Year- 1326 CE
Seven hundred years ago, in a small village on the outskirts of the Kingdom of Lebius, two men dragged a young girl through the muddy road beneath the cover of night.
The moon was hidden behind clouds, its pale light barely enough to illuminate the path ahead.
The road was slick with recent rain, the mud clinging to Anaya's bare feet, sucking at her steps as she stumbled forward.
Her wrists were bound tightly behind her back, the rough rope cutting into her skin, leaving angry red welts that would later become scars.
Tears blurred her vision, but she did not cry out. She had learned, long ago, that crying did not help. It only made them hit harder.
