The Curse of Nisiaphus: The Tragic Oracle

Snow crunched beneath the feet of the crowd, everyone hurrying to reach the central square in time to witness the spectacle. Shouts, cries, laughter here and there, whispers elsewhere—a cacophony unimaginable on any ordinary day. Between the stalls piled with animal hides and crates of greens brought from beyond the White Plains, a small kalaer darted freely among the townsfolk. Fortunately for him, he was small enough to slip between the larger bodies, and he reached the front of the square just in time. “Zyr, youngest son of Marena and Omyr, you stand accused of treason. Confess to the charges brought against you, and you will be granted a dignified end. Continue to deny them, and you will be beheaded here and now.” Everyone looked upward, toward the balcony raised high above their heads. Some watched out of curiosity, while others were afraid that they might be next. What happened? some whispered. Who is this half-breed kalaer? the aristocrats wondered. What could he possibly have done to anger Aelira enough for this to happen? That was the question on most people’s minds. Questions upon questions filled the square, yet they were spoken in hushed voices, careful not to draw any unwanted attention. Some stared at the balcony in awe, hoping to catch even a glimpse of Aelira’s beauty at least once in their lifetime. A single fraction of a second would be enough to warm their hearts for countless cycles to come—enough to give them something to tell their children, something to boast about among their peers: I saw her. Others, however, watched the scrawny kalaer in the middle of the square as he dragged his cursed pair of wings across the Empress’s stone platform. Filthy half-breed, most of them thought, disgusted by the sight of him. “Your Majesty, I beg you to believe me!” the wretched creature cried from the center of the square. “I knew nothing! I only did as I was told. Please, have mercy!” He screamed and pleaded, throwing himself to his knees before the crowd and begging for forgiveness. His family wept bitterly as well, unable to understand how things had come to this. Forgiveness for this? You’ll never see it, half-breed, the kalaers with two pairs of wings thought. But at least for those of higher rank, he provided quite a spectacle. From the balcony, a golden iris watched every movement below with unwavering attention. She observed the people around her, searching for confirmation that her decision was the right one. And as she studied his face more closely, she saw not even the slightest trace of remorse. Others would gladly give their lives for the Empire, yet when faced with something of such magnitude, he wanted nothing more than to have his crimes forgiven and everything swept aside as though it had never happened. But if she forgave him, tomorrow there would be another. Then another. And another after that. No one would fear her anymore if she began forgiving their crimes. They had clothes. They had food. They had the protection of the Empire. And still, some of them tried to run. With one final look at the kalaer, only a few words left her lips. “Take his head.” A roar of delight rose from the crowd, nearly drowning out the sobs of the few kalaers who could not bring themselves to cheer. Some applauded. Others shouted praises for the Empire. A handful remained perfectly still, unable to watch. The executioner shifted his weight, turned slightly on his heel, and raised his sword above his head. Then, with one swift motion, he let it fall. For a moment, the square fell completely silent. Zyr’s head separated from his body and rolled across the snow-covered stone, coming to a stop only a few paces from the edge of the platform. The crowd erupted into cheers once more. From the balcony above them, Aelira watched every face, making certain there was no one left who failed to rejoice for the Empire. In her mind, even the executed man’s parents should have been grateful. She had been merciful enough to grant him a swift beheading rather than cast him into the White Plains. After all, she had given him a far easier death than he deserved. The golden iris swept over the square one last time. No one had left. No one had stopped shouting. This was what a perfect Empire was supposed to look like. At last, she turned away and made her way toward the palace, leaving the cheers, the sobs, and Zyr’s body behind. To many, perhaps, it had been nothing more than an execution. This was mercy.