A young Lyra was frozen, huddling in the corner of the room. Tears were racing down her cheeks as the sounds of cries continued outside. Isadora and Christos had left but two hours ago, yet the violence outside had failed to die down and had only increased in volume.
The house shook again, causing dust to crash down from the rafters. The beams above her moaned and groaned as they shifted. Lyra glanced up, watching nervously, as if the house could collapse at any moment. She pulled out a necklace from underneath her tunic. It was yellow and was in the form of a sun. It was beautifully made and came from an ancient time, passed down in the family for generations. Its yellow hue reflected softly in the glow of the torch that illuminated the house.
"The Lord of Everything, please protect Isadora and Christos," she mumbled quickly, moving the necklace from side to side. "God of Light, protect our might. The God of Light, protect our might. My Lord Kreios—"
A sudden scream pierced the air. Lyra looked up in fear. The scream was dangerously close to the house. She had kept herself from the window, for fear of being caught. Yet something in this scream had called out to her. She took a deep breath and crawled to the window. Slowly, she pulled herself up and looked out.
The street was littered with bodies. Young and old. Women, children, and men. No one had been spared. Most of them were dead, save for a few who were slowly bleeding out into the dusty ground, while their moans of pain went unheard.
Lyra could not look away. Her eyes followed the trail of bodies until she noticed a beautiful woman on the ground, a few feet away. Her gold and white tunic was ripped, and a gold headdress lay several feet away from her bashed-in skull. Lyra watched as the blood slowly stained her dress. And then it began to cover a necklace with a familiar sun symbol. Lyra, in shock and thumbing the one around her neck, watched as the woman's necklace became lost in the blood.
Unexpectedly, a man stepped next to the woman, wearing a black cloak and a mask that covered the lower part of his face. He kicked the body without mercy, while another one appeared in a red cloak and mask, looking closely for any signs of life in the body. Even while masked, there was a certain lack of uncertainty as he attempted to determine her status.
The figure in black stopped kicking his large boots.
"The bitch is dead. Let's get out of here."
His voice was deep and raspy, that of an older man. While his companion had the voice of a young man, just reaching the end of his teens:
"I can't believe we got her," he said excitedly. " My father will be most pleased. The High Priestess, herself—"
He abruptly stopped, his eyes looking in Lyra's direction. "I think I see someone."
"Careful, Paris. Someone might try something. Move in slowly."
Lyra quickly ducked. Looking around, she noticed a cabinet in the corner. It was her mother's; the only item the girls had managed to stave off selling when their parents died. She crawled to it, her knees scraping against the rough floor. She ripped open the cabinet and hurriedly threw out her mother's silver, along with a large sword, stuffing herself inside. The doors swung shut just as footsteps were heard.
"What a shithole."
Lyra watched through a crack in the cabinet as the two cloaked figures looked around. The figure in the black cloak turned to his companion:
"There's no one here."
"I know I saw someone, Devos."
"Fine. I'll check the other rooms. Be on guard."
Lyra watched as the long black cloak disappeared. She noticed a gold symbol on the back of his cloak: an upside-down pair of hands locked in a prayer position. Although she had never seen it before, something about it struck fear in her heart.
She turned her eyes on his companion, who remained behind, his body remaining in a defensive position. He glanced around the room with a strong dislike in his eyes, which even Lyra could see from her hiding place. The figure paced several steps around the room. There was nothing worth stealing. Yet she watched uneasily as his eyes suddenly fell on the silver cutlery on the ground. And then his eyes fell on the cabinet.
He kept his sword in position, and he crept closer. Fear fell across Lyra's face as she watched him approach the cabinet. There was nowhere to run and no escape. She closed her eyes, knowing that this could be the end of her.
The doors to the cabinet slowly opened, but nothing happened. Not even the sound of death approaching.
Lyra slowly opened her eyes and glanced. The figure in red was staring down at her, his sword positioned in a way that could cause immediate death, yet his hand did not stir. And he did not move, yet his startling blue eyes began to shift.
She looked back at him, as a single tear drop began to cascade down her cheek—
A sudden set of footsteps could be heard coming toward them. The cloaked figure slammed the doors shut, leaving Lyra unscathed and hidden in the cabinet.
"There's no one here," said the man in black, who suddenly materialized in front of Lyra's line of sight. "Did you find anything?"
"No. Nothing but some old silver and a sword," he replied, harshly kicking the sword into the corner of the room. "Do you think it's worth anything?"
"That's nothing but cheap goblin metal," his friend said with a smirk. "Let's get out of here. We'll need to regroup with the others."
They both turned to leave. But as they stepped over the threshold, the younger one turned to look at the cabinet one more time, unknowingly meeting Lyra's eyes, who remained in a state of shock. Why was she spared while so many others were not? And would Isadora be spared as well? Her mind raced for what seemed like hours, as the cries from outside melted into the eerie, dead silence of a graveyard. But it was not long before someone whispered her name.
"Lyra?"
Lyra quickly pressed her face against the crack to get a better look. It was Merope! She stood in the corner, half hidden in shadow.
"Lyra, are you there?"
Lyra took a deep breath and slowly pushed the doors open to meet Merope's eyes. A look of relief poured over her face.
"Oh, thank the Gods," she said, her voice breaking. "I was worried you wouldn't be here…"
Her voice trailed as her face took on an uncomfortable appearance. She watched as Lyra clamored out of the cabinet and slowly moved to her feet.
"Have you seen Isadora?" she asked.
The woman gravely nodded. "I saw her but an hour ago. She asked me to look after you, but I was delayed."
"Where did she go?"
Merope hesitated for a moment. "She…she went to the City Center to see if she could help."
Lyra looked troubled. "But isn't that where…it started?"
The woman hesitantly nodded again.
Lyra nodded her head in understanding—then made a sudden move toward the door. The older woman, despite her frail body, quickly stopped her.
"You mustn't go! You will die."
"I don't care," Lyra said defiantly, attempting to fight off Merope's hands. "My sister needs me!"
"No. She needs you to live."
Lyra suddenly stopped fighting. Her eyes filled with tears as she glanced up at the kind face looking down at her.
"Child, one day you will understand. I promise"
"Who is doing this?"
"I don't think anyone knows," said Merope. "But it's no doubt some extremist people who think they can create a new world order. But they can't. Only the Gods can—"
Suddenly, a roar of thunder ripped through the air.
Merope quickly moved the window, followed by Lyra. They watched as a thick, black cloud swirled around the middle of the city. And a loud voice rang out:
"WHO DARES TO DEFY THE GODS!"
She turned to look at Merope, whose face had gone a ghastly pale. But what was left of the color in her face began to drain as quickly as the lightning that suddenly struck the ground below the dark cloud.
Lyra let out a small shriek.
"Isadora!"
She ran toward the door and threw it open.
"Lyra! No!"
She did not heed Merope's words as she ran from her house and into the street—her legs moving as quickly as they could to the City Center.
They barely registered the bodies that littered the ground around her.