The universe knew that another war was about to arise that night. Surely they knew for the weather depicted brutality through its howling wind and its bristling raindrops.
They knew. The whole world did.
The absence of the scattered twinkling dots on the vast horizon of the dark sky told the people of Danaw that there was something amiss. Though familiar with the scenario that took place as soon as the last glimpses of the sun rays piercing through the gray clouds, the Sultanate of Danaw was nowhere near being prepared for the war.
Another war. Hundreds of innocent lives have perished in the name of the Sultanate.
Bathala knew. The other gods and goddesses and even the beasts knew.
Peace was not able to last after five years. The greed made its way to the powerful clans and wreaked havoc while the world was about to retire for the day.
The smoke that erupted from Kuta Wato, the stone fort of the throne of Sultan Da'ud, created a massive haze in the air as the fire continued to eat the remnants of the houses and trees nearby. The wails of the children and women while they hugged their fallen loved ones made harmony with the chirping of birds as they too have lost their homes.
It was a macabre sight to witness. The anguished cries and the hair-raising sounds of the men as they took their last breaths continued to haunt the place.
A hiss came out of Mirayah's lips as she ran through the woods. The side of her burnt face tingled against the cold of the night. Her arm suffered from the fire as well. Yet none of the physical pain she felt was enough to extinguish the void in her heart.
A series of tears streamed down her cheeks as she continued braving the path toward her escape route. Using her bristled left hand, she pulled down her hood to cover her face further.
Her right arm was tucked in a bundle of clothes that secured a newborn that had coincidentally, or mayhaps it was intentional after all, come out to the world only for her mother's life to come to an end.
A sob boiled up in Mirayah's throat as the lifeless face of her sister came into her mind again.
Rabiyah, her sister, passed away just a few hours after her babe was conceived.
As though hearing Mirayah's thoughts, the newborn baby stirred from her deep sleep and made an inaudible noise. Her eyes though were still fluttered shut, not giving in to the temptation of looking around the chaos.
Mirayah let out a bittersweet smile. "Hang in there, child. We'll go home after this," she whispered, her voice shaking in the end.
Home. Ah, it was an enticing word even in the ears of those who marched toward Kuta Wato and started the war against the Sultan.
The stench smell of blood was too much that even the knights who made their victorious roars in the night had silently pleaded for the end of their task and enjoy the warmth of their awaiting chambers in the palace of the fallen Sultan.
Mirayah never once shot a glance back at those she left behind. Her blurry vision was the only remnant of her pain as she refused to think of how her sister's dead body would be treated. She knew the answer to that. She very well knew how the fallen ones will have their bodies perish from the face of the world. She knew that her sister will not be buried properly.
She knew that... especially since her sister is an Agod. Her sister came from the bloodline of the banished tribe.
The tribe of the white witches, as what Sultan Da'ud branded them to be.
A chortle ran up to Mirayah's throat, the sound painful even in her ears.
Arimaonga, that beast. If not because of his affiliation with the Sultan, their tribe would have not been ordered persecution. They would have not been forced to stay hidden and away from Danaw where they had been residing for decades already.
How ironic, Mirayah could not help but muse while thinking of the fallen Sultan and her sister.
Her steps slowed down when the silhouette of the mountains across the ocean have become clear in her vision.
She hastened her steps again and did not bother the twigs of trees that cut through the skin of her legs. Each whimper she wanted to let out was buried and turned into a silent prayer instead.
Have mercy, Hela.
Indeed, the goddess of the moon, though it shied away from the eyes of the world tonight, Hela must have been watching from above and felt sympathy for the lost lives.
Mirayah did not stop running even for a second until she reached the shore. Relief washed over her. The small boat was being watched over by a fisherman. He immediately took notice of her and the baby in her arms, but he did not say anything.
"May Bathala be with you two," the fisherman mumbled as he helped Mirayah get on the boat.
She gave him a faint smile. "I will never forget your kindness, sir. Rest assured of my return here in the coming days to help your wife safely deliver."
The man nodded. "Please be careful on your journey," he said and gently pushed the boat.