The air filled with a soft melody as the choir girls stepped onto the stage. Erian lifted his face slightly, guided by the sound of their footsteps. The background murmur faded as the music began.
A child's voice rose first, clear as spring water, followed by the others, intertwining in a harmonious chant. Erian frowned slightly as he listened. There was something unsettling in the song's notes.
The lyrics told the story of a priestess who had fallen in love with a god. A god who lived beneath the earth, in the bottomless abyss where light never reached. She offered him her body and soul, and as a consequence, the world was punished with one hundred years of darkness.
The song spoke of a love that had corrupted faith.
The girls repeated the verses with mechanical devotion, unaware of the weight of each word. They sang with the bright, foolish hope of those who still do not understand the danger that lurked.
To the girls, it was just an old story. To the adults, it was a reminder.
Erian swallowed hard.
"Is Nalia smiling?" he asked in a low voice.
"Yes," Malric replied. "She's very happy."
When the song ended, the audience applauded cheerfully. The girls came down from the small stage laughing. Nalia came running back, and without a word, she threw herself at Erian, wrapping her arms around him and snuggling against his chest as if seeking shelter in his arms.
"Did you like the song?" she asked softly, a mix of pride and shyness in her tone.
Erian rested his chin on her head and nodded.
"You sang beautifully, as always," he replied gently.
Nalia giggled.
Then the sound of drums announced the next part of the festival.
The laughter slowly faded.
Three tall figures, wrapped in robes, appeared among the crowd. They walked in perfect sync, their faces covered by smooth wooden masks, without eyes, without a mouth, as if they were not men but living symbols of divine judgment.
Everyone stepped aside to give them passage, bowing their heads without daring to speak.
Some did so out of respect, but most out of fear.
Erian gripped Malric's hand tighter until his knuckles tensed. At the same time, he pulled Nalia against his chest, wrapping an arm around her.
The Bearers of Judgment climbed the wooden stage with solemn steps, speaking neither to each other nor to the crowd. They took their seats at one end, where three ornate chairs awaited them beneath a simple canopy of white linen and golden ribbons that swayed gently in the breeze.
Women between sixteen and twenty-five lined up in two rows before the stage. Dressed in white, with dried flowers braided into their hair, they lowered their heads as incense rose between them.
Some murmured prayers with their lips; others wept in silence.
When the music played again, the women stepped onto the stage to dance. Their movements were slow, and in every turn, every step, the tremor in their movements was evident.
The dance, meant to celebrate the grace of the gods, seemed like torture for them. There was no joy in their gestures, only sadness, because they knew one of them would not return home that night.
Not every eye was on the young women dancing.
From his elevated seat, the Bearer of the Scales turned his gaze, oblivious to the rhythm and the incense.
The Bearer noticed a serene-faced, blind-eyed figure seated among the crowd. A woman of ethereal beauty, her platinum hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders. Her skin, pale as alabaster, seemed to absorb what little light reached her.
Everything about "her" seemed tragically beautiful.
The Bearer watched her with desire; that woman seemed sculpted to belong to him.
Why isn't she dancing with the others?, thought the Bearer.
Perhaps this woman had once been a virgin, but was no longer. Maybe the child she carried in her arms was her daughter…
If the little one was chosen, the mother would be devastated. And he would be there, not only as a witness but as a spiritual guide. He would seek her out afterward, with soft words and feigned compassion.
When the woman opened her wounded heart, then he would claim her.
The Bearer knew that lust was a sin, that his desire was a transgression; but if the gods did not want him to sin, why would they have created such beauty?
The last note of the flute dissolved into the air. The young women, their faces lowered and hands clasped before their chests, aligned in two rows.
The Bearers of Judgment then stood. The one with the censer led the march, leaving behind a trail of smoke that seemed to weave around the women's legs.
The second Bearer, with the great book of genealogies in his arms, murmured names and lineages, checking the women's identities against the sacred records.
And finally, the Bearer of the Scales stepped to the center of the stage.
One by one, the young women were brought before him. The Bearer placed a small white stone on one side, and on the other, the young woman had to place her palm. If the stone rose, it was a sign of purity. If not, her soul was not in balance, and she was dismissed.
No one knew how it truly worked, but all accepted the result as sacred.
The Bearer watched with feigned attention, though his mind had already strayed from those young women. None mattered as much as the woman in the crowd or rather, the small child she held.
The girl was far too young, yes, but there was no written rule about age, only about purity.
The Bearer of the Scales knew this better than anyone. He knew it, because he was the one who controlled the outcome.
The scales were a symbol, an empty relic devoid of divine power, built to generate faith. Their function depended on a small mechanism hidden beneath the base, barely noticeable to the untrained eye, which could be tilted or not depending on the exact pressure he applied with his index finger concealed under the fabric of his ceremonial sleeve.
It was his judgment, not the gods', that dictated who would live and who would be given as an offering.
One by one, the young women passed, and one by one, they were dismissed.
When only one remained, the silence became unbearable. The girl did not move. Her crown of flowers was falling apart in her hair, and her lips could not form any prayer.
Finally, guided by the unyielding gaze of the Bearer of the Book, she stepped forward. Her sobs broke the silence.
"Please…" she murmured as she placed her hand on the scales. "I don't want to die."
She was dismissed.
A murmur of astonishment rippled through the crowd. Even the other two Bearers, though masked, tensed. The girl also seemed confused. With reddened eyes and labored breathing, she looked at the scales in disbelief. She brought a hand to her lips, unsure whether to cry with relief or fear that something worse was coming.
Erian felt the air grow heavier. A premonition clawed at his stomach. He gripped Malric's hand tightly, until his knuckles turned white, and whispered urgently:
"We have to go. Now."
Malric sensed the danger too. He stood immediately and began guiding him through the crowd, using his body to push forward, still holding his hand. The crowd was beginning to move like a restless tide. They weren't the only ones leaving, several families were already slipping away with their daughters in their arms, some crying, others in panic.
Erian held Nalia with his other arm, feeling the warmth of her small body against his chest.
"But… I wanted my apple…" the girl protested, pouting sleepily from the wait.
"We'll go home for more money and then come back for it," Erian said with as much calm as he could fake.
Then, the Bearer of the Scales raised a hand, commanding silence.
"The chosen soul," he said, in a grave and ceremonial voice, "is not among the older ones. The judgment must continue with the children."
The uproar was immediate.
The crowd erupted in shouts. Some mothers clutched their daughters desperately, hiding them under their cloaks as if that could make them invisible to the Bearers' eyes.
Furious fathers stepped in front of their daughters, raising their arms as human shields, refusing to let the girls even be looked at.
"They're just children!" someone shouted from the crowd.
"This has never happened before!" cried another voice, broken with panic.
The square burst into motion. No one wanted to stay. Some began pushing toward the side streets, others tried to grab their daughters and run. Bodies pressed together and fear became tangible.
In the midst of that storm, Malric kept a firm grip on Erian's hand, pushing him forward through the tide of people. But a desperate woman throwing herself between them with a child in her arms abruptly tore them apart.
"Erian!" Malric shouted, stretching out his arm.
Erian stumbled backward, still holding Nalia. People shoved him without looking. His free hand searched in vain for his friend.
The cane he usually used to guide himself had been left behind, forgotten on the bench where they had been sitting. Now, blind in the crush, with no point of reference, he didn't know where to go.
"Malric!" Erian shouted again and again. "Malric!"
The crowd dragged him in the opposite direction. Nalia, frightened, began to cry loudly, burying her face in his neck.
"I'm scared, Eri! I don't like this! I want to go home!"
"Shhh, it's okay, I'm here," Erian whispered, though his own voice trembled.
And then, the inevitable happened.
The Dawn Enforcers appeared. Tall, wrapped in black robes trimmed with crimson, their faces hidden behind metal masks, they emerged through the main entrances of the square. They carried long spears and rods of punishment. Their mere presence was enough to make many freeze in place.
Some men, in desperation, tried to force their way through. One of them shouted that he would not give up his daughters. He lunged with an improvised dagger at the nearest Enforcer.
The Enforcer impaled him with his spear without a word.
The body hit the ground with a dull thud.
The screams grew louder.
The Enforcers formed an impenetrable wall at each exit of the square, blocking the way. No one would leave.
Not until the Flower of Dusk was chosen.