Chapter 3: Chapter 3: Prophecies, traitors and death. Why can’t this world just have flowers and roses instead?

She bolts up again in a slew of cold sweat. What the heck was that? Closing her eyes. She still remembers the dream so vividly. Fire, blood, screams of terror. Green banners trampled to the ground. A castle sieged, its walls crumbling onto the citizens within. Atop the tower, a man with scarlet red hair, golden armor, is holding a decapitated crowned head. Surrounding them, two different armies. Cheering for their victory. One waving the icy blue colors of Estelis, and there’s another. Gold with a burning rose. If she recalls, that’s the banner of Godor, the continents towards the south. Across the black seas.  

Did God just show her a prophecy? Astia is going to fall. Why did they join forces? As far as she recalled. The Estalians and Godorians have nothing in common with each other. They hardly spoke. So, why... Father must have shown her this for a reason. Could it be? The catalyst of their interactions, exists here? Right this moment in this village? If that’s the case, then she needs to stop it from happening.  

But where does she even start? The village isn’t massive, but without knowing what to look for, it’ll be like searching for a needle in a haystack. And what if she’s wrong. If she’s just overthinking a nightmare conjured from her mind because of everything she’s witnessed today. What does this all mean even. If only Father could enlighten her. She’s mortal now. She can’t communicate with Father directly anymore. Should the better option be just to go warn the Assassin? No. He won’t take her seriously. She should first investigate. 

She picks herself up. The pain hasn’t entirely disappeared, but it’s muted enough that she’s able to walk. It’s dark out. The voices have quietened. Soldiers passed out on the chairs and tables beside tents. Most people are asleep except for the guards on patrol, sporadically passing by with torch fire illuminating the perimeters. She dodges the few tents lit with oil lamps. Going along the outskirts. The fences that were breached have been almost fully repaired apart from a man sized crevice. Along the inner rims, a deep trench is dug. She peeks downwards, it’s currently being lined with sharpened logs.  

Strange. For a small insignificant village. It sure is being fortified well. It looks like they intend to defend this location. Why though? What’s special about this location? Urg. If only she can find a map somewhere and maybe she could figure something out.  

She keeps walking to the big open area where the plantations were. There’s another massive hole. The mass grave. It's already filled with dead bodies, yet to be buried. She stops before it to chant a quick prayer. May the souls reach Heaven peacefully. After, she resumes down the paths. Crossing the armory. It’s lit, but the soldier securing it has passed out on the table. Snoring with a mug of half drank ale in his hand.  

Quietly, she tiptoes inside, examining the weapons stacked to the roof. There’re swords on a rack. Knives on the other. Cleavers in crates. Bows and arrows. Chainmail, helmets. All these are too big, too conspicuous to lug around. Instead, she swipes a few daggers off a shelf and tucks it into her belt. Just in case she may need it to defend herself. Better safe than sorry. As she’s exiting the tent, she spots a barrel with a warning label slapped on top of it. She quietly pushes aside the lid. Dynamites. She grabs a few of those too. And oh. What’s this? There are tiny glass bottles of clear liquids lying next to it. She uncorks it to give it a good sniff. Chloroform. This may come in handy. So, she pockets one of those.  

Satisfied with her loot, she resumes her journey down. Double checking her surroundings before she slips onto the main path. She crosses a few more tents, this time, for food and ale before she reaches another clearing, and she immediately ducks behind a table.  

It’s the slave drivers. The bearded one which she got into an argument with earlier is dead asleep, slouched onto the wooden chair with his head craned over the backrest. Snoring a bubble. Whereas the Baldy, next to him is dozing off. 

Before them, the prisoners which they forced into manual labor are kept in a massive cage on the dirt ground. About twenty of them. All bond by iron shackles on the ankle. The old man is there, dry coughing, but he’s trying to stifle himself. Almost as if he’s fearing that he’ll get beaten if he wakes the slavers up. Beside him, there’s a younger, tanned brunette boy, patting his back. He’s crawling forward to scoop rainwater from the mud and bringing it to the old man within his palm. That can’t be hygienic. Are the prisoners not fed? Probably not. All of them look so malnourished. The bones are peeking through their skin.

Hurriedly, she scurries back to the granary. Snatching a few apples off the crates and returning to the site. The bald slaver has fallen into a light sleep at this point. Taking a huge gulp of air, she rolls an apple forward. Quietly as she can. The thud is louder than she anticipates given the deathly silence. She watches the apple tumble. The bearded slaver rips a loud snore. It jolts Baldy awake with a,  

“Huh.” shit. Did he notice? No. His attention is instead drawn beside him to the maker of the noise. He relaxes his guard. Again, props his face on a palm that’s wedged onto the table. Sluggishly blinking at the cage. The apple has successfully been snatched up by the boy that saw it. Hiding it beneath his shirt. He’s looking around. They make eye contact. He looks startled for a moment. She supposes Bathory does have a creepy face in the dark. But she brings a finger to her lips, warning him to hush before he’s able to gasp. She bounces her gaze back to the bald slaver. Good... He’s asleep again.  

Then, the old man too, looks at her. He gives her a tiny nod. He must still remember her from this afternoon. She shows them more apples she has in her arms. But this time, the boy instead shakes his head at her. Repeatedly darting with his eyes at the bald slaver’s mid-section. She traces to where he gestures. There’s a ring of keys hooked to his belt. Oh. She gets it now. He wants her to free them.   

She searches the ground, finding a stick of the right length. Doing a double take. The slavers are asleep. The tents around her are all darkened. The coast seems clear. Cautiously, she stretches the stick out. Her arm is shaking. She stables it with an inhale. Touching the metal with a little clink. She freezes. Stops breathing. Looks at the bald slaver. He didn’t react. Exhales. Okay. She didn’t wake him up. So, she pushes a little further, until the tip catches onto the ring. Then slowly, she tries, with very steady hands, to finesse it off the hook.  

Whoop. She got it! The boy does a silent cheer. He quickly beckons her to steer her stick over. Getting onto the floor. He stretches an arm out so he could reach it as she delivers. So close. So close. His fingertips are already brushing it.  

The stick snaps. The sound is thunderous. The bald slaver jolts awake with another,  

“Huh?” Think fast! 

She picks a rock up from the ground. Throws it into the opposite direction hard as she can. It hits against a tent roof. Startling an owl that’s perched there to fly away with hoots. It draws his attention. She quickly retracts her stick. Presses herself still as possible to the table ledge. The boy scampers back into place. They stayed silent. But her heart is thundering. Did he see anything? Did he notice anything? This is so unnerving.  

She waits for a few seconds. The air is still. There aren’t any movements. Gingerly, she peeks over the table again. Okay. Okay. It’s fine. He’s back asleep. Then she glances at the boy. He’s showing her that he caught the keys. Swiftly, quietly, he unlocks the shackles on the old man first. Bracing the metal with a palm as it fell, placing it soundlessly onto the soil. Then he makes his rounds to each other prisoner. Shaking them awake one by one as he undoes the chains on their legs.  

Meanwhile, she looks down at the streets. Making a mental map of the places she’s passed and how many guards she saw. She thinks she knows the most inconspicuous path out of there. They’re close to the edges so it isn’t a long walk. Then, they can disappear safely into the forest and escape back into their homeland.  

A few moments pass before every prisoner is awoken and freed. She turns her attention back to the boy. He’s working on the gate now. Unlocked. The prisoners are crouched to the ground. Getting ready to crawl. Then he pushes.  

Screech.  

It echoes loudly. Shit! that startles the bald slaver wide awake. They froze in place. He sees them. Registers what’s going on. Completely alert. He opens his mouth, attempts to yell, 

“H-” she pelts a rock at his throat. Hard as she can. It’s lucky she still has her aim. He slouches over. Interrupted. Coughs. She dashes behind him. Tilts the chloroform bottle between her teeth to soak her inner elbow of her good arm. She strangles it around his nose and mouth before he’s able to stand up. Pushing him down against the table with her body weight. He’s struggling. Threatening to throw her up. Prying at her limb. God she’s so weak! She can’t hold on much longer.  

Then, two young prisoner rushes to her side to assist her. Former soldiers of Estalis. Three of them, pinning down the bulky man together. They held him there until the effect finally kicks in. He stops flopping around.  

Motionless. She checks his pulse. It’s slowing down. Finally letting go. Good. He’s passed out. Right next to beard slaver who’s just blissfully snoring through the entire event. Thank God he sleeps like a dead log. At that, the prisoners give her a silent nod of gratitude. She hurries the rest of them out of the cage,  

“Follow me. I know a safe way out.” she mouths as she slips into the darkness behind the tent and waits for them to gather. Once assembled. She retraces her steps here. Avoiding the lit areas. Staying low to the ground. Enroute. She distributes the few remaining apples she snatched from the granary. It won’t be enough to feed everyone. But it’s better than having none.  

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Finally, she stops them behind the last tent, right before the hole in the fence. Freedom on the other end. She turns around and whispers,  

“Go. One at a time. There are guards patrolling here.” but from the looks of where the torch is approaching. They’re still two turns away. The sight immediately made their eyes light up. At that, the two prisoners who assisted her are the first to sprint out. Safely making it to the other side. Ducking into the bushes before giving her a signaling thumbs up. She sends the rest forward. Five more made it out. Six. Seven.  

The torch fire is approaching closer. Come on. Come on. Just a few more people. She turns around to check. There are four prisoners left behind her. Including the old man and the young boy that’s assisting him. They won’t make it in time before the patrol guards cross their path. She’ll need to go distract them.  

But just as she’s about to step into the light. A silhouette swoops in before her. Seemingly jumped down from a tent top. Startling her to collapse backwards on her bum. It’s the assassin. His eyes, almost glowing a ghostly blue in the shadows. Looking down at her with obvious disdain,  

“I thought I heard rats scampering around here.” His appearance sent the prisoners hiding in the bushes scampering for their lives. Rustling the leaves loudly as they go. The patrolling guards have caught up by now,  

“Pursue.” he commands. Ordering them in their direction. Then he addresses two more patrol soldiers with a tilt of his head,  

“Arrest them.” she picks herself up from the ground, flailing her arms out to create a barrier between the encroaching soldiers and the prisoners behind her,  

“Just let them go!” but it’s her that gets seized to her knees, a knife put to her throat. He isn’t conversing anymore, instead, he instigates,   

“Who are you. Whose orders did you take.”  

 “I told you. I’m an Archange-” the pressure tightens. It nicks into her skin,  

“Enough of your lies.” he doesn’t believe her! She tries,  

“Fine. I’m Bathory Yggstel Weiss. Third Princess of the fallen kingdom of Genocia.” 

“Do not smear the name of the dead. Now tell me, Bathory Yggstel Weiss, why would the third Princess of Genocia go out of her lengths to free the enemies who burnt down her kingdom?” This doesn’t work either. He doesn’t trust anything she says. From the look on his face, he’s already convinced that she’s a spy working for Estelis.  

“Enemies, enemies, enemies. They’re victims of war too. No different from anyone else here.” there’s something clinking over her shoulders. She glances behind her. The other soldier has now cuffed the prisoners again. Manhandling the old man into the ground. She grits her teeth, her emotions get the better of her, 

“If you’re always returning eye for an eye, this war will never end!” but he won’t acknowledge her, 

“Take her to the interrogation room.” Soon as he said that something whooshes past over their heads. It draws all their attention upwards. A flaming arrow flying straight for the armory. The sight makes assassin boy’s eyes widen,  

“Evacuate-” but he couldn’t finish the word. A deafening explosion goes off behind them. The stack of dynamite must’ve been ignited. The blast throws them to the ground. She can feel the flames licking down her spine. Followed by the wind lash, threatening to blow her away. She digs her hands into the soil. The tent beside her collapses on top of them. She still hears ringing in her ears when she opens her eyes to that familiar sight of fire and chaos. Before her, blue uniformed soldiers are abruptly charging forward. One of the patrols guards that the assassin sent to pursue the prisoners is running back in fear yelling,  

“Ambush! We’ve been ambushed!” before an Estelian soldier catches up to him and plunges a sword through his chest. Dropping him to the ground. They have breached in. Assassin is in the front lines. Daggers flying, wires whipping. Trying to slow them down. But he’s severely outnumbered. He’s tossing his head around frantically mid fight, assessing the situation. None of the Astian soldiers have anticipated this attack. They’re all scattered about chaotically. A lot are probably already dead. Some are trying to escape; most are still in a state of daze after being shocked awake. Whereas others are aimlessly stumbling into the enemy lines only to get cut down.  

The chain of command has broken down. It’s completely disorganized. There’s no way they can stand their ground, he’s ordering the two soldier that are seizing them,  

“Forget the slaves. Take the rat. And you, sound the horn to retreat!” with that. She’s violently pulled off the ground. Swung over a shoulder like a rice sack. As she’s being brought away. She sees the old man. He’s trapped, unconscious under the tent post. The little boy is still trying to pull him out. But her protests of  

“Save them too!” are going unheard. She tries to struggle. Twisting her body, but she can’t win against a fully grown man with sheer strength. Out of options, she takes out a throwing dagger that she’s tucked behind her back previously, 

“I’m sorry!” she apologies before stabbing it into his side. She intentionally misses any vital organs. But the pain is just enough for him to drop her. Tumbling her to the ground. She runs towards the old man. Before she’s able to reach them, she’s abruptly halted by strangling wires, snapping across her entire body. Stiffening her like a sausage. She’s unceremoniously picked up again,  

“Don’t even think about escaping.” the assassin says beside her ear, sprinting the opposite direction.

“I wasn’t trying to!” but her voice is drowned out by the horns of retreat, the cries of battle. She sees the violence unfurl before her eyes. The injured villagers are getting indiscriminately cut down. Children trampled amidst the chaos. Soldiers dropping like flies. Tents lit ablaze. Everything’s crumbling again. And it’s so frustrating. It’s so frustrating that she can’t do anything to stop this. Every time she tries to struggle. The wires only eat into her flesh.  

He’s reached the outskirts, regrouping with a group of about thirty surviving soldiers that has managed to get away. They’re escaping into the darkness of the forest. The Estelians stopped pursuit at the borders as the leaves shroud her vision. The village’s getting further and further, until all she sees is the fire and smoke rising to the heavens. Burning the horizons, a crimson red and eventually, even that disappears.  

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