A murder of crows darkened the sky above the City Square, their raucous cries echoing across the streets and pulling every passerby's gaze toward the commotion. The sound was unsettling—urgent, as if nature itself was crying out that something grim had taken place.
At the very center of the square, two corpses hung high upon wooden poles for all to see, their lifeless faces swaying in the breeze. Beneath them, more poles bore the bodies of numerous Royal Guards, their ornate armor now dented and stained with dried blood.
The crows descended greedily, pecking at ears, eyes, and noses, tearing flesh with wet, audible snaps. Some even fought each other for the choicest morsels. For the birds, it was a feast—effortless and bountiful.
