Blood Dowry

War

“Hand over the boy!” The soldier’s voice thundered like a breaking storm.

In the middle of the terrified crowd, Daraun clutched Lior tightly against his chest. He could feel the boy’s blood soaking into his skin, warm and steady as the Calvaris River beside them. Anger rose in his throat, but the words strangled before they could escape. Daraun pressed his lips shut, swallowing every curse that clawed at his chest.

“S-sir... he’s just a child. He knows nothing,” Daraun stammered, forcing his knees to hold. His legs, no more than skin and bone, trembled beneath him.

“Enough. To the battlefield—now!” the soldier barked, turning his back as if the world beneath him didn’t matter.

“Daraun, stay here. Look after the others,” whispered one of the men as he passed, his hand resting on Daraun’s shoulder.

“But... what if you don’t come back?” Daraun whispered back, his voice cracking as his eyes glistened.

“Then it means the script of the universe ends for us here.” The man gave a weak smile, turned, and marched away to join the others—each step heavier than the last.

Daraun lifted his gaze. The sky above was gray and thick with the smoke of war. He turned back toward the women and children who had been left behind.

“Our village is gone,” he said softly. “We should leave while we still can. Finding another place—any place—where peace still breathes… that would be a blessing. May the gods have mercy on us.”

Silence fell. Mothers pulled their children close. None of them knew whether they would still be alive tomorrow.

Lior glared up at Daraun, eyes burning. “You’re just giving up? We could fight, couldn’t we?”

“And die for nothing?” Daraun said, voice low. “It’s over, Lior. Once the men are taken, there’s no hope left. If we fight, the crows will feast for three days.”

Lior’s knees buckled. He sank to the ground, tears tracing the blood that still stained his cheek. The pain wasn’t from his wound anymore—it was from something deeper. Something no medicine could heal.

“How many crowns must we serve before we’re finally free?” he cried, looking up at Daraun with trembling voice. “Answer me, old man!”

Daraun’s voice broke as he answered, “No crown was ever born to set us free.”

That truth shattered what little strength remained in them. The sound of muffled sobs filled the air like rain on dry earth.

~o0o~

Later that night, Lior washed his face with water from a clay jar. The bleeding had stopped, but the wound—a jagged scar running from under his eye to his ear—was raw and terrible to look at.

He sat near the doorway, staring into the dark forest behind their hut. If only I could go somewhere that’s never heard of kings, he thought bitterly.

“Why do I have to live in a time like this?” he muttered, half to himself, forcing a crooked smile that fooled no one.

“Lior... there’s something I want to show you.”

Daraun’s voice broke his thoughts.

Lior turned. Daraun stood there holding an old, tattered flag—black as night, with a golden emblem in the center: two broken chains rising from outstretched hands, and a flame burning between them.

“What... what is that?” Lior whispered. He had never seen a flag like it in any kingdom.

“This,” Daraun said quietly, eyes distant, “is the banner of the Pramana Light.”

“You kept it all this time?” Lior asked, surprised.

“I did,” Daraun replied with a tired smile. “Because I still believe it will rise again one day. But it’ll take blood, Lior. A lot of blood.”

“Then I’ll raise it for you, Daraun,” Lior said, his voice fierce with conviction.

Daraun chuckled softly, though there was a shadow behind his smile. “Easy to say,” he murmured. Yet deep down, he wanted to believe the boy.

Lior frowned, frustrated by the old man’s doubt. Silence hung between them until Lior finally spoke again.

“When will the others come back from the battlefield? Are we really leaving?” he asked, lying down on a pile of dried leaves and pulling a worn blanket over himself.

“I don’t know,” Daraun admitted. “No one ever has.”

“I have a bad feeling,” Lior whispered, eyes glistening again.

“So do I,” Daraun said softly, rubbing his face with his rough hands. “But the universe weaves its tragedies the way it wants. Try to sleep, child. Tomorrow we’ll have a long road ahead.”

“I can’t sleep, Daraun. What if tonight we get bad news?” Lior’s voice quivered. His heart raced twice its usual beat.

“Don’t think like that,” Daraun whispered, though his own heart was heavy with doubt.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Lior said suddenly, gripping Daraun’s hand. “You’re all I have left since my parents died.”

Daraun squeezed his hand back. “I’m not going anywhere. And even if I do, I know you’ll survive.” He smiled faintly. “Now, rest.”

“It’s still early,” Lior protested, sitting up.

“Then sleep early—so you’ll have strength to run if we have to.”

“You sound like we’re escaping at midnight,” Lior grumbled, pouting.

Daraun chuckled. “Who knows?” he teased.

The sun dipped below the horizon. A distant rumble of hooves broke the quiet, sending a chill through the air. These weren’t the steady steps of patrol horses—these were wild, frantic, uneven. From the direction of the battlefield.

“Daraun... what’s that sound?” Lior asked, clutching his blanket tighter.

“I’m not sure... but it sounds like war,” Daraun whispered.

He rushed outside. Birds scattered wildly across the smoky sky. The earth trembled beneath their feet.

“RUN! EVERYONE RUN! THE VILLAGE IS TURNING INTO A SEA OF BLOOD!” Daraun shouted.

The stillness shattered. Screams filled the air as people fled toward the forest. The roar of battle grew louder. Buildings collapsed in the distance. Thousands of arrows blackened the sky, falling like rain upon anything that moved.

Daraun pulled Lior close and dove under a thick tree as arrows struck the ground around them.

“Damn it! I won’t die a slave!” Lior shouted, his voice raw with fury, eyes burning red.

“Don’t be foolish—run!” Daraun yelled, grabbing Lior’s hand again. As the rain of arrows began to fade, they ran—together—into the dark forest, chasing whatever hope remained.