The Underworld...
Castle of Salvatoris....
The Great Hall...
Her eyes slowly opened... Her vision blurry at first.. but became clearer by the second.
Her hair damp and unkept.
Her clothing rough like that of a mad man.
She recalled nothing of the previous event that had occurred.
But remembered one thing.
One being.
Her Son!
" My son? Where is he?!" Her voice trembling.
She wanted to hold him.
She wanted to cuddle him and tell not to worry.
A messenger came forth through the double doors.
His steps quick as though he had an urgent message that must not be delayed.
He bowed to the princes .
Then began to speak..
" The official who speaks for the people has said that she must be executed in the execution arena after the setting of the sun"
Silence fell.
Her eyes widened in fear.
She expected death.
But, she never expected it to come so quickly!
" Well.. that's no fun!" Cyril laughed hysterically." What's the fun in that?"
" Psychopath"Charles muttered under his breath. " Only people's death brings him Joy"
" I'm not satisfied " Cyril replied coldly.
The messenger went on his knees.
" What do you suggest my lord?"
" How about...?" Cyphron began.
The seventh prince.
" What if she's executed before her son's face...?"
Cyril's eyes widened in excitement. But,Cyphron wasn't done yet.
" Or her Son should be the Executioner?"
" That settles it. Tell the herald to add to the verdict... She would be executed before her son's very eyes" Cyril ordered.
"As you wish.... My Lord"
PRAECO MORTIS...
Eladus city...
The Execution Arena..
The arena was carved into the earth like a wound, a vast pit of stone and iron surrounded by tiers of seats that rose into shadow. Torches lined the walls in iron brackets, their flames bowing inward casting the sand below in a restless bleeding light.
The arena roared with blood and dust, but high above the frenzy, a space had been carved for royalty. A vintage where power could watch death unfold without being swallowed by the mob.
It sat directly opposite the execution platform, so that when the blade fell the princes saw every drop of blood in clear sight. A grand stone balcony jutted forward like the prow of a warship, built of pale marble veined with black. The railing was carved with snarling gargoyles each eternally cast in stone.
An arch of iron rose above the gallery, latticed like a crown hung with black banners bearing sigil of the royal house.
A canopy of dark velvet stretched overhead to shield the princes from rain or sun, trimmed with golden thread that glinted against the torchlight like spilled ink.
Within, cushioned seats of carved oak and velvet allow the princes to lounge while the condemned writhed below . Each chair bore it's owner's crest etched in silver, marking their place.
Small braziers smoked in each corner filling the air with incense meant to disguise the of stench of sweat and blood rising from the arena.
Slender servants cloaked in black livery, stood silently at the back bearing trays of wine and fruits. Not a word passed their lips unless commanded.
The princes looked down not only on the condemned but on the sea of commoners below.
It was not just a viewing place.
It was a throne of judgement.
A reminder of their untouchable status!
At the center stood the sinner. Shackled in chains blackened by rust and soot, she swayed beneath their weight ,her head bowed.
Murderer!
The world clung to her heavier than the shackles.
Each breath she took was met with hiss of the crowd above, a sea of whispers that rose and fell like the rustle of leaves in a dead forest.
The people filled the tiers .
Cloaked in the shadows.
They leaned forward as one body.
Eyes fixed.
Hungry for the spectacle!
Some jeered spitting down into the pit, their voices sharp as stones hurled from the dark.
Other chanted low, rhythmic, a pulse that spread through the arena until the very walls seemed to vibrate with it.
A few watched in silence, lips pressed thin but their eyes betrayed the same cruel anticipation.
High above, the execution platform loomed. An iron scaffold fitted with a blade that glinted whenever the fire struck its edge.
The chains were drawn.
Pulling the sinner forward.
Step by step.
Her knees dragging grooves in the sand.
She did not resist. Her lips moved soundlessly. A prayer swallowed by the roar that swelled around her.
As she reached the platform the chanting broke into a roar,a wave crashing against the stone.
The crowd stamped their feet in unison.
The sound reverberating through the put like thunder.
The sinner lifted her head at last.
Her eyes, bloodshot but defiant, swept the sea of faces.
She mouthed a word.
Perhaps confession. Perhaps curse.
But it was lost beneath the howl of multitude!
To them she was already gone.
Her life no longer belonged to her.
In front of the platform....
Stood.... Her son!
His hands and legs bounded in chains.
His face... Emotionless
Up to this moment he never sheded a tear.
He never will.
The bell tolled once, sharp and metallic.
The roar of the crowd shuddered into silence.
From the shadows of the platform stepped the herald.
Tall, gaunt,robes dragging like a funeral shroud.
He unfurled the blackened scroll with a hiss of parchment.
His voice, low and resonant, filled the pit.
Not shouted, but carried as though the very stones conspired to spread his words.
" Here now, you who gather beneath the fire
Here the weight of sin and the measure of blood.
Before you stands a woman unworthy of name, condemned not by whispers, but by truth etched in crimson.
She is guilty of murder.
Life's stolen,torn from the breaths of the innocent ones.
A crime that fosters like rot in the marrow of the law"
The herald's pale lips did not tremble.
His gloved hand gripped the scroll as though holding a blade.
" By the hand of stone that built this city
By the fire that keeps its night at bay
By the path of the people who cry for judgement, the verdict is thus:
You are guilty
You are condemned
You shall die beneath the blade,in the presence of your son and your blood shall be taken by the sand that has swallowed all sinners before you."
He raised the bell once more and let it ring, thin and merciless.
The crowd answered not with silence this time but with a roar that shook the walls,voices rising like thunder.
The condemned lifted her head once more to see her son for the last time, chains clattering as the executioner stepped forward.
The herald lowered the scroll, turned and vanished into the shadow of the platform.
His task done.
His words already carved into the memory of every soul present!
It began as a rumble.
Feet stamping against stone.
A thousand boots drumming in unison.
The sound reverberating through the arena like the heart beat of some colossal beast.
Then came the the voices, rising as one, a storm of hunger and rage.
" Murderer! Murderer! Murderer!"
They chanted non stop.
" Release the blade!"
Cyril's voice was heard.
The command was passed.
The Executioner released the blade.
Her head was cut off
It rolled down the platform and stopped at his feet.
Her son's feet.