The villagers were dismayed and frightened more, making them succumb to their houses, locked to temporary safety. But this act had only proved how trapped they actually are within the cruel hands of their conquerors.
The secret organization had heard of this brutality, which only heightened their desire to break out of the colonialism's chains.
The calmed was stirred into a maddening extent, hidden underneath the overpowering threat before them.
Ruollo's mother, the child's only family, wept, almost endlessly and was stirred with mixed emotions of pain and hatred. She hollered like a crazy woman and begged the stationed guards to bring her dead son back.
No matter how hard she pleaded, though, the life of her precious son was already taken away.
This insanity provoked the mother to go up to the chief who only constantly gave her rejections and threats.
When they saw her hopelessness, one of the secret organization's activists met with her to pay condolences and comfort her at the same time.
To the mother's ears, the young man's words only sounded like false hopes and sweet nothings despite looking with overflowing determination and courage.
Meanwhile, Muren's mother had taken out her talismans and pearl beaded necklace to start her own ritual. When Muren had seen this, he politely kneeled in front of her and stared intently at her eyes.
She was a great medium and shaman from her young age, but suddenly stopped being one after foreseeing the horrible great war itself.
"Your prediction came true," He softly whispered. "The great war broke out and the colonizers are abusing us, slowly conquering our nation."
His mother sighed. "Things are scariest before they come," She uttered, struggling against her old age. "And now that it arrived, the danger seemed lighter than it once looked like."
"When will the great war end, mother? When shall our sufferings put to an end?"
"The world today and the future tomorrow all seemed too vague. Reality's shallow surfaces would not allow crevices or transparency. The great war may actually end sooner than colonialism. These foreigners are quite greedy themselves."
It was a disappointment, Muren thought, but it did not encourage him to stop his silent opposition against the enemies.
Somewhere in his brain, he pictured the people dying out of hunger, passing out because of exhaustion tolled in their weary bodies, people getting suppressed of their human rights, Ruollo fighting with loyalty, and his mother desperately longing for her child.
Muren had never felt eager to fight against something until the cruelty had surfaced darkly and cruelly.
Every time the secret messenger visits to report the events outside the west side, things would only seem to get worse. No one wants to listen to rightful arguments, no one wants to fix anything, and no one wants to give way.
Muren had thought about the war and not only the current great war happening, but war itself.
Had someone won the war because of power despite being the wrongful ones, do they become right? If power determined who's right and wrong, whether it was morally accepted or not, has the objective that started the war in the first place been resolved? In what way, he wondered. In what way? Again, he asked. The wind answered him with a strong, whistling gush brushing against his face.
Ending the images inside his head, he resolved to himself a promise of revenge.
No matter how painstakingly hard it gets, they would reach an end that promises them a rightful triumph.
One that would satisfy the poor men's famishments, the weak ones struggling in exhaustion, the child that was a fighter, and the brokenhearted mother.
When Muren opened his eyes, the lights from outside began flicking out into a cold darkness.