A night like any other, rain falling leisurely. The droplets seep through the tiles of the rooftops, carrying rust along as they wash the gravel streets clean of dust.
On this stale night, along the road of Lumbeurgh, stands a giant building with its subsidiary houses and a backyard that seems endless—at least from the perspective of any onlooker. This building is the communal orphanage of the city of Wolphen, known as Armistice.
On this fateful Tuesday night, a lone figure could be seen near the orphanage—a person draped in a cloak, clutching what appears to be a basket.
"I'm so… so sorry."
The sound of muffled cries barely rises above the downpour.
"This is for the best. I cannot afford to care for you. I do not have the means and…"
"I'm sorry. I wish you the best. I have no choice. Please forgive me—this is the best I can do for you right now."
"One day, you will understand why I did what I did. But know this, my child: I love you."
"No—we love you. Your mother and I. Even though she could not be here tonight, know this: she loves you more than the world ever could."
He gently caresses the baby's small face, sleeping soundly in the basket.
"You will grow to be strong—stronger than me. I know I have no excuse for what I am about to do, but we have no choice."
With trembling hands, he covers the basket and lays the baby on the front step of the gate, knocking repeatedly—loud and desperate.
"The nuns here are good people. They will take care of you, I know it. Please… hate me not. I love you!"
His cries grow louder, his face soaked in tears as he falls to his knees. With shaking hands, he carves something into the basket with a knife:
"Your name… the one I chose is Yurshel. And the name your mother chose… is Gwythyr—meaning 'conqueror.' Know this, son: whatever happens, we never wished for this."
Step. Step.
Footsteps echo closer. He hides in the shadows of a nearby tree as the gate creaks open.
A nun steps out, dressed in a black habit with a white coif framing her face, a rosary dangling from her waist. She looks around, sees nothing—then notices the basket. Kneeling, she lifts the cloth and gasps.
"Oh my… Call the nurse! Call the nurse! Code Blue!"
Under the shade of the tree, the man watches, hands clasped in prayer, tears streaming down his bloodshot eyes.
"I did it. He's safe now. Arlene… we did it. No one will harm him—at least not because of us. I'm coming, baby. Let's get out of here."
****
"Lit this place on fire find me that man i want him alive"
"yes sir , yes sir" Thugs running around a farm compound ransacking and setting fire to the place.
***
In the distance, smoke rising could be easily seen by any bystander.
A gasp broke through the silence. "Hew… hew…No… no… that smoke… no, no, no… not from my compound… noooo! Arlene!"
In the forest, a few kilometers away from the city, a man ran so fast he stumbled more times than one could count on a single hand—screaming, crying, snot streaming from his nose, tears blurring his vision.
"No… no… impossible… not her… please, God, not her… please, God, no!"
"Sir, nothing was found. He is not around."
"He shall come soon enough. This is bound to make him run. Oh, my money… sweet money, come home fast."
"Morgann… don't… I beg you… do not com—" The woman's voice was faint, broken. Exhausted and beaten black and blue, she could not even muster the strength to speak. Her words were as inaudible as they come.
***
At the end of the small forest, the man burst out his compound in view burning still , he sees those people on the distance near the horse carriage surrounding it. He runs to them and while doing so he picks up the nearby sickle, despite being burning hot from being in the flames he takes it up ignores the pain of the hot iron handle and screams from the top of his lungs
"Huff huff i'm here what have you done, where is my WIFEEEEEEE , I WILL KILLL ALL OF YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU, MONGRELS YOU ARE DEADDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD."
" Oh my look who finally graces me with his presence my sweet honey pot. Get him boys remember alive"
In the heat of the moment, the first thug comes forward to him with his fist up, gets sliced by a fast slash horizontally, his clothes catching fire. Morgan takes him with one hand and pushes him toward the rest of the incoming. In the mix of the chaos, takes course. Morgan rushes and lunges forward with a slide on mud, scoops mud upward, and throws it at their faces.
"The bastard! Ahh!"
"This lowlife! Someone get him!"
Morgan stands up, sickle in hand, decapitates their heads one by one. The fire spreading fast caught him.
Morgan, in fire, looked nothing like a man but a devil born of fire. The fire spread all over his clothes, his fingers still holding tight the sickle while sizzling like a steak cooking on slow fire.
"BRIMSTONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! I SWEAR I WILL KILL YOU! WHERE IS ARLENEE?! I PAID YOU BACK THE MONEY I OWED YOU—EVEN DOUBLE WITH THE INTEREST—YET YOU STILL CHASE US!"
More people came from around the back, around 15 of them, and this time well-armed with armors, bows, daggers, and one menacing-looking one, 6 feet 9 tall.
"My, my, I never knew you so strong for a farmer. And as you said, even though you paid, I added interest—and interest I decide them. Tie him down. You can cut a leg or an arm, I don't care, the moment he lives." Brimstone returns back in his carriage.
Brimstone retreats to his carriage.
"You heard the boss. Do I have to get involved?"
"Nah, boss Trufhel. I'll handle him."
A man steps forward, cracking his knuckles.
"Lionel… don't kill him."
"Fine."