THE NIGHT SKY WEPT ITS TEARS OF MISERY, as it blanketed itself over a setting sun. Alas, for what could it anticipate except that it gave birth to shadows and darkness? To secrets whispered in sinful alleys?
Could one blame themselves for being given a destiny they didn't choose? A destiny, thrust upon without consent?
Perhaps.
For a fate so tragic, maybe one could.
Constellations bore tales of generations. Stars were gazed upon with hopeful eyes. But what could it avail to a kingdom whose walls were built upon the blood of its people? And so it hid itself behind the veil of clouds out shame of its helplessness.
Another night, another raid. The Awameri house was centered for tonight's calamity, homing a widow and her only youthful son.
As one of the three designated Royal guards breached the wooden door in a single kick with an unforgiving fervor, splinters of wood pierced the floor and to the sole of his sturdy leather boots.
A series of shouts were succeed, plates were slammed upon the ground, tables turned over and curtains ripped. Spectators watched from behind the windows of their houses, pitiful glances being exchanged as the cycle of misery repeated.
"But I swear he didn't do anything!"
A voice ricocheted through the night. A mother's plea. A desperate scream.
Torn apart with every syllable, she cried, "My son is innocent, we don't have what you're searching for!"
Nevertheless, despite the woman's wailing, her son knew better than to be quiet and accept his fate. A youth ending even before it began.
The latter offered his hands in surrender, to compensate for his mother's yelling at the guards. As his hands were tied with the jute rope burning into his skin, and sight blinded with a sack over his head, he was dragged out of his home.
And so the cycle of routine wailing began. The old lady slapped her cheeks and beat her chest. Cutting the sky in half with her raspy wails as her son was tossed into the prisoner's carriage, and taken to the palace where his fate was foretold.
Like the many before him.
The breeze blew, an attempt to console. But it could do merely nothing more than to dry the tears already shed. Leaving behind a salty remain on the face
Yet from the rooftops of Derjan, a bejeweled scabbard glinted under the crescent's light--its sheath discarded.
As pair of unforgiving topaz eyes witnessed it all .
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A/N
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Phoenix From The Shadows
Historical FictionIn the shadowy realms of Derjan, where the sun sets behind the whispers of deceit, Deyyar bin Yusuf thrives as an assassin without scruples, his blade a cold harbinger of death. But fate takes a twisted turn when the enigmatic Al Finiq clan coerces...
