YGNACIA ESCONDIDO SERIES 1: SYMLA, THE BLACK SAINT (english)

“SAYAH! The village is burning!” Sylvia screamed, pointing toward the village where they lived. Sayah—her twin sister—immediately turned to see the massive flames rising into the sky. Shock froze her in place. The firewood she carried slipped from her grasp and scattered on the ground. She didn’t bother to pick them up; instead, she grabbed Sylvia’s hand and ran. By the time they reached the edge of the village, both girls were gasping for air. It was the place where they were born and raised—their home. The twins were only eight years old. According to their parents, Sayah was a few minutes older than Sylvia, which was why she always treated her like a younger sister and took care of her. Sayah was protective—too protective. And in that moment, she positioned Sylvia behind her, shielding her from any danger. “It’s hot, Sayah,” Sylvia complained, wiping the sweat from her forehead. Sayah didn’t respond. Her eyes were fixed on the burning village, scanning the chaos. Sylvia tried to see what her sister was looking at, but Sayah was taller, and all she could see were rising embers and thick smoke. “Shh…” Sayah hushed her, her brows furrowing when she noticed Sylvia’s trembling hands. “Sayah…” Sylvia’s voice quivered. “Someone attacked the village,” Sayah whispered, meeting her sister’s eyes. Her face was pale but determined. She swallowed hard. “Whatever happens, stay here. Wait for me.” Her tone was firm, the kind of tone Sylvia had learned never to argue with. She guided Sylvia behind a large, old tree and helped her sit down. “But, Sayah—” “I’ll look for Mother and Father. Listen to me.” Her voice was filled with conviction—one Sylvia knew she couldn’t argue with. Sayah was starting to sound like their father. “I’ll be right back.” Sylvia nodded, though fear was tightening her chest. She sat quietly, glancing around. The howls and growls of beasts mingled with the desperate screams of people begging for their lives. Her heart pounded wildly. “Find the Black Saint! She’s still in the area!” Sylvia froze when she heard the harsh, booming voice. It was deep and terrifying, sending chills down her spine. She pressed herself closer to the tree, trembling. Oh, Sayah… please come back. Footsteps drew near. She held her breath, sweat trickling down her neck. The air felt thick with danger. Closing her eyes tightly, she prayed that if she couldn’t see them, maybe they wouldn’t see her either. “I saw the Black Saint, Diego! Over here!” Sylvia’s body went rigid. Her heart stopped. She didn’t move, didn’t breathe, until the footsteps faded into the distance. Only then did she exhale, almost collapsing in relief. “Th-thank you, Lord…” she whispered shakily. But then her eyes widened. “S-Sayah!” She stood up. Panic filled her. Should she obey Sayah’s orders—or go after her? Her heart battled her mind, but her worry for her sister won. The village was nearly destroyed. Men on horseback roamed the streets, torches in hand, setting fire to everything in sight. The heat stung her skin, but the fear in her chest was worse. She needed to find Sayah—and their parents. Moving through the ruins wasn’t easy. Sylvia hid whenever someone passed by, creeping from one burned house to another. Sweat drenched her back, and her small body trembled with exhaustion, but she pressed on. She refused to give up. She was too young to be an orphan. When a rider approached, Sylvia ducked behind a large water tank. The man’s face was scarred with a burn mark across his right cheek. Her heart thundered as he dismounted, standing dangerously close. She bit her lip, praying he wouldn’t notice her. “My lord, we’ve captured the Black Saint,” another man announced. Sylvia peeked carefully. The scarred man turned toward the warrior who had spoken, completely forgetting about his horse—and her hiding spot. Curiosity overcame her fear. She followed them quietly through the shadows until she reached the village square. What she saw froze her blood. The villagers were all kneeling, blindfolded, their hands bound. Terror was painted on every face. And then—Sylvia’s tears fell as she spotted her parents among them. Her father’s lip was bleeding. Her mother knelt beside him, crying in despair. “Who is the Black Saint?” the scarred man demanded, his voice rough and cruel. A figure stood up. Sylvia’s breath hitched when she recognized her. Sayah. Her sister stood tall despite her fear. Sylvia didn’t understand—what was a Black Saint? Sayah was just her kind, gentle sister. Ordinary. Loving. Not someone who should be hunted or killed. And then—before Sylvia could blink— The man raised his scythe… And beheaded her. Sayah’s lifeless body fell to the ground. The man with the burned face had killed her sister. Sylvia’s scream tore through the night.