"T⍥ņ 𐑮⩃ጥ, ⩤ȞԐ𐑮Ԑ /Ϟ ጥȞԐ ٧⍥/D ϞȞ⩃𐑮ꓓ?"
The Foreign Elder's booming voice cut through the tense air, his green eyes narrowing as he pointed a gnarled finger at Mr. Edward, demanding something, perhaps an explanation, or a confession.
His question stirred small waves of whispers in the hall, grave queries that neither they nor the people in leadership knew the answer to:
ጥȞԐ Ᏽ/𐑮ᒻ Ȟ⩃D ⩃ ٧⍥/D ϞȞ⩃𐑮ꓓ?
"ȞԐ D⩃𐑮ԐϞ ጥ⍥ ϞጥԐ⩃ᒻ į𐑮⍥⩯ ጥȞԐ ⩃ጰጰņ𐑮ϞԐD į⩃ጰጥ/⍥ռ."
"Ȟ⍥⩤ Ѧ⍥ᒻD!"
Mr. Edward, unable to comprehend the foreboding meaning behind the foreign elder's words, figured that he was finally being questioned.
The Foreign Elder, as well as the others in the room all stared intently at Mr. Edward, waiting for a response.
Unfortunately, he remained mute, despite the silent pressure pushing a suffocating weight upon him.
ϞթԐ⩃& Ѧ⍥T!"
The Foreign Elder spoke once again, intent to rise from his chair, an ominous endeavor as he was stopped by a more powerful voice, that of the Chief:
"T⍥ņ ϞȞ⍥ņᒻD ᒻԐ⩃𐑮ռ ጥ⍥ ጰ⩃ᒻ⩯ T⍥ņ𐑮ϞԐᒻį, ጥȞԐ ⍥ռᒻT 𐑮Ԑ⩃Ϟ⍥ռ / ϞȞ⍥⩤ ϞņጰȞ ᒻԐռ/ԐռጰT /Ϟ ѦԐጰ⩃ņϞԐ T⍥ņ ⩃𐑮Ԑ ⍥ņ𐑮 ѦԐռԐį⩃ጰጥ⍥𐑮Ϟ, T⍥ņ𐑮 ٧⍥/ꓓ ϞȞ⩃𐑮ꓓ ⩤/ᒻᒻ ѦԐ 𐑮Ԑጰ⍥٧Ԑ𐑮Ԑꓓ, ⩃ռꓓ Ϟ/ռጰԐ ȞԐ ꓓ⩃𐑮ԐϞ ռ⍥ጥ ϞթԐ⩃& ⩤Ԑ ⩤/ᒻᒻ ⩯⩃&Ԑ Ȟ/⩯ ϞթԐ⩃&."
It was then, after speaking that the Cheif snapped his fingers, attracting three wraith-like women who brought with them a wooden bowl filled with water.
The crowd's murmurs grew louder as the Chief's voice seized, his sharp words slicing through the room like a blade. Heads turned toward Mr. Edward, their eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and malice.
Though the crowd's attention bore down on him, Mr. Edward barely noticed, rather, his focus was locked on the strange women approaching him with deliberate, unyielding steps.
He knew not the origins of these people and what was held in that bowl, but as it was placed before him, he discovered, to his horror, that it was boiling water, but that was just one of his problems.
In the roiling water, he noted a boy's face that stared back; a face that wasn't his own. Young, with messy black hair and glowing green eyes, it bore no resemblance to the man he remembered being, and yet even that was not the crux of his problems.
The horrible conclusion that had been gradually infusing itself upon his confused and reluctant mind was now a hideous certainty, which was impossible to ignore: if he did not provide these people with answers, he would be tortured, possibly disposed of.
"ϞթԐ⩃& Ѧ⍥T," The clan Chief spoke, repeating the unknown words that the Foreign Elder had spoken, most likely urging him to speak.
And yet, despite all, Mr. Edward remained quiet, not because he wished to display valor but because of the futility of the situation.
The language barrier, excusable at first, had grown to be a menacing problem directly correlated to the preservation of his life.
He was not entirely passive, though, although it seemed as such, but in reality, his mind was working in overdrive to figure out a way to get out of this situation.
Despite his lack of understanding, Edward caught certain repeated sounds—"Ѧ⍥T" always seemed to follow a question, while "T⍥ņ" carried the tone of command. Was it a title? A demand? Or something worse?
He knew not what they wanted; was it revenge, explanation, or compensation? But all that was unimportant; one thing was sure, though, if he did not speak, the consequences would be dire, and so he did.
"S-spect... 'ϞթԐ⩃&'? Is that what you're saying?" he stammered in an attempt to replicate what the Chief had said before.
But when the Chief repeated the phrase, pointing to Mr. Edward and then to the bowl of boiling water, understanding clicked into place with horrifying clarity. It wasn't a question; it was a command, most likely urging him to confess.
With that in mind, Mr. Edward shook his head, trying to portray that he was innocent.
"Argh!"
"Ahhhh!"
But before he could even do anything, his head was pushed into the water forcing him to let out an immediate scream of agony, the burn badly hurting his face.
Two women held him in place with grips like iron shackles, their faces blank and emotionless as they pulled him out.
In all this, he continued to scream in unspeakable pain, but his cries were ignored, drowned out by the indifference of the people in the room.
Before him, a third woman loomed, her expression alive with a certain twisted glee, as though she was enjoying this horrific situation.
In her hands, she cradled the bowl of boiling water, its surface roiling as if eager to devour.
"I didn't do it!" he howled, his voice cracking with desperation, his crying inciting a look of shock not just in the women in front of him but in everyone in the room.
"I don't know how she died! I was framed!" Mr. Edward's words tumbled over each other in a frantic plea, but the woman, regaining her composure, did not flinch.
"⩯T Ᏽ⍥D!"
"⩤Ȟ⩃ጥ Ϟ⍥𐑮ጥ ⍥į ⩃ռ/⩯⩃ᒻ/Ϟጥ/ጰ Ϟ⍥ņռꓓ ⩤⩃Ϟ ጥȞ⩃ጥ?"
"Ȟ⩃Ϟ ȞԐ Ᏽ⍥ռԐ ⩯⩃ꓓ?"
The audience questioned themselves unable to understand Mr. Edward's queries.
In the midst of Mr. Edward's screams, the Cheif frowned and spoke in the unknown language. "⩃Ᏽ⩃/ռ, /ጥ ϞԐԐ⩯Ϟ ᒻ/&Ԑ ጥȞ/Ϟ Ѧ⍥T Ȟ⩃Ϟ ጥȞԐ Ѧ⩃ጰ&Ѧ⍥ռԐ ጥ⍥ թᒻ⩃T ⩤/ጥȞ ņϞ."
The woman with the bowl leaned closer upon command, her lips curling into a smile that dripped with malice.
"ϞņጰȞ ⩃ į⍥⍥ᒻ," she murmured; her voice, though unintelligible, seemed soft, almost soothing, a mockery of tenderness.
But then, with unceremonious finality, she plunged his face into the wooden bowl.
Mr. Edward's scream became a muffled gurgle, swallowed by the hiss of flesh meeting scalding liquid.
His body convulsed violently, his small hands clawing at the air, searching for an escape that would not come.
Steam rose in thick, ghostly tendrils, curling around his tormentors like the mocking hands of some unseen specter.
The stench of burning flesh filled the room, acrid and choking, mingling with the sharp sting of despair.
Within the boy's mind, the agony was all-consuming, yet amidst the chaos, something else stirred.
A presence. A fragment of something ancient and foreign.
It had always been there, dormant and forgotten, but now it woke, feeding on his pain.
It was hate, his hate, but not just his; there was a venomous shard of loathing left behind by another, its malice seeping into the cracks of his breaking soul.
It pulsed within him, cold and sharp, a poison that whispered promises of vengeance and destruction.
"Why am I going through this again?"
"Why am I being framed?"
"After all I have done!"
"I GAVE MYSELF!"
"I GAVE MY LIFE TO HELPING THEM ADVANCE!"
"I CURED THEIR ILLNESSES AND THIS IS HOW THEY REPAY ME!"
"IF I SURVIVE, I SWEAR I WILL LIVE ONLY FOR MYSELF!"
Mr. Edward could not understand it, yet he felt its resonance, an alien hatred that made his own suffering seem distant, insignificant.
He did harbor hatred, but it was always controlled, stifled, never to see the light of day, yet this intentless hatred within him seemed to be feeding his own.
The fragment burrowed deeper, entwining itself with his essence, and for a fleeting moment, Mr. Edward was no longer himself but the little boy who was looked down upon by his clan.
It was then that he realized that these feelings did not stem from him but from the soul of the boy who owned this body, as unfathomable as that sounded.
When his face was finally wrenched from the boiling water, it appeared disgustingly raw, blistered, and unrecognizable.
He no longer screamed, his voice reduced to a ragged, shallow gasp.
His swollen eyes, half blind and barely open, no longer pleaded. They stared, waiting for an inevitable death.
The people remained quiet, indifferent to Mr. Edwards's suffering, the anguish which did not prevent them from peering, their gaze almost entertained or, need one say, ghoulishly enthralled.
"ϞթԐ⩃&!"
A voice called out; its tone thought unintelligible, carrying with it the maelstrom of undeniable authority.
But it was now, by a meek young boy, that this authority was disgraced, without the slightest hint of remorse; in fact, he could even sense some animosity.
"Has this worthless spawn of mine grown so foolish?" The Chief wondered what could, so that even in his fear urge this boy to defy him.
It was then that another voice spoke, one he had not heard before, one that his morbid curiosity, even amid agonies so excruciating, pushed him to observe.
"Ᏽ𐑮Ԑ⩃ጥ ᏵԐռԐ𐑮⩃ᒻ į⍥𐑮Ᏽ/٧Ԑ ⩯Ԑ, Ѧņጥ ⍥ņ𐑮 T⍥ņռᏵ ⩯/ϞϞ ⩤/ϞȞԐϞ ጥ⍥ 𐑮ԐռԐᏵԐ ⍥ռ ጥȞԐ ԐռᏵ⩃ᏵԐ⩯Ԑռጥ ⩤/ጥȞ T⍥ņ𐑮 į/𐑮Ϟጥ T⍥ņռᏵ ⩯⩃ϞጥԐ𐑮, į⍥𐑮 ⍥Ѧ٧/⍥ņϞ 𐑮Ԑ⩃Ϟ⍥ռϞ."
The man who spoke was one of the alleged outsiders which Mr. Edward, during his scan of the place had arrived at the conclusion.
His hypothesis was based on multiple factors not just limited to what was seen or at least noticed by the unsuspecting.
Trusting his intellect, he was convinced of his theory not just because of the different and alien symbols that designed their wares but because of harder-to-grasp factors like body language and small nuances.
"/ ņռꓓԐ𐑮Ϟጥ⩃ռꓓ T⍥ņ𐑮 ꓓ/Ϟ⩃թթ⍥/ռጥ⩯Ԑռጥ."
The chief suddenly began, his posture unperturbed as he spoke: "Ѧņጥ T⍥ņ ⩯ņϞጥ ņռꓓԐ𐑮Ϟጥ⩃ռꓓ ጥȞ⩃ጥ ጥȞ/Ϟ ⩃𐑮𐑮⩃ռᏵԐ⩯Ԑռጥ /Ϟ ԐϞϞԐռጥ/⩃ᒻᒻT ጥ𐑮⩃ꓓ/ጥ/⍥ռ ⍥ռԐ ⩤Ȟ/ጰȞ Ȟ⩃Ϟ ռԐ٧Ԑ𐑮 ѦԐԐռ Ѧ𐑮⍥&Ԑռ ѦԐį⍥𐑮Ԑ."
"Ѧņጥ ԐᒻꓓԐ𐑮 ጰ⩃ռ ⩯⩃&Ԑ ⩃ռ Ԑ𐊐ጰԐթጥ/⍥ռ ռ⍥? ᒻ⍥⍥& ⩃ጥ ጥȞԐ Ѧ⍥T ȞԐ Ᏽ⍥ռԐ ⩯⩃ꓓ ጥȞ⩃ጥ ⩯ņጰȞ /Ϟ ጥ𐑮ņԐ ऽņϞጥ į𐑮⍥⩯ ጥȞԐ ⩤⩃T ȞԐ ϞթԐ⩃&Ϟ Ȟ⍥⩤ ⩤⍥ņᒻꓓ ⩃ռT ⩤⍥⩯⩃ռ ⩤/ϞȞ ጥ⍥ ѦԐ ⩃ϞϞ⍥ጰ/⩃ጥԐꓓ ⩤/ጥȞ ϞņጰȞ į/ᒻጥȞ?"
The outsider responded rather brazenly his insolence granting him the narrowed eyes of the Chief.
It was not hard to comprehend that these unfamiliar people seemed to be arguing about something, his torturous involvement in the matter evident, and although Mr. Edward did not understand the words, he tried his best to listen amid the pain.
The Chief refrained from speaking stoically, his silence creating a looming feeling of impending doom in the room, one that was quenched by the words he spoke after a while, his gaze falling on a little girl in the crowd.
With his piercing gaze shifted to the red-eyed girl within the group of outsiders, he said, or rather as evident from his tone and body language, asked her a question.
And there was silence.
The unknown girl, surprised by such a sudden question from a figure so imposing and full of authority, quickly bowed while cupping her fist.
Her manner of greeting resembled that of ancient martial traditions from the mystical parts of the world he knew or, for a more accurate picture, the esoteric and venerable clans within the countries of China or Japan, clans he had visited in his perilous journey for enlightenment.
While Mr. Edward watched, the girl, wholly nervous but never detoured, spoke while glancing at him with a growing disdain.
"ጥȞ/Ϟ ᒻ//ጥᒻԐ ⍥ռԐ /Ϟ Ѧņጥ ⩃ ϞթԐጰ& ⍥į ꓓņϞጥ /ռ ጥȞԐ ⍥ᒻꓓ ⍥ռԐϞ TԐϞϞ ⩃ռꓓ /Ϟ /ռጰ⩃թ⩃ѦᒻԐ ⍥į ꓓ/Ϟ⍥ѦԐꓓ/ռԐռጰԐ Ѧņጥ ⩯T į⩃ጥȞԐ𐑮 Ȟ⩃Ϟ ጥȞ⍥ņᏵȞጥ ⩯Ԑ ጥ⍥ ⩤⍥𐑮ϞȞ/թ Ϟጥ𐑮ԐռጥȞ / ጰ⩃ռռ⍥ጥ ѦԐ ጥ/Ԑꓓ ጥ⍥ ⍥ռԐ Ȟ⩤⍥ /Ϟ ⩤Ԑ&Ԑ𐑮 ጥȞ⩃ռ / ⩃ռꓓ թ⍥ϞϞԐϞϞ ϞņጰȞ ⩃ ᒻᒻԐ⩃& įņጥ𐑮Ԑ ⩃ռꓓ ⩯ᒻጥȞ⍥ņᏵȞ ȞԐ /Ϟ &/ռ ȞԐ ꓓ⍥ϞϞ ռ⍥ጥ ѦԐᒻ⍥ռᏵ ጥ⍥ ጥȞԐ ⍥𐑮ꓓԐ𐑮 ⍥į 𐑮Ԑꓓ TԐϞꓓ 𐊐/Ᏽ⩯𐑮ꓓϞ ⩃ᒻጥԐ𐑮/ᒻጥT / ⩤/ϞȞ ጥ⍥ թ𐑮⍥ϞϞϞ ѦԐ/ռᏵ ԐռᏵ⩃ᏵԐꓓ ጥ⍥ ጥȞԐ ⍥ᒻꓓ ⍥ռԐϞ ϞԐጰ⍥ռꓓ Ϟ⍥ռ."
The girl's words are quite lengthy, and yet Mr. Edward listened to them, quietly bearing the unbearable pain whilst he watched.
He noticed that during the end of the little girl's words, she blushed whilst looking towards the red-eyed boy who stood at the opposite side of the hall.
Both the Chief and the foreign elder also seemed surprised by the words the girl spoke of, and it was then that the Chief chuckled.
"⩤Ȟ⩃ጥ ⩃ռ ⍥ņጥϞ⍥ռꓓ/ռጥ / T⍥ņռᏵ ᒻ⩃ꓓT T⍥ņ𐑮 /ռጥᒻԐᒻԐጥ ⩃ᒻ⍥ռϞጥ ņ𐑮ᏵԐϞ ⩯Ԑ ጥ⍥ įŅ𐑮ռ T⍥ņ ⍥ռ ⩃ Ϟጥ⩃&Ԑ TԐጥ T⍥ņ𐑮 ⩤⍥𐑮ꓓϞ ⩃𐑮Ԑ /𐑮𐑮ԐņጥįጰᒻԐ ٧Ԑ𐑮T ⩤Ԑᒻᒻ ꓓ𐑮⍥⩯ ጥȞ/Ϟ ꓓ⩃T į⍥𐑮ጥȞ T⍥ņ𐑮 ጥ/ԐϞ ⩤/ጥȞ ⩯T į/𐑮Ϟጥ Ϟ⍥ռ /Ϟ ⩃ռռņᒻᒻԐꓓ T⍥ņ ϞȞ⩃ᒻᒻ ѦԐ ⩤/ጥȞ ⩯T ጥ𐑮ŅԐ Ϟ⍥ռ."
As the Chief spoke, he paused, glancing at the blue-eyed foreign elder who bore with him a quiet rage that threatened to explode if his matter was not tended to, whatever that matter may be.
Noticing this, the Chief spoke: "⩃Ϟ į⍥𐑮 T⍥ņ𐑮 ٧⍥//ꓓ ϞȞ⩃𐑮ꓓ / ϞȞ⩃ᒻᒻ ጰ⍥⩯թԐռϞ⩃ጥԐ T⍥ņ ⩤/ጥȞ ⍥ռԐ ⍥į ⍥ņ𐑮 ⍥⩤ռ-"
"ጰȞ/Ԑį!"
Both the Hunting elder and the Giant elder yelled at the same time, whilst the other elders, save for the Foreign elder, frowned.
"⩯T Ѧ⍥T!"
Mr. Edward suddenly heard another shout forcing him to turn his head, his heart missing a beat as he watched a green-eyed woman break through the crowd.
She appeared to be rushing towards him.