The city, once vibrant and alive, was now a scene of utter devastation—a landscape of suffering echoed through the blood-soaked cobblestone streets. The ground, trampled by countless feet and stained a deep, sinister red, bore witness to the brutality that had unfolded. Lifeless bodies—men, women, and children—lay scattered like broken dolls, their eyes staring blankly at the sky.
King Eldric's soldiers, encased in heavy armor that creaked with every step, moved with a mechanical, soulless precision. Their faces were blank, showing only the cold resolve of their orders. They marched through the muck of blood-soaked earth, their boots squelching with each step. Thick smoke from burning buildings hung in the air, blocking out the faint light of the moon.
Amidst the carnage, a young man stood alone. His silver hair, now matted with blood, clung to his forehead. His eyes were hollow, devoid of any feeling, as he stared at the dark sky. The moonlight turned him into a chilling figure of silver and crimson.
His sword, an ancient weapon marked with runes, dripped with fresh blood, each drop a grim reminder of the night's horrors. Then, the scene shifted as soldiers dragged a man forward, a hostage whose knees trembled as they hit the cold ground.
"Why, Finnian?" the hostage cried, desperation in his voice. "Lina's attack had nothing to do with us!"
Finnian's voice was as icy as the blade he held. "The aura left behind points to your tribe," he said, leaning in closer. "Tell me, how did you wound Lina? Was there someone else?"
When the hostage didn't answer, Finnian's sword moved swiftly, slashing his throat and ending his life. The soldiers then turned their attention to the children huddled nearby, their eyes wide with fear and confusion.
"What about them, Commander?" a soldier asked, eyeing the terrified children.
"Leave th—" Finnian began to say, but a sudden, severe headache caused him to fall to his knees.
"Finish them off," his mouth uttered, though not under his control.
The soldiers obeyed immediately, moving to execute the children. In a moment of sheer terror, a little girl ran to Finnian, clinging to him and pleading for mercy. But his hands, acting on their own, drove the sword into her chest.
As blood stained his hands, Finnian's body trembled with horror. He couldn't understand why he had killed the children despite his own will. Then, a horrifying realization struck him—his actions were not entirely his own.
The king's command echoed in his mind: "You must leave no one alive." It was this authority, this ruthless order, that had forced him to act against his own conscience.
"N-No way," Finnian whispered, his voice trembling with disbelief and despair, as he grappled with the terrible truth of his actions.