The banners of the Rakshas Empire flapped in the cold wind. They were black, marked with the face of a strange beast that no one could name. Under them, fifty thousand soldiers marched together, their steps heavy and loud. The ground shook as the horses' hooves hit the dirt like drums in a war song.
At the front rode a man covered in wolf skins. His chest was bare except for a chain made of skulls that clinked together when he moved. The skulls were cleaned white and the jaws locked with black metal.
His name was Ke'dil'cho, known everywhere as The Butcher of the North. People whispered his name like a curse. Just hearing it made men freeze.
Ke'dil'cho's eyes were a dark red, like dried blood. His skin was full of strange tattoos that told the story of his kills. He didn't carry a sword — only a huge black axe strapped to his back. Its edge was chipped from bones it had broken.
The gates of Rajabs, once the pride of the Boomi Empire, were now broken. Smoke rose from the burning towers and filled the morning sky. The stone streets were stained dark with blood.
Ke'dil'cho walked through the main square, his boots leaving red prints behind. His soldiers spread out, pushing the survivors forward with their spears. The sound of crying women and children echoed across the square.
On the palace steps, the king of Rajabs knelt with ropes around his arms, his face bloody and pale. His crown lay in the dirt beside him.
Ke'dil'cho's voice was rough but clear."For standing against the power of Naraga… for refusing to kneel… your name will be erased."
He grabbed the king's hair and pulled him up. Then, without hesitation, he swung his axe and cut through his neck. The blade hit bone with a harsh sound. The crowd gasped, then fell silent.
Ke'dil'cho caught the head before it hit the ground. He stared at it for a moment, then raised it high and let the blood touch his lips. It wasn't hunger — it was ritual. Blood ran down his chin as his soldiers roared and slammed their weapons against their shields.
When the city was nothing but fire and ashes, Ke'dil'cho got back on his black warhorse. The horse wore dark steel armor, shaped like the fangs of a snake.
He pointed south."The Valley of Dand will fall next. Burn every field. Leave nothing alive."
The army moved forward like a wave of iron. Behind them, Rajabs burned — a dead city lost in smoke. Ahead lay the heart of the Boomi Empire, still unaware of the horror coming for it.
The sun was setting over the Valley of Dand, the sky glowing red and gold. Vid sat on a flat rock, breaking bread into a bowl of soup. Across from him, Paras, the old archer, sat quietly near the fire.
"You said you're from the west," Paras asked. His voice was calm but curious. "How far?"
Vid paused before answering."About a hundred and twenty kilometers. Feels like another life now. It's been five days since I left."
Paras didn't reply right away. The fire crackled between them.
Vid looked down at the ground."My father was one of the richest men in our town. We had land, cattle, guards — everything. But money there didn't make people kind. The town was split by caste — the higher ones ruled, the lower ones suffered."
His voice grew bitter."The poor were beaten, starved, and treated worse than animals. My father didn't question it. He made sure it stayed that way."
Paras watched him quietly.
"My brother had just turned eighteen," Vid went on. "My father arranged his marriage — a girl from another high-caste family. He called it a perfect alliance. I called it a cage."
Vid's hands tightened around his bowl."The house was full of music and color. There were sweets, gold, and silk everywhere. But when I saw the bride's eyes… she looked lost. She didn't want it. Her family was poor once, but my father raised them up — in exchange for her hand. It wasn't love. It was a trade."
He stopped. The fire popped and threw tiny sparks into the night.
"I spoke up," Vid said softly. "I told my father it was wrong. He slapped me and said I was too young to understand. That I should never question our blood."
Paras leaned forward. "And then?"
Vid's face darkened."Then the Rakshas came."
His voice shook as he remembered."Our village, Vaarith, was always quiet. Small houses, smoke from cooking fires. But that morning, the air smelled of iron and fear."
He took a deep breath."They didn't sneak in. They just walked through the north gate — armor shining, horns blaring. The first arrow hit a farmer. He fell with wheat still in his hands. Then came more — fast, endless — until the ground turned red."
People ran, but there was nowhere to go. It didn't matter who they were — rich, poor, priest, soldier — they all died the same.
"I saw my mother running toward me," Vid said. "Her hands reached for me. Then… a spear went through her chest. She didn't even scream. She just looked surprised. And then she was gone."
His eyes filled with tears."Something in me broke. I wanted to fight back. I wanted to destroy them all."
He looked at the stars above."I used to dream of becoming a great archer like Leo Dawnson — the Master of Vick'belson. I wanted to study at the best academy, to make my father proud. But he never let me go. 'Your place is here,' he said."
He swallowed hard."Now he's gone too. They killed him right in front of me. I had nothing left — no family, no home, no dream. Just blood and silence."
When the battle ended and the fires went out, Vid sat beside Paras. The old man was quiet, watching the smoke fade into the dark sky.
"It's not their fault," Paras said finally. "And it's not yours either. This is fate."
"Fate?" Vid snapped. "Fate burned my home. Fate killed my family. Fate made me watch!"
Paras turned to him, calm and steady."Then why are you searching for a god?" he asked. "Do you think a god can fix what men have broken?"
Vid said nothing. The question hung in the air as the last embers died.