Saving Neba

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

The floor was now a mixture of its fine gravel and blood. The burning torches were the only source of light as they littered around the ground creating patches at modest fractions of the earth. The sound of victory filled the air, as did that of sorrow, mourning and regret.

A figure, the size of a giant bear, clothed in a silver robe discoloured with the bloodstains of their adversaries, stood out among his populace.

"Our frontier is off your confines. If you dare step a foot here, you'll have your legs cut off, along with your heads, for sure." His eyes were diamond-shaped, sapphire and shone when the light from the torches hit them.

These figures were brought together by precious and rare stones, and only their eyes described their true beauty.

The mass was a group of perfectly clothed figures, of the male gender, predominantly. Their robes had red insinuations and their rapid breathing was an additional forewarn of what immense battle had just come to pass. Bodies laid insensibly on the floor, soaked in their blood, but too dull to care.

On the other side, a handful of frayed-looking people, weak from the effect of being outnumbered, staggered backwards and forward. A peculiar old man, an elder among them, plodded forward, with the aid of a staff. "Laiasona," he coughed. "You are supposed to be heroes-"

"And we do not accept enemies. Take your evil natives with you, Zadio."

Laiasona, the supposed leader turned to his people, "Heroes and villains do not mingle, and so it shall be with no end in sight. We are the Nebans, we are safe, and we will stand together ceaselessly," he spoke in Cirile.

The Nebans, and all countries of the world of Cirus did. These included: Krah, Zhagma, Dregyhjyn, and some others that were less neighbouring countries than these.

A triumphant roar was their reply, as the group led by Laiasona walked out of sight, back to their home, chanting songs of conquest, and turning their back to the villains.

Zadio fell to his knees the moment they were gone. A drop of golden liquid ran down his ruby crystal eyes, along his neck, and to the floor.

A much younger man promptly knelt beside Zadio to help him get up, "Father, I-"

"It was my fault, wasn't it?" He asked in Cirile, his voice barely audible.

"We supported the decision," he sighed. "Please, get up."

"Look around, Demeanor." Demeanor did as he was told.

Men, women and children alike were killed. Women wailed, men shook their heads and children clutched to their older siblings who had their heads bent low. They stayed close to one another and babies rested on their mothers.

Above the earth, the stars, crystals of different kinds, gave the silver ground a twinkling light. Demeanor was well aware of how much he'd lost to the darkness, how much they'd all lost, but he dared not mention it, aware of his father's current condition.

"They'll be remembered, father," Demeanor whispered, part speaking to his father, part taking a pledge to himself. "The reason for this war will forever be made known. As long as I live, as long as we stand, we won't forget what they did. We will train to fight, we'll have one motive, and that is to defeat them."