Chapter 57 At the Gates of Borodyn #2
It takes only a few hours to crush those who dared to fight and bind the ones who surrendered.
The nymphí move around the village gathering the women and children, their soft whispers of comfort barely audible over the wreckage.
The warriors sweep through the village, checking every abandoned space, so no one can hide from their fate.
A few soldiers arrived with weapons drawn.
They were dead within seconds. I have lost count of how many lives I’ve taken today.
And I regret nothing.
The shaking women clutch their children, fear still raw in their eyes. But soon, they will leave this place. Soon, they will step beyond these walls and enter ávera, where they will be free.
As for the men, the guilty, they stand in ten endless lines, shackled and silent, their expressions etched with fear or empty resignation. Each will face judgment before they meet their end. Because this is justice. And this is how it should be.
I stride into the heart of the chaos. On my right, women, elders, and children stand in clusters, their faces streaked with tears, their bodies trembling.
Some still sob, clinging to each other, while others have begun to calm, soothed by the nymphí assuring them that everything will be alright.
On my left, the rows of chained men stand in silence.
But not all of them have learned their place.
Some steal glances at the bare nymphí, their gazes dark with the same hunger that once ruled this village.
Disgust curls in my stomach.
My eyes catch ívar’s, who stands near the closest line of prisoners. Then, I turn my attention to the one whose leering gaze lingers the longest.
ívar follows my stare. He nods once, then moves. With force, he grabs the man’s head and slams it down. “Eyes on the ground,” he growls.
The other men flinch. One by one, their gazes drop to their shackled feet. Where they belong.
The moment I spot Theron, returning with the last of the captured men, I raise my chin.
He throws them down near the farthest row, and they hit the dirt with muffled grunts.
Two warriors step forward, their paws glowing as they form the energy shackles that bind the new prisoners in place.
Then, Theron walks to me, and our gazes lock.
His fierce, battle-hardened expression softens immediately.
And just like that, my soul feels light, as if a feather floats through my chest. I tear my eyes away. We can’t. Not now.
I turn back to the crowd. “Listen closely to what I’m about to say.
” Silence falls. The warriors, the women, the children, the prisoners, all turn to me.
I fix my gaze on the shackled men. “Some of you are wondering what happens now.” Theron moves behind me, like a silent wall of power.
“From today onward, you are my prisoners. My slaves. From today, you begin counting your days. Those who are guilty will die.”
I drive my sword into the ground, and the blade sinks into the earth before a pulse of energy ripples outward.
From the soil, a row of blue roses bursts forth to bloom in a perfect circle around the terrified women.
Gasps echo through the crowd. Some of the children laugh in delight, reaching out to touch the glowing petals and brush their small hands against the roses.
At least . . . I’ve done this much.
“As for the women and elders.” My tone softens, and I pull my sword free. “You will be given a choice. These vólkins,” I say, sweeping my hand toward the warriors standing at attention. “I’m sure you’ve heard of them, beasts lurking in the shadows, hunters of those who cross their path.”
A low, rumbling growl passes through the ranks of my warriors, standing tall in front of the women, as they lift their paws to their hearts.
“These vólkins are your shield and your sword. Your muscle and your claw.” I wait a moment to let my words settle. “The first option is to stay in your village, free of the fate that shackled you. We came to set your souls alight.”
A hush settles over the women. Some exchange glances, their faces torn between doubt and a fragile, desperate hope. The children remain distracted, fully entranced by the roses.
At least they understand I’m here to help.
“The second option is to come with me. To ávera.” Mother, Father, I hope you see me well from above.
“In ávera, you will be given a home. A place of safety. A place that glows with life, not decay.” My voice grows stronger.
“You will see land untouched by cruelty, filled with vivid color, fruits you’ve never tasted, fresh water as clear as the sky, warmth that is not given as a privilege but as a right.
” This is what they were never allowed to dream of.
“And you will be free.”
Some of them gasp, some press hands over their mouths as if afraid to believe it.
“The third option,” I continue, “is for those who want more. Those who want to build something greater.” I let my gaze sweep across the crowd. “I want to educate you.”
A ripple of murmurs passes through the women. Knowledge was never theirs to claim. Not before.
“In ávera, you will have the chance to learn. I will teach you, and I will have educators to guide you. You will read, you will write, and you will grow.” I take a deep breath.
“And I will need healers to mend the wounded. I will need artists to shape the new world. I will need minds to lead, create, and teach. Those who wish to fight—to take up the sword and defend the ones who cannot—I will train you.”
Some women clutch their children tighter, looking into their eyes. A spark.
I clench my fist, raising my voice to the skies.
“The old laws have no place in the world I am building.” I point toward the burning remains of Borodyn.
“This—this—is what the old world gave you.” I press a hand to my chest. “I offer you something new. First, a home. Then, a future. And lastly, a purpose.”