children?!"
Theon groaned audibly and rubbed his temples in frustration before stepping forward himself. "Do you even know what these kids are capable of?" he snapped irritably. "They nearly killed us!"
"Lies!" a woman shrieked from somewhere in the crowd.
"You're just trying to cover up your mess!" another villager shouted.
"They don't look dangerous to me," someone else added mockingly.
Kryll crouched down briefly beside Diana and Luca before standing again with a sharp exhale. He gestured toward them with both hands as he addressed the crowd directly: "Do you see these two? They might look harmless now—but trust me—they're anything but."
Diana smirked faintly at his words but said nothing, while Luca's expression remained defiant.
The villagers weren't convinced; if anything, Kryll's words only seemed to fuel their anger further.
"You think we'll believe that nonsense?" an older man shouted angrily.
"You've destroyed half our village for this madness!" another woman cried out.
"We'll report all of you to Eldoria's Emperor!" someone else yelled again.
The villagers' accusations crescendoed into a wall of noise until a sudden movement silenced them all. Cillian stepped forward, his face a mask of cold fury. Without a word, he reached into his coat and withdrew an ornate golden crest that caught the flickering lantern light, its intricate design unmistakable.
The symbol of Valentine.
He held it high, letting the golden emblem catch the light. Some villagers gasped, immediately recognizing the royal insignia.
"Enough."
Just one word, but delivered with such cold authority that it froze the crowd in place."If you were literate," he said, voice cutting through the silence like a blade, "you'd know what this means."
Several gasps rippled through the crowd. Recognition dawned on some faces, followed immediately by fear.
"Consider your next breath carefully." His eyes swept over them, unblinking and merciless. "Your Emperor against mine isn't a war you want."
The crowd shifted uneasily, their previous courage evaporating. The loudest accusers now seemed desperate to fade into the background.
"These children," he gestured dismissively toward Diana and Luca without taking his eyes off the villagers, "are more dangerous than your tiny minds can comprehend."
A muscle twitched in his jaw as he tucked the crest away.
"Test me again," he said quietly, the softness of his tone more threatening than any shout, "and your village won't exist tomorrow."
Without waiting for a response, Cillian turned and walked away, his back to the crowd in a deliberate show of dismissal. He didn't bother watching them disperse—they weren't worth the attention.
The crowd broke apart immediately, frightened whispers replacing their previous boldness as they scrambled back to their homes. The four others exchanged glances before following Cillian, leaving behind a circus ground shrouded in stunned silence.
Satisfied with their silence, he slipped the crest back into his coat with a sharp motion and turned away abruptly. His boots crunched against the dirt as he walked off without another word, leaving the stunned villagers frozen in place.
The boys exchanged glances as they watched Cillian disappear into the shadows beyond the circus grounds. Aaron let out a low whistle and muttered under his breath, "Well… that shut them up."
Theon shook his head slightly but said nothing. Soren adjusted his gloves and glanced toward the villagers cautiously; they remained rooted in place, too stunned or too afraid to move.
Kryll crouched briefly beside Diana and Luca before standing again with a sharp exhale. "Guess we're done here," he said quietly.
Dylan snorted softly and crossed his arms. "For now," he muttered darkly.
The air remained tense as Ethan and Kryll led the restrained children, Diana and Luca, toward the carriage waiting at the edge of the circus grounds. The two kids walked reluctantly, their hands bound with glowing restraints, their defiant gazes darting between their captors and the wreckage they were leaving behind. Diana smirked faintly, her green eyes flickering with mischief despite her exhaustion, while Luca remained silent, his silver hair glinting under the dim lantern light.
Ethan kept a firm grip on Diana's arm, his expression grim as he guided her forward. "Try anything," he muttered under his breath, "and you'll regret it."
Kryll walked beside Luca, his posture tense as he glanced over his shoulder every few seconds to ensure no one was following them. "You're lucky we're not leaving you tied up in some ditch," he muttered irritably.
The rest of the group followed closely behind, their footsteps heavy with exhaustion after the long night. Aaron, Theon, Dylan, and Soren exchanged tired glances but said little as they approached the carriage—a sturdy vehicle with reinforced wheels and a dark canopy that would carry them back to Elmir.
Once they reached the carriage, Ethan opened the door and gestured for Diana to step inside first. She hesitated for a moment before climbing in, her movements slow and deliberate as if she were testing their patience. Luca followed silently, his expression unreadable as he took a seat beside her.
The boys began filing into the carriage one by one, their exhaustion evident in the way they slumped into their seats. Aaron leaned back against the wall with a heavy sigh, while Theon rubbed his temples as if trying to ward off a headache. Dylan crossed his arms and stared out the window with a scowl, while Soren adjusted his gloves quietly.
Just as Cillian approached the carriage door, he stopped abruptly. His sharp gaze flicked toward the horizon for a moment before he turned back to face the group.
"Go ahead," he said suddenly, his voice calm but firm. "I'll catch up later."
The boys froze mid-motion, exchanging confused glances before Aaron spoke up. "What?" he demanded sharply. "Why?"
Cillian's expression remained impassive as he replied evenly: "By the time I return, find out where the Joker will be performing next."
"What are you talking about?" Theon asked incredulously. "You're just going to wander off again?"
Dylan snorted and leaned forward slightly. "You can't be serious," he said flatly.
"I am," Cillian replied curtly, his tone brooking no argument.
Aaron narrowed his eyes at him. "We're supposed to stick together," he said firmly. "You disappearing again isn't exactly helping."
Cillian's gaze flicked toward him briefly before settling on Soren. "You'll manage," he said simply before stepping back from the carriage.
Soren frowned but nodded reluctantly, knowing better than to argue when Cillian had made up his mind.
"Unbelievable," Aaron muttered under his breath as he leaned back in his seat again.
Cillian turned away from them without another word and began walking toward the shadows beyond the circus grounds. His sharp eyes scanned the horizon briefly before disappearing into the darkness.
As silence settled over the group inside the carriage, Diana let out a soft giggle that broke through the tension like a crack in glass. Luca smirked faintly beside her but said nothing.
Aaron shot them both a glare but didn't bother speaking; instead, he leaned back against the wall with a heavy sigh.
As the first flickers of consciousness stirred within me, I found myself adrift in a realm between waking and sleep. My mind, sluggish and unmoored, struggled to recall where I was or how I had come to be here. The world pressed in upon me as a thick, impenetrable darkness, and for a moment, I wondered if I was still dreaming.
Gradually, my senses began to return, each one emerging from the fog like a distant lighthouse through a storm. My eyelids, heavy as stone, fluttered open with agonizing slowness. At first, all I could perceive was a swirling haze-a dense, spectral fog that clung to the earth and blurred the boundaries between land and sky. The air was damp and chill, carrying with it the scent of wet grass and something faintly metallic, like old blood.
As my vision sharpened, the ground before me resolved into a tapestry of dew-laden blades of grass, each one glistening with tiny beads of moisture that caught the moonlight and refracted it into ghostly halos. The grass was a deep, verdant green, but the color seemed muted, as if the fog itself had leeched the world of vibrancy. Here and there, pale wildflowers poked through the sward, their delicate petals trembling in the night breeze.
The fog was omnipresent, swirling in slow, sinuous eddies that obscured everything beyond a few yards. It muffled sound and swallowed light, rendering the landscape both intimate and infinite. Shadows loomed and retreated at the edge of my vision, hinting at shapes that might be trees, stones, or something altogether stranger.
I became aware that my body was slumped awkwardly against a cold, unyielding surface. A medium-sized stone, rough and weathered by time, pressed into my back and side. Its surface was slick with condensation, and I could feel the chill of it seeping through my thin clothing, anchoring me to the earth. My limbs were sprawled at odd angles, as if I had been carelessly discarded. My head lolled to the left, and for a moment, I could not muster the strength to lift it.
Numbness claimed my body, a deadening weight that rendered me insubstantial, almost spectral. My arms and legs felt as though they belonged to someone else, distant and unresponsive. I could not feel my heartbeat, nor the rise and fall of my chest. Each breath was an ordeal, the air thick and alien-as if I were inhaling nitrogen instead of oxygen, each gasp laced with the threat of suffocation.
Time seemed to stretch and warp, seconds bleeding into minutes. Then, with excruciating slowness, sensation returned. A faint, tingling warmth crept into my right hand, and I watched as my left index finger twitched, a small and desperate sign of life. The world remained shrouded in fog and uncertainty, but I was no longer entirely lost to it.
It was then, as I hovered on the threshold between paralysis and awakening, that the voices began to seep through the mist. They were muffled at first, distant echoes in the gloom, but soon grew clearer, their words strange yet unmistakably filled with purpose.
"Ara mā. Ara mā. Kanojo wa me o samashite kita wa," exclaimed a woman's voice, mature and edged with both surprise and anticipation.
(Translation: Oh my. Oh my. She's stirring awake.)
A man's voice followed, his tone almost reverent. "Mā, mā. Kanojo o mite. Hontōni utsukushī wa."
(Translation: My. My. Look at her. She's really beautiful.)
Another man, his voice tinged with regret, echoed through the gloom. "Zan'nenda. Kanojo wa watashitachi no mono ni wa naranai."
(Translations: What a pity. She won't be ours.)
An elderly woman's words cut through, sharp and commanding. "Kansha shiro yo, bōya. Sukunakutomo kanojo wa utsukushī. Kamigami mo yorokobudarou. Tokuni anzapa-zoku wa."
(Translation: Be grateful, lad. At least, she's beautiful. The Gods will be pleased. Especially the Anzapa.)
A different man, his voice brittle with exhaustion, interjected. "Watashitachi wa ōku no tamashī to karada o gisei ni shite karera o yorokoba sete kimashitaga, soredemo nani no yaku ni mo tachimasendeshita."
(Translation: We've pleased them regardless by sacrificing many souls and bodies and yet there's been no use.)
The elderly woman replied, her voice unwavering, almost scolding. "Son'nani onshirazu ni naranaide. Kamigami wa itsumo watashitachi ni jihi o ataete kureta. Kanojo no utsukushi-sa to karadatsuki wa kanpeki sugirukara, motto jihi o ataete kurerudarou. Kon'nani yaseta josei ga gisei ni sa reru no wa hisashiburida. Kitto yorokonde kurerudarou."
(Translation: Don't be so ungrateful. The Gods have always shown mercy upon us. They will shower us with more, since her beauty and body figure are just too perfect. It's been so long since such a thin woman had been sacrificed. They will surely be pleased.)
The first woman's skepticism was palpable. "Sore wa utagawashī."
(Translation: I doubt that.)
The elder's patience snapped. "Giron wa mō jūbunda. Kanojo o mukaeire, ashita no junbi o hajimeyou. Kanpekina monodenakereba naranai. Ketten nado hitotsu mo mite wa naranai. Subete o ōi-kakushi, kanojo ga gisei o sasageta nochi de hajimete kamigami ga kanojo no fukanzen-sa ni kidzuku yō ni shinakereba naranai. Shikashi, mo shi ima kanojo no ketten ga rotei sureba, hanayome ga sono tsutome o hatasenakatta toki, kamigami wa kitto fukyō o katte shitsubō surudarou. Sā, junbi o hajimeyou."
(Translation: Enough with the discussion. Take her in and begin the preparations for tomorrow. It should be perfect. Not a single flaw should be seen. Everything should be veiled to a point that only after her sacrifice, the Gods will see her imperfection. But if her flaws are to surface now, the Gods are sure to be displeased and disappointed if their bride isn't up to the task. So, begin the preparations.)
My body existed as a stranger to me-a hollow vessel adrift in a sea of numbness. Every limb felt weighted down by invisible chains, as though my bones had been replaced with lead. My muscles, slack and unresponsive, refused to obey even the simplest command: Lift your head. Open your eyes. But courage, like strength, had abandoned me. I lay there, a marionette with severed strings, my face pressed into the damp earth. The grass beneath my cheek was cold and sharp, each blade etching tiny, stinging lines into my skin.
Their voices swirled around me, syllables sharp and lilting in equal measure. The language was unfamiliar, yet its cadence tugged at some buried memory-a half-remembered lullaby, perhaps, or a childhood tale whispered in the dark. But there was no comfort here. Their tones clashed like discordant instruments: one voice honeyed and cloying, another gruff with impatience, a third brittle with fear. Whatever they were discussing, it crackled with urgency. A woman laughed, the sound like ice shattering on stone.
To be Continued...