The dawn of the "Purification Ceremony" brought no light, only the gloomy grey of the winter sky and a terrifying silence. The entire village of Axios seemed to be holding its breath. There was no laughter, no one going to the fields, only doors bolted shut and furtive eyes peering out from the cracks.
Inside Lycaon's house, the air was even more suffocating. Orpheus stood motionless by the dead hearth, his hands clutching a wood-splitting axe. Theona paced back and forth, her eyes filled with the panic of a cornered mother animal.
"We have to do something," she whispered, her voice trembling. "We can't just sit here and wait."
But what could they do? The entire village had become a prison, and they were death-row inmates awaiting their hour of execution.
In that silence, Lyra, unable to bear the tension, snuck open the door and ran out into the yard. She just wanted a breath of air, to see something other than the four gloomy mud walls.
But the outside was even more frightening.
A group of older village children, kids she usually played with, now stood at a distance, looking at her with strange eyes. They had heard their parents' whispers, the priest's sermons.
"Don't go near her," one of them shouted, his voice parroting a malicious tone. "She's cursed!"
"You're the sister of a sorcerer!" another chimed in, repeating words he didn't fully understand but could feel the cruel power within them.
Lyra, terrified, clutched her straw doll and backed away. And then, one of the children picked up a small stone and threw it directly at her.
The stone struck Lyra on the forehead. It wasn't very painful, but the humiliation and fear made her burst into sobs. A small trickle of blood ran down from her forehead, mixing with her tears.
Lycaon witnessed it all from inside the house.
The moment he saw the blood on his sister's forehead, saw her fall to the ground sobbing, something inside him shattered. All the pent-up hatred, helplessness, and love for his family exploded into a silent fury.
He didn't scream. He burst out of the door like a predator.
He moved with unbelievable speed, grabbing the collar of the boy who had thrown the stone and throwing him to the ground. He didn't use his knife, only his bare hands. He pinned the boy down, his eyes like ice, no longer the eyes of a teenager, but of someone ready to kill.
The other children screamed in terror and scattered. Their parents, hearing the screams, ran out. They saw only the scene of their son being pinned to the ground by Lycaon, whose face was twisted with a cruelty they had never seen before.
"See! I told you!" the boy's mother shrieked, her voice a mix of glee and terror. "Their whole family are monsters! They attacked my son!"
Orpheus and Theona rushed out, pulling the out-of-control Lycaon off the boy. But it was too late.
Lycaon's instinctual act of protecting his sister had, in the eyes of the villagers, become undeniable proof of his family's "danger" and "evil nature." They had the excuse they needed.
Lycaon's family huddled together in their house, surrounded by the hateful gazes of the entire village. Priest Lycomedes, who had appeared from somewhere, stood in the distance, a satisfied smile on his lips.
The verdict had been delivered. Not by a judge, but by the neighbors themselves. Not by law, but by fanaticism.
Tonight would be the night of the execution.