Down on earth, the weather was monochromatic and sour as though in an angry flare. The heavy rain pelted down upon the land with some force akin to the declaration of war. The clouds bled tears of cold as the sky rumbled in protest. Lightning struck from time to time leaving
behind a boisterous echo. From the darkness of nature to its protest, anger was evident.
Anger for what no mortal knew. Neither could they decipher the meaning behind it. Doom. That was what it signified for a little ten-year-old fragile girl. Her long black traces were wet with the rain. The moon hid behind the heavy clouds as stars dimmed in mourning.
The trees bowed in respect for the premonition that would come to pass. The wind was calm as though waiting for a silent order to attack. The night was beautifully chaotic yet harmoniously still.
A well-designed pack house came into view. The houses were articulately furnished if one was to judge from the aesthetic architectural designs. It was something that outsiders would normally admire from afar due to the stylish yet simple structure it possessed.
Alas, tonight, there were no spectators to admire them; rather, present on their sacred lands were executioners.
Sitting within the crowd were three figures draped in cloaks that significantly showed their status. The figure to the right adorned a lavish embellished crisp white tunic, a royal blue tunic with silver lacework, and long white trousers. On the right shoulder of his cloak was an emblem that was widely used by the generals.
The man to the left wore the same attire in a different shade of white and red. He had silver embroidery that complimented his looks and figure. The emblem on the front was that of a sleeping eagle. He was the king's, right-hand man.
The most outstanding among the three was, however, the man in the middle. He was donned in a deep blue tunic and a white clock with golden lacework. Both his arms had emblems that signified the commander-in-chief’s position as well as the chief decision-maker. The other emblem was the official royal emblem of the Lupus royal family. The man’s focus was solely on the felons to be executed.
Five men were placed tied up to gallows that were already in place. One would think that they committed a crime worth the public humiliation. Executions were elaborate and shocking affairs, designed to act as a deterrent to those who watched. In the Lupus realm, executions of felons were a normal affair. When it does happen, it would seem more like a fair due to the jeering crowd.
Unlike the normal execution, the one to be carried out on this particular night would go down in the history of nature. The felons whose heads were covered were not criminals. They were survivors of a heavy war that claimed many lives. The crowd that had gathered to witness the event, was in a somber mood.
They were silently in deep mourning and commiserating about the execution of their heroes who were declared criminals three days after their victory against their neighbors. standing among them holding two white doves was a gorgeous heavily pregnant woman. Standing beside her was a little girl about ten years old who was a split image of her. Their eyes were filled with sorrow as silent tears fell with the drops of rain to the ground.
As the executioner gave the orders, the sharp saber was swung and cut off the first man’s head clean. Blood splattered everywhere drenching those closest to the gallows. Then another head was set rolling, then another and another until it was the last man’s turn.
“Do you have anything to say to your people? Your last words Alpha? “asked a neatly dressed man who stood among the crowds. The man smiled, sending an eerie feeling across the spectators. He looked around as his gaze finally fell on the two lone figures who appeared to be mourning for him. His gaze softened a tad bit as he stared at the pregnant woman.
“I will see you soon darling! Till we meet again. I wish thee farewell”. His voice was warm and firm. Each timbre in his tone expressed his longing and love. To reunite with one whose heart he found a home. His gaze involuntarily moved towards the little girl who stood by the woman. “Angel, do not forget the songs of the nightingale. I will be with you in soul and spirit”.
That was all he left behind for the two people he loved and treasured. Looking straight at the man who appeared sophisticated and elegant he smirked; the softness that he had shown was no longer there: only icicle-cold feelings were left behind. The saber fell on his head that refused to bow. As his head was separated from his body, chaos ensued.
The initially calm monochromatic weather had turned different shades of black, blinding white, and howled angrily. The wind blew violently loud and angry, the sky seemed to be heavily leaking as the trees swayed aggressively. Sounds of broken twigs and branches could be heard from time to time.
A woman gasped in pain as she felt something wet between her legs. Nature was cruel. She was not given time to mourn the death before another catastrophe attacked. Her cries of pain were heard yet no one paid attention to her as every person present was running around to seek shelter. Only a mother and her helpless ten-year-old were left in the heavy rain, braving the cold, silently mourning, and desperately in need.
The woman started to bleed. She lay on the cold floor trying to give birth on her own. The last luck was not on her side. She was soon exhausted and passed out in pain.
The little girl watched on, confused, overwhelmed, and highly exasperated. Throughout the night, she had watched on without showing a reaction. Now, watching her only remaining pillar slip away from life, seconds felt like hours as minutes felt like days.
The woman would slip in and out of consciousness until her last breath. The baby died out of suffocation in her womb. What was left behind, was a broken doll whose howl became one with nature as she finally passed out.
