THEY DARTED DOWN the cobblestoned roads, weaving through throngs of people attempting to get to the designated area of execution.

       As Maarit whirred past villager after villager, the deafening noises blurred together and their sources became indistinguishable. The sound of their shoes pounding the cobblestones was drowned out by the tumult. She distinctly heard tones of concern, aggrieved laments and furious grunts. All around her, as she and Helios tailed after Keion, people of all ages rushed to the village's centre in a frenzy.

       The sun was strong, but there was still a faint breeze in the air that slightly alleviated the heat given off by the golden rays, which were left unobscured—there was not a single cloud in the sky. The sunlight bounced off of Maarit's sleek black hair, causing it to appear onyx.

       Maarit knew they had finally reached the centre of the village by the sheer amount of people crowded there. There was a certain consternation that fell over the inhabitants like a blanket. Their mouths moved and the anxious mutters dragged on, but all eyes were fixated on the elevated platform in the very middle.

       Atop the platform was the wooden guillotine, containing a sharp, suspended metal blade—the device used for decapitation; the horrid and cruel means for execution. It peered out at the crowd haughtily, daring anyone to challenge it and return triumphant. And, just beside it, an innocent teenage boy stood, naked and in shackles.

       Maarit craned her neck to be able to get a better view—but to no avail. She was aware of Keion and Helios beside her, and gestured to them to push through the crowds and reach the front. Keion complied enthusiastically, but Helios hesitated and hung back.

       "What's the matter?" Maarit asked him loudly, to compete with the voices of the entire village. She enunciated each word carefully, so that even if he did not hear her, he would at least be able to read her lips. "Come here, I'll show you how to push people aside! It's just like this: MOVE!" she yelled, unapologetically shoving her way between two men.

       She reached out blindly for Helios's hand and grasped it tightly, pulling him through as well.

       They rudely manoeuvred their way through the audience until they reached Keion, a few rows back from the front. Finally able to have an improved view of the scene, Maarit raised her eyes once again to the naked boy in shackles.

       The boy looked no more than fifteen or sixteen years old. His ribs protruded in the sickly thin way of someone who did much manual labour, but was given very little to eat—such was most likely true, since he was a servant. His lips were cracked and parted, and there was an expression of pure agony carved onto his facial features perennially. Maarit's stomach flipped unpleasantly when she lowered her eyes to his waist and came to the realization that he had been emasculated.

       He appeared to be so fatigued that Maarit did a double take to check that he was not already dead. Alas, his chest was still heaving and his forehead still dripped a steady stream of sweat. The sun scorched his ebony skin, which shone not only with sweat, but with tears. His eyes—with close to no visible sign of life—rolled back in his head, for only the whites were still visible.

       There were men surrounding him, preventing him from escaping. One of them brandished a whip. With a pang, Maarit realized that he was slashing the sinless teenager's bare back continuously. His skin was so dark that she almost failed to notice the deep vermilion blood that stained his entire body and trickled down his legs.

       It was clear that they had used other methods of torture on him prior to Maarit's arrival at the scene. She could not help but notice that his skin had large welts on it. A wave of nausea rolled over her as she came to the conclusion of just what they had done to him: they had burned his back in order to magnify the pain from the whipping.

       His back was whipped again, causing the boy to cry out. A spluttering, gagging sound leapt from his throat—he seemed to be choking on his own blood and tears; drowning in them.

       With each blow the servant took, Maarit felt Helios cringe beside her. He eventually tore his eyes away, as though unable to watch the boy's suffering any longer. Keion, on the other hand, stared unwaveringly at the boy as he was tortured, as though he was in a trance and was unable to look away.

       On an impulse, Maarit began indignantly muttering a spell of attack that she had memorized under her breath. She was directing it at the man who was whipping the boy, until she felt a hand cover her mouth and was unable to finish the spell.

       She shoved Keion's hand away violently and turned to face him. Though she was a head shorter than he was, she seemed to tower over him when she was angry.

       "Keion, get—your hands—off of me!" she growled, glaring at him. "What are you doing?"

       "What are you doing, Maarit?!" he shouted, outraged. His eyes glinted wildly out of anger. He leaned down to whisper in her ear, so that no one would be able to hear his next words. "You cannot just use spells on the king's people! Do you honestly think that you can stop this?"

       "Yes," she hissed contemptuously, her eyes filled with determination.

       "Maarit, they're going to kill him anyway, whether he's innocent or not," he answered unequivocally.

       "He is."

       "Fine, he's innocent—but it still makes no difference," he whispered to her. "You'd just be putting a target on your own head if you attacked his executioners!"

       "Why are you suddenly so level-headed?" she shot back venomously, profoundly baffled by his attitude. They were both impulsive and constantly prevented each other from acting foolish, but he should have been taking action, just as she was attempting to do. "You were the one that wanted to revolt because a man you dislike has taken the throne!"

       "Yes, I can revolt. But not you. I told you this before: I don't want anything to happen to you."

       "Why? Is it because I'm a woman that you seem to think I am unable to handle myself?"

       "No, no, it isn't about that—I'm confident that you can handle yourself quite well—probably even better than—"

       Cheers erupted, interrupting the argument between Maarit and Keion. Maarit's stomach sank as she saw the boy being led towards the guillotine. He was secured in the stocks at the bottom of the decapitation device, blood spewing from the open wounds on his back. His body shook with violent spasms.

       The silver blade—which would soon punish a boy for a crime he had not committed—glinted dangerously in the sunlight.

       Maarit suddenly felt something weighing down her left shoulder and realized that it was Helios's head. He had buried his face into the crook of her neck, cowering like a young child. Her heart softened and she weaved her fingers through his hair in an attempt to comfort him. He was too sensitive to see such suffering.

       Helios spoke softly to her, his voice trembling. "You're alright with seeing this?"

       Maarit nodded, before realizing that his eyes were shut tightly and that he could not see her. "Yes, I'm fine," she said truthfully. "It does not bother me the way it bothers you. I'm definitely angered by it, but blood doesn't bother me."

       "You alright, brother?" Keion asked sympathetically, without tearing his eyes from the guillotine; there was a slight, nearly imperceptible quiver in his voice.

       "Fine," Helios mumbled back.

       The executioner glared down at the servant; then he spat on him, causing a cheerful uproar from the crowd. Maarit's heart pounded, and she longed to reach out for the servant and save him from the horrors he was experiencing—however, she could do no such thing.

       At last, the executioner declared, with an almighty roar, "For King Tevenot!" The villagers echoed his words.

       When he dropped the blade, the boy was beheaded in an instant, and the platform and cobblestoned roads were spattered with blood.

       The servant's head hit the ground balefully—but the hollow sound never reached Maarit's ears. It became overpowered by the roar of the crowd. It was exactly as Maarit had seen it in her vision the night before. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end at the very thought of a single thing from that prophecy coming true.

       But it was all coming true. Soon, the ruination and death would be caused by the man who was truly responsible for the death of the king—Theodoracius.

       And in the shadows, just barely visible through the numerous guards crowded around him to protect him, Maarit spotted King Theodoracius mounted upon his pure white horse. Her eyes trailed over him both wrathfully and curiously. On his head, the king's crown was perched, denoting his dominance and authority.

       His face was devoid of any apparent emotion. However, Maarit noted that it was in his eyes that his true feelings were displayed. As he looked at the villagers, there was an iciness in his gaze. The internal wounds should have been fresh. Nevertheless, there was not a trace of sadness or despair at the fact that his father had died mere hours ago.

       That—more than any prophecy—was proof of his culpability.