The weaver’s daughter

EpisodeTwo

The village bell rang sharply at exactly 6:30 in the morning, its sound slicing through the quiet air. Women emerged from their huts at once, wrapping shawls tightly around their shoulders as they moved toward the pinnacle. The call was unmistakable. This was not a celebration it was a summons for judgment.

Whispers followed the crowd like shadows. One after the other.

Five nights earlier, a grave transgression had taken place.

A young woman named Emir, has chosen pleasure over tradition. During one of the forbidden encounters with the men of Alasu, she allowed her heart to linger where her body had already strayed. What began as stolen meetings soon became an agreement silent, reckless, and dangerous to continue seeing him, driven by the desire she had been denied all her life.

Five nights ago, by the riverside where the moon reflected, Emir surrendered fully to the moment. She cast aside fear, tradition, and consequence, clinging to the Alasu man as though the world beyond them did not exist.

It was in the evening when Emir sneaked out of the village to meet the man whose body has desired day and night.

Alasu werewolf was filled with so much strength and quickly tore Emir's dress at first sight, bending her body to the floor without caution he forced his manhood directly into Emir Virginia, and moved in and out uncontrollably until they both were exhausted and sperm filled all over her body. She was so exhausted and did not see the woman passing through the reeds. By the time Emir realized she was alone, it was already too late.

The witness fled before dusk, skirts gathered, heart pounding, straight to the palace gates.

By dawn, the entire village knew.

Queen Mariam stood before the gathered women, her posture rigid, her voice sharp enough to cut through the murmurs. Emir was already bound at the center of the Pinnacle, her wrists tied, her face pale but defiant. The Queen recounted the crime without embellishment, her words cold and absolute. Emir had committed an abomination continued intimacy with an Alasu man beyond what tradition allowed. She had chosen pleasure over law.

A wail broke through the crowd. Emir’s mother pushed forward, falling to her knees before the Queen. She held the hem of Mariam’s robe, tears running down her face.

“My Queen,” she begged, “she has a child. A baby barely seven months old. For the sake of the child, show mercy. Punish her, but do not kill her.”

The Queen did not look down.

“No,” Mariam said flatly. “Tradition must stand. It is how we teach the younger ones. This crime will never be tolerated.”

Her hand lifted.

The sentence was carried out without delay.

Emir screamed not just in pain, but in fury and despair as something ancient rose within her. The air thickened, the ground seemed to tremble, and before the flames consumed her, she transformed, her body rejecting death until it could no longer fight. When it was over, nothing remained but ash scattered by the morning wind.

The village watched in silence.

Miles away from the Pinnacle, Killia lay on her sleeping bed, her stomach tight with fear and guilt. She had not gone to the judgment. She did not need to. The bell alone told her everything. Her hands trembled as she pressed them against her abdomen, her thoughts racing.

She knew deep in her bones that whatever illness had struck Princess Nene the day before had been no accident. Nene had intervened to save her. To distract the Queen. To buy her time.

But time for what?

Killia rose slowly and crossed the room. Her reflection in the small mirror looked eyes too wide, skin too pale. She opened the door and stepped into the early light, her decision already made. She would not let them do so again.

Her mother, Kadida, was grinding herbs when Killia entered. She looked up and frowned at once.

“Killia? Why are you up so early?”

Killia swallowed hard and closed the door behind her. “Mother,” she said, her voice shaking, “I need to tell you something. Something terrible.”

Kadida set the mortar aside, unease spreading across her face as Killia spoke. She told her everything about the meeting she had overheard between Queen Mariam and the Homah Mother, about the truth behind the tradition, about the quiet fear that stalked every girl at 18 years. She spoke so fast, as if silence itself might kill her if she paused.

When she finished, Kadida covered her mouth, eyes wide with shock.

“My daughter,” she whispered, “you must never repeat this. Not to anyone. Pretend you heard nothing. Do you understand me?”

Killia shook her head, tears welling. “Mother… I already did.”

Kadida’s breath caught. “What? To whom?”

Killia looked down at her hands. “To Princess Nene. I trusted her. She promised she would resolve it without letting anyone find me.”

Kadida cried out softly, pressing her hands to her head. “Killia, what have you done?” Her voice broke. “You are not safe anymore. Not for a single day.”

She grasped Killia’s shoulders, fear rising in her eyes. “We must get you out of this village. Before the Queen learns the truth. Before the bell rings for you.”

Outside, the smoke from the Pinnacle still drifted faintly across the sky, a dark reminder that Aloha did not forgive and that secrets, once spoken, demanded blood.