The night was calm, and empty, and yet vast at the same time.
The wind carried a cold breath through the land, sharp enough to bite the skin, yet strangely peaceful, as though the world itself had fallen into a great slumber.
Hours passed in silence.
Then a footsteps. The steady rhythm of boots striking the cobblestone drifted through the night, mingling with the low murmur of voices. Torches flickered in the distance, their glow leaking through the cracks of an old shed.
Inside, Evan slowly stirred. The cold air seeping through the broken window brushed against his body, rousing him from uneasy sleep.
He heard voices outside a faint whispering as though they spoke secrets meant for no one else. The glow of an orange and red crept through the splintered walls and stabbed across his face, pulling him fully awake.
His eyelids opened. His dark brown eyes caught the faint light, gleaming against the gloom of the small shed.
With a tired grunt, Evan pushed himself upright into a sitting position. Outside the murmur of voices lingered, footsteps echoing faintly but then, little by little, they faded.
The torchlight dimmed as well, vanishing into the night like a fog swallowed by the darkness.
It's still the middle of the night. Why are there so many people out there? His thoughts tightened with unease. "What's with this light?"
Curiosity tugged at him. He leaned closer to one of the cracks in the wall. Through it he glimpsed three figures carrying torches walking toward the distant direction of the plaza.
Far away an ember glow shimmered faintly in the night air.
Evan rubbed his face half-asleep still but his mind restless. Slowly, he rose slinging his worn sling bag over his shoulder, he made a quick decision.
"I'll just… follow for a bit," he muttered to himself.
Quietly he eased the door open, careful not to let a creak sound. He slipped outside keeping his steps light as much as possible. And shadowed the three torchbearers.
They spoke in hushed tones, close enough for one another but far a way to Evan's ears.
They turned down a cobblestone path, then into a narrow alley. Evan followed at a distance cautious not to make a sound.
The alley pressed tight around him. Tall houses loomed on either side, built of thick walls and narrow windows. Their heavy stones and timber frames leaned in like silent watchers. Some bore pointed arches the others plain, or cracked brick.
Evan froze for a moment, glancing behind him. "What if someone is following me too?" The thought unsettled him he waited, and listening. Yet no one. Nothing only the silence of the night.
With a careful breath, he pressed forward into the darkness.
The air grew heavier the farther he went. Cold wind crawled over his skin, tugging at his hair, sinking into his bones. He shivered for a moment, then stopped.
Ahead a faint but certain he saw it a glow. An ember light burning at the end of the long alley.
He quickened his steps.
And then, the alley opened.
Before him spread the vast plaza.
It was crowded, packed with people. Torches lit the vast square, their flames casting everything in hues of fire and shadow. At the center stood a massive wooden platform, its weight supported by a stone beams.
Around it gathered soldiers rows upon rows of footmen clad in heavy chainmail that gleamed under the torchlight.
Each soldier held a long spear, standing rigid as statues.
Evan lingered at the edge of the alley, his eyes narrowing as he adjusted from darkness into the firelight.
"What… is this?" he whispered to himself, almost afraid of the answer.
The crowd shifted uneasily, men in long coats and leather jackets, women in thick cloaks, all pressed close together. Murmurs filled the air, low and constant.
Then a footsteps sounded on the platform.
The murmurs died. Silence spread through the plaza like a command.
A figure emerged, silhouetted against the fire. Step by step, the sight became clearer.
Three prisoners were led forward, their wrists and ankles bound by iron chain. A long and thick chain.
Their bodies were broken clothes torn, skin bruised, blood staining their garments. Behind them walked a man in his late thirties, his thick broadsword catching the torchlight with a cruel gleam.
The prisoners were forced to kneel the woman in the middle, the two men in his sides.
Evan's expression hardened. His eyes sharpened. "One woman, two men. All Evan could is no fear in their faces? Not even a tremble… It's as if they've already accepted their fate... death."
The air shifted again. The tension that hung in the plaza thinned, replaced by a strange lightness almost holy.
And then he appeared.
A tall figure stepped forward behind the kneeling prisoners.
He was robed in white silk, trimmed with gold. A long cloak, inscribed with symbols and lined with golden embroidery, trailed behind him.
His face was youthful, no more than late twenties, yet so composed, so radiant that it carried an air of the divinity itself.
The crowd bowed into silence.
The man's voice rang out, calm yet commanding, every word echoing through the plaza.
"Tonight, the village of Silan would bears witness to the execution of these three heretics. Enemy of The Divine Goddess... Enemies of The Holy Empire."
Evan froze. His eyes widened. His breath caught in his throat. "Execution?" he whispered stunned. Then a realization struck him like a hammer. "I'm in the land of The Holy Empire?" Evan repeat it. "An empire... Holy empire to be more correct." He muttered in disbelief.
On the platform, the executioner stepped forward to the direction of the three executioner. Slowly he rose his blade, it was slow and deliberate, gleaming in the light reflecting all the light came from torches.
The first prisoner did not flinch. His expression was blank, his face is emotionless, his eyes was empty.
And then... The blade fell.
A sickening slash tore through the silence. The man's head struck the platform with a hollow thud. And blood sprayed, spilling down the wooden boards in a dark red stream.
Then the executioner moved without hesitation in the direction of the man in the side of the woman.
He then raise his sword and another swing, blood, red everywhere, and another life is ended.
Cheers erupted. The once quite plaza thundered with shouts and chants now.
"Ahhh!"
"For the Divine Goddess!" the crowd roared.
"Kill the heretics!" a man bellowed, fist raised high.
"Purge the traitors!" a woman shrieked, her voice shrill and piercing.
Evan stood frozen, his heart racing. His hands clenched tightly at his sides. "This… this is monstrous. Such cruelty…"
On the platform the white-robed man smiled faintly his eyes sweeping the fervent crowd. Then he leaned close to the last prisoner the lone woman. His voice lowered but still could be hear, the tone of it was soft yet unwavering.
"Any last words, heretic?"
The woman tilted her head back and laughed. A chilling, jagged sound that clawed at the night air.
The atmosphere shifted instantly. The very wind seemed to grow heavier, charged with something dreadful.
Her head rose slowly. Her lips curved into a terrible smile. Her eyes glowed red, sharp and unnatural.
The crowd gasped. Some recoiled.
Evan felt his breath hitch. His chest tightened. "What is she?"
Her body trembled in strange movements, as though something inside her strained to break free. Though she tried to mask it with human poise, it was clear that she was no ordinary woman.
The man in white robes rose with deliberate yet graceful, the folds of his garment whispering against the wodden floor. Step by step, he drew closer until he stood beside the lone woman. For a moment he lingered in the celebration of the crowds his presence heavy and unsettling, before a faint, and almost a chilling smile curved across his lips.
Evan could see everything hear and experience it. And for the first time that night, Evan felt true fear.