Rain dropped like bullets from the ashy, dark sky, turning the expanse of soil into a multitude of muddy swamps.

*Thud*

Some of the droplets of rain produced a consistent melody as they bounced off a hard, impermeable surface.

This was a tent, roughly the area of a large dining hall.

Inside, a sprawling fire lit up the entirety of the tent, and the sound of cracking wood reverberated ever-so-slightly.

The harsh, orange glow of the fire revealed the presence of various people in the tent.

Ranging in age, the oldest was a man with deep wrinkles and hollow eyes, while the youngest was an infant, coincidentally residing in the elderly man's embrace.

The man sniffed, detecting the slightly metallic and spicy smell in the air around them.

However, he knew the source, as he turned to the young women next to him, who were mixing a few ingredients in a large bowl into a vermillion paste.

The elderly man then turned back to the baby in his hand.

He leaned down his torso, reaching the infant's ears, and began whispering something, despite being aware that the child could not possibly understand.

"They can take away your name, your identity, your heritage, your parents, your culture, your money, but, child, there is one thing they can never have-"

The man grabbed a fine needle from the ground and turned sideways.

A determined gaze fixated itself upon the women nearby.

The young women seemed to understand what he was implying and passed him the large bowl.

Deep wrinkles folded even further, and a skinny hand carefully holding the needle, dug into the bowl of pigment.

All of the bystanders stared carefully at the needle.

They had somber gazes, but if one looked closely, one could somewhat see a sense of pride and relief in their faces.

Slowly, a bony, stained hand unraveled itself, and the fine tip of the needle reflected a matte, red light.

That same needle tip then approached the baby's lower back, and in one swift gesture...

*Prick*

The elderly man softly punctured the baby's back, leaving behind a red mark.

With amazing dexterity, the man punctured again, and again, and over time, a shape slowly emerged from the linking pigment.

An oval, through which 4 horizontal and parallel lines passed.

It was quite abstract, but it seemed to be a depiction of a spider.

"Now, with your mother's blood on your back, you, Iskandar, are now forever a member of the Ankabout clan."

The pigment used to stain the baby's back was a mixture of his mother's dried labor blood, a red pigment, water, and some binding oils.

The baby's eyelids fluttered as the man gently turned him around, and the others chanted joyful melodies with tears flowing down from their eyes.

That is, until...

"Please, we have been stuck in the storm, can you offer us shelter?" An orderly marching sound rang out from the exterior of the tent.

The man spoke in a different language.

The elderly man's barely visible pupils flickered at the voice, and the others had similar, terrified expressions.

"Saidi, what do we do? That language...they're not from here..." A woman tugged at the elderly man's sleeves, all the while shaking profusely.

"Let them in."

The older man's words seemed to be absolute, as the woman approached the closed entrance of the tent, and reluctantly tore it open.

On the other side, lighter-skinned men with matching, blue uniforms stood in an organized formation.

One such man, who boasted a thick mustache, stood out from the crowd and spoke, "Uh? Sub-species? I take back what I said, I order you to provide shelter to my troops!"

The elderly man didn't back down, and in slow steps, he advanced towards the outside.

Rain dropped on his face, and his thin lips moved up and down.

Ultimately, he clenched his fists and bowed, "Masters, we humbly offer you shelter."

The mustached man snickered-

"However."

"Hmm?" The man rubbed his wet mustache in intrigue, wondering what the other was going to say.

"There is an infant inside, please don't make too much noise."

"..."

"HAHAHAHAHAHA..."

"Do you take us for barbarians? We're not like you, sub-species."

The elderly man seemed to be at the limit of his patience, but he closed his eyes and invited the troops inside.

__________

-Sometime later-

The tent was now rather crowded, and everyone leaned in closer to the fire, in order to keep themselves warm.

It seemed like the tension between the two groups was no longer there.

However, a blaze could easily ignite into a fire.

A blue-uniformed man leaned into the mustached man's back and muttered something.

The latter's chin folded, and he looked around in amusement.

Then, he pointed at a skinny man on the opposite side of the tent, "You there!"

"You're too close to the fireplace, move further away so my dear troops can recuperate efficiently."

The skinny man trembled when he heard these words, yet he hesitantly crawled away.

Though, a leg blocked his passage.

The skinny man looked up, and saw the woman who was sitting next to the elder during the tattooing ceremony.

She frowned, and exclaimed, "Can't you see how cold it is here? He can't step back."

The elder's slanted eyes widened at this sight, and he signaled the woman to sit down.

It was too late.

The mustached man's overbearing figure stood up, and the shadow cast by the fire upon his body moved in an aggressive manner.

*Thud*

Instead of the woman's ragdolling body, a skinny figure was instead thrown away.

"SAIDI!" The woman covered her mouth and screamed when she saw the body on the ground.

It was the elder's weak figure.

_____

The succeeding events would be recorded and remembered.

They would be recorded and remembered in the collective memory of the people, and in a strange twist of fate, of the baby that witnessed the sight.

On that night, a great massacre occurred, as armed troops raped, decapitated, and murdered every adult in sight.

'Where am I?' The infant bobbed his head around, but a smelly and thick red liquid covered his vision.