It happened three winters ago when the harsh, stormy jack frost brought along his fatal, icy companion; frostbite, hunting down its prey. Mortality was the highest during that winter where the lifeless bodies could be found in every corner. With the lack of firewood, the survivors would take every possible chance they had to bring back corpses that they found in the street, using the lifeless being as a substitution for the firewood they were lacking. It was also when the land took a turning point for the worse. It became a lawless society. The land became a complete and utter shambles.
Past winters, the lord was only an irresponsible ruler who neglected his people. Man-slaughtering wasn’t his hobby until the rebellion aroused. The seven-year-old heir witnessed this very bloody scene of a massacre behind the curtain of the great hall entrance. The loud voices of the protestants soon turned into pleading desperation for their dear lives to be spared, which brought them to the end of their journey. Screams of agony echoed deep throughout the room. The marble pavement and wall of the great hall that was supposed to be a court that served righteous justice, ended up decorated with dismembered figures and crimson liquid of the sacrifices, sparing no soul to leave the ground. The iron, pungent odour filled the space with heavy stench. That very winter, the hall was adorned with a man in his navy-blue gambeson, ornated with the same navy-blue cavalier single shoulder cape designed with a golden crest; a griffin signifies strength, protection, and prosperity belonged to the Archanbeau, the founder of Wynhearth. The noble outfit was tainted by the blood of the lives he took with his own hands.
Fear consumed the boy’s frail soul, leaving his body feeling cold as if he was one of them. Trembling at the gruesome sight, his body stood there frozen – as if the souls of the dead clutched onto his small figure on the spot to witness this very picture. Embedded the innocent boy with a memory; of a hall, stood a cold-blooded man, whose amber eyes that used to gaze at the world with full compassion, empathy, and sympathy, showed not a single sign of remorse or emotion in them. Once a righteous, dignified man whose smile was so radiant and bright that brought about warmth to the land, where the people would proudly claim the land as home, now possessed a broad, devilish grin that did not bring any sense of hospitality, where a shrill, hysterical cackle echoed the tainted marbled room. The cozy, tender image of a noble father that the child once held dear became a fleeting memory, replacing the warmth into a poignant, agonizing recollection of his young life.
Tragic after tragic replayed within the great court. A live performance of death sentences given to innocent criminals. A plea for reconsideration from the lord, a suggestion that sounded like it has hidden motive, an inquiry which seems to question the lord’s authority when it’s not; all those trivial, sinless matters, were considered as infractions of the law. This was what the current ten-year-old young lord experienced ever since the incident.
Every day, the estate reeks of sickening fresh blood, the young lord paid no heed to it and maintained his head straight, frequenting places where he would only allow himself indulged in clean spaces – without lifeless bodies lying around. Screams and cries became the manor’s daily dreadful melody – be it at night or morning. Accustomed to such an environment, it transformed the young noble to be vainly neurotic against it. 'There is no means to be intimidated by this usual occurrence,' he thought. As the next heir, he carried out his tasks responsibly by attending classes and training. That was just about it. There was no social event since the other nobles of the wintry land would rather avoid the wrath of their rex and this was their way to prevent their children from making unnecessary mistakes and deaths. It has become the norm and tradition of the land.
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