When the white-robed figure of Priest Lycomedes had vanished down the path, a deathly silence still hung over the small house.
Mother Theona held Lyra tightly, her daughter still oblivious to what had happened, and her hands trembled. Father Orpheus stood motionless at the door, staring into the empty space, his face ashen like a corpse. The priest's blessing was like a death sentence that had been pronounced, merely awaiting the day of execution.
Lycaon was the first to act. He said nothing, simply walking to the door and slamming it shut. The dry "thud" echoed, as if trying to block out the priest's lingering gaze, to shut out the cruel world that was waiting to devour them.
The family sat around the nearly extinguished hearth. They had to face the truth.
"Maybe... we make her sick?" Theona burst into tears, her voice a panicked whisper. "Or... or dirty her face? So she's no longer 'pure'?"
Orpheus shook his head, his eyes lifeless. "It's useless, Theona. They have already chosen. There's no hiding." He fell silent for a long moment, then, as if having made a final decision, his voice grew hoarse. "We have to leave," he said, his voice raspy. "Tonight. We'll leave everything behind and head east. Our village is on the edge of the kingdom; we just need to cross the Axios River and we'll reach the edge of the Labyrinthos Forest."
Orpheus took a deep breath, as if mustering the courage to speak the forbidden name. "The villagers have always feared it, saying it's a cursed land that belongs to no god or lord. They tell stories of walking trees and streams that whisper the names of the dead. They whisper of heretics who worship man-eating monsters, and strange races with glowing eyes in the night."
He paused, looking at the fear in his wife's eyes, then continued in a lower voice. "But those are just stories to scare children, Theona. I used to hunt at the edge of that forest when I was young. Its outer belt is like any other forest, with rabbits, squirrels, and even wolves and tigers that a good hunter can handle. But the deeper you go," his voice grew more serious, "the air changes. The rabbits grow horns, the wolves have scales as hard as stone. Those areas are monstrous and treacherous. But on the outer edge, we can still survive. And most importantly," he emphasized, "there... at least there are no priests or overseers."
It was a plan born of desperation. Leaving the village meant becoming wanderers, facing starvation and wild beasts. But it was their only hope.
Not another word was spoken. Theona wiped her tears and began to pack their meager remaining barley. Orpheus re-inspected Lycaon's iron knife. Lyra, sensing the tension, just sat silently in her mother's lap.
As they were hastily preparing, a frantic knock echoed at the door.
The whole family froze in alarm.
"It's me, Icarus!" The voice of Lycaon's friend came from outside.
Orpheus opened the door a crack. Icarus slipped inside, his face pale with fear, panting heavily.
"You can't leave!" he said, his voice trembling. "Overseer Hector has just had his guards block all the roads out of the village! He says that to prepare for the 'Purification Ceremony,' no serf is allowed to leave the domain without the Church's permission. Our village... it's been sealed off!"
Icarus's words were like a hammer blow, shattering the family's last hope. The invisible cage had snapped shut. They realized they were not free people. They were property, livestock trapped in a cage, waiting for the day of sacrifice.
Icarus left. Orpheus collapsed onto the earth floor, his hands clutching his head, his stooped back as if a mountain had fallen upon it. Theona no longer cried; she just held her daughter, her eyes staring blankly into the void. All hope was gone.
But not for Lycaon.
He stood in the dark corner, watching his parents sink into despair. The fear in him had vanished, replaced by a silence as cold as ice. He knew running was no longer an option.
He quietly walked over to the whetstone his father always used. He drew the iron hunting knife.
Amidst his mother's choked sobs and his father's desperate silence, the steady "shh, shh" of the blade being sharpened on the stone echoed.
Sharp.
And haunting.
He was no longer thinking about running away from the priest.
He was thinking about how to eliminate him.