"...-ra?"
...
"Kyra."
...
"KYRA!"
She blinked and looked up across the table at Terra, whose face was plastered with concern.
"Sorry...I'm feeling sort of weird today." Kyra sighed.
"Wow, I couldn't tell," Terra replied sarcastically. "What's going on with you?"
Kyra stared at the half-eaten baked potato in her hand. Where would she even begin? 'Hey Terra, I come from another world and can see rocks in the ground?' Yeah, right. She'd probably get locked up for being insane if she told the truth.
"It's just been a tough day at the shop; Fen is in a foul mood again." It wasn't a lie; it just wasn't the whole truth. It had been a week since she had tried to sneak into the blacksmith to get her hands on the ores, and she hadn't gotten any closer to her goal.
A loud crackling boom rang through the dining hall, causing its inhabitants to fall silent in shock. All eyes were on the door as four guards barged into the room, and Kyra recognized Varys amongst them. They watched as the group approached one of the tables, stopping to surround it.
"Gareth Halborn," A booming voice echoed, loud enough for everyone to hear as though it were being shouted next to them.
"You are being taken into custody for your crimes against the property of Count Stormfell. You are sentenced to execution." The words hung heavy in the air. She hadn't been in this world too long, but this was the first time seeing an arrest. The guard who spoke raised his hand, and Kyra watched in horror as Gareth was lifted into the air with magic. She remembered magic was present in this world but hadn't seen it used a single time before now.
Gareth's yells could be heard as he was escorted out, sending a shiver down Kyra's spine. Almost in unison, the entire hall got up to follow silently. She shot a curious look at Terra.
"We have to go," Terra whispered, "Attendance is mandatory for executions; it's a warning to others not to repeat the same mistakes." Kyra's face grew pale as the weight of the situation settled upon her.
She followed Terra and the rest of the onlookers in a somber procession toward the execution grounds. The atmosphere was heavy with anticipation, a mix of fear and a morbid fascination that seemed to infect the air.
As the sun began to set, casting an eerie glow over the scene, they arrived at a simple, raised platform. Its surface appeared stained with the remnants of past executions, an ominous reminder of the brutality that awaited Gareth. Kyra's stomach churned. The area gave no indication as to how it would be performed; there were no gallows, no guillotine, nothing but the empty stage.
The four guards walked up its stairs, positioning themselves around a now kneeling Gareth. His face was twisted in fear, but he was silent now. The guard who spoke before took a step forward, addressing the crowd.
"Take a good look," He said, his voice thundering through the solemn crowd, "This is what happens when you dare defy Count Stormfell. For the crime of pocketing a grade three qi stone, death awaits him." murmurs broke out through the crowd.
"Grade three? What was he thinking..."
"It's a shame..."
"How could he take that risk? He knows better..."
Qi stones were categorized into five grades, a grade five being the lowest quality and a grade one extremely rare and pure. A grade three was worth enough to sustain a middle-class family for an entire year modestly...and enough to buy one's freedom. The crowd grew silent again as Varys stepped into position behind Gareth.
"He's at it again, the hand of Stormfell," a disgruntled voice murmured amidst the crowd.
Kyra's blood turned to ice. Varys, the executioner? And what was the meaning behind that ominous nickname? Her gaze fixated on his face, searching for any trace of hesitation, but his stoic mask remained intact. In that fleeting moment, their eyes locked, and a surge of conflicting emotions flooded Kyra's being. Her heart pounded, torn between her feelings for Varys and the horror unfolding before her eyes. The world around her seemed to blur as she grappled with the overwhelming weight of the situation.
Varys extended his hand, a surge of crackling blue energy enveloping his outstretched palm. In a mesmerizing display, the fabric of space itself seemed to ripple and tear, revealing a long sword. He effortlessly grasped the weapon, its dark blade emanating an ethereal glow, pulsating with the same vibrant blue hue that surrounded him. An intricate rune adorned its surface, making it all the more mysterious.
With trained precision, the blade fell upon Gareth, but Kyra averted her gaze, unwilling to see the outcome. She stared at the ground, grappling with a tormenting internal struggle. Her eyes locked on Varys' form. His face showed no hint of remorse as he wiped his blade with a rag- the cloth from Gareth's back, Kyra realized in horror- and casually tossed it onto the corpse when he was finished.
Kyra's entire being froze in disbelief and shock. The sight before her shattered the fragile image she held of Varys, leaving her paralyzed with a chilling realization. How could this man, whose touch had once been tender and affectionate, now stand there, so devoid of empathy, taking a life with ruthless efficiency? The nickname "the hand of Stormfell" took on a deeper meaning, as if it were a title earned through countless lives claimed.
Her mind flashed back to the night when he had gently caressed her cheek, a gesture that had once stirred warmth and longing within her. But now, the memory was tainted, overshadowed by the haunting question—had that very hand been stained with the blood of untold lives? She shivered at the thought, making up her mind to avoid him at all costs in the future.