"Is anybody home?"
Esra wondered who it could be but she nevertheless answered, her voice carrying the same gentleness she always bore, unaware of the danger that lurked beyond the threshold of her modest home.
"I'll be right there."
As all of this happened, Sinbad was sleeping peacefully in his bed, his small chest rising and falling with each breath, purple hair splayed across his pillow. Dreams of distant lands that Darius had described filled his youthful mind—lands of ice and fire, of strange peoples and stranger customs.
Esra wiped her hands on her apron and opened the door to find two soldiers wearing the distinct armor of the New Parthevia empire. The insignia of their country proudly displayed on their breastplates.
Before she could ask why they were here, the soldier at the front said with authority, his voice sharp like the blade at his hip.
"We're searching for a spy from the enemy."
The other soldier's eyes darted past Esra, scanning the interior of the home. His gaze narrowed as it caught something—or someone—moving within.
"Is there someone here besides your husband?!" he demanded, his hand already moving to the hilt of his sword.
"What?" was all that Esra could say before she was pushed aside by one of the soldiers, the force sending her small frame crashing to the floor with a painful thud.
A blur of movement followed. A hand, calloused and strong, grabbed the soldier's face, fingers digging into flesh as another hand grabbed the sword at the man's waist. Then a scream pierced the morning air.
"AAAAHHHHH!!!"
The scream echoed through the small house, bouncing off walls and reverberating in the ears of all who heard it. With that scream, something else happened, Sinbad had awoken, torn from his dreams of adventure by the sound of terror.
He quickly pushed himself off the bed, his tiny feet hitting the cold floor as he rushed to the source of the noise. His heart pounded in his chest, fear gripping him.
When he arrived at the entrance of the house, his golden eyes widened at the sight before him. His mother lay strewn on the ground, her face contorted in pain, her dress askew.
"Mom!" Sinbad yelled in worry, his childish voice cracking with emotion.
Sinbad then heard another sound, a wet, sickening noise which sounded like something tearing into meat. It was followed by a voice, male, one which sounded like a gasp and a cry for help, desperate and dying.
Sinbad turned his head to the sound, his eyes widening further, pupils dilating with shock at the horror unfolding before him.
The door was swung open and as such he could see beyond it, a scene of slaughter painted in crimson. Two men, soldiers of the empire, lay on the ground, bleeding. Their throats gushed with blood that pooled around them, staining the earth a dark red. Their eyes were wide with surprise, mouths open in silent screams that would never be heard.
In the middle of the blood-soaked ground, a man stood, with blade in hand, blood dripping down his arm and face in rivulets. The man's blond hair was now speckled with droplets of red, his clothing soaked through.
A man which Sinbad recognized well, Darius. The storyteller. The friend. The killer.
"Mister," Sinbad asked as he looked at Darius, his infantile mind not understanding what had just occurred, unable to reconcile the kind man who told him tales of far-off lands with the killer who stood before him.
Darius' eyes darted to Sinbad, recognition and calculation flashing across his features in an instant. He thought fast, his mind racing as he evaluated his options. With a swift movement, he grabbed onto Sinbad, his strong arm encircling the boy's small body. He pressed his newly acquired blade against the boy's neck, the cold metal kissing Sinbad's soft skin.
With his hostage secured, he ran with the boy, but he was soon circled by mundanes, the people from the town who had heard the commotion and emerged from their homes. They formed a ring around him, their faces filled with fear and curiosity, yet none dared to step forward.
Esra, seeing this, pushed herself up from the floor, ignoring the pain that shot through her body. She rushed behind them, her feet barely touching the ground as she tried to catch up to the now still awakened.
"Sinbad!" she yelled, desperation clawing at her throat as she watched her son in the clutches of a killer, her voice raw with maternal fear.
"Mom!" Sinbad yelled back, tears welling in his golden eyes, but he was silenced once Darius pressed the knife closer to his neck, the blade's edge drawing a thin line of red on the boy's skin.
"What are you looking at, clear out of the way!" Darius yelled as he whacked at the crowd which ran back in fear, their courage faltering at the sight of the bloodied blade and the child it threatened.
Sinbad trembled in Darius' grip, his small body quivering with fear, yet even in his terror, confusion reigned in his mind. This was not the man who had regaled him with stories, who had laughed with him and ruffled his hair.
"Why mister?" Sinbad muttered between sobs, tears streaming down his face. "You're not the kind of guy who does something like this. When you were telling me stories you were a good guy."
Darius grit his teeth at the boy's words, a flicker of something—regret? pain?—crossing his face before disappearing behind a mask of determination. "This is my true self, I don't care about anything else but my mission. Reim military secret agent, Darius. That's who I am."
The confession hung in the air, heavy and damning. The crowd murmured, their voices a sea of whispers that washed over the scene.
Darius then turned as he looked at the crowd that was encircling him in a radius of a few meters, his eyes wild, like those of a cornered animal.
"GET ME MONEY, FOOD AND A BOAT READY AT THE BEACH," he yelled at the crowd, his voice carrying the weight of his desperation. "Right now!"
The crowd shifted nervously, eyes darting between Darius and each other, fear and indecision written on their faces.
Esra didn't know what to do, her heart pounding in her chest. She stared at her neighbors, pleading with her eyes, but they all turned their heads away in either shame or guilt. No one moved, not even Darius himself, it seemed as if this situation was too much for anyone to handle.
"Save my child. Please somebody. Please," Esra pleaded, her voice breaking, but everyone she pleaded to just looked away, unwilling or unable to help.
The silence stretched on, broken only by Sinbad's quiet sobs, until a man in the crowd, his face contorted with fear and selfishness, finally spoke.
"It has nothing to do with us. We don't want to get involved with you."
The words were like a knife to Esra's heart, she had helped these people, she knew most of them, they had been friends once, before her husband returned from the war.
Darius, looking at the still crowd, gnashed his teeth and thought about cutting everyone down, his grip on the sword tightening. But he didn't have the time for a massacre, so he simply yelled, frustration and impatience evident in his voice.
"Everyone is useless! Move over you idiots!" he yelled as he hacked at the air, causing the crowd to part ways like the sea before a storm.
A voice however rose up, calm and steady, which made Darius stop dead in his tracks.
"Darius!"
Darius looked back, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end at the familiar voice. He saw Bardr, standing there crutch in hand, his figure silhouetted against the morning sun. It seemed like he had returned from his fishing early today.
"Please let him go," Bardr said, his voice steady despite the fear that must have gripped his heart at the sight of his son at knifepoint.
"Pops!" Sinbad yelled, hope blossoming in his chest at the sight of his father.
"Darius," Bardr began as he slowly walked toward the man who held his son at blade's end. "You promised me, remember? You promised me you wouldn't cause trouble."
When he was a few feet away from Darius, Bardr fell to his knees slowly, putting his crutch at his side. The action was unexpected.
Esra, watching from a distance, felt her breath catch in her throat.
Sinbad, still in Darius' grip, stared at his father with wide eyes.
Darius himself seemed taken aback, his eyes widening at the display. Bardr was bowing to Darius, the man's forehead touching the ground, a symbol of respect and supplication.
"I beg you. Please let him go," Bardr said, his voice still calm but laced with a father's desperation. "The information that you have will be very useful to our military. If you surrender and join Parthevia your life will be saved. Please."
"Betraying my country to save my life," Darius spat, his voice seemingly laced with venom, as if the very suggestion was poison. "My mission is to serve my country and lead it to victory! I'm a proud Reim citizen!"
He yelled the last part, his voice rising in fervor, and unconsciously, his sword got closer to Sinbad's neck, the blade pressing harder against the soft flesh. The pressure made the poor boy yell in fear, his small body tensing.
"AAAAHHHH!" Sinbad's scream tore through the air, a sound of pure terror.
"I'll never betray my country, even if I die! I will never be a traitor!" Darius continued, his eyes wild with conviction, his grip on Sinbad tightening further.
"Sin!" Esra yelled, desperate, her arms outstretched as if she could reach her son from where she stood.
Bardr gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching with determination. His eyes, previously filled with supplication, now hardened with resolve. And in the next moment, everything changed.
SLASH
No one could even see what had happened. Bardr, in a blur of movement that belied his crippled state, rushed at Darius. In that same moment, he skewered Darius' chest with a blade hidden in his clothing, the steel sinking deep into flesh and bone. His free hand, moving with the precision of a seasoned warrior, grabbed onto Darius' blade and moved it to the side so it wouldn't hurt Sinbad no matter what.
Blood sprayed into the air before falling to the earth.
"I don't care if I'm called a traitor, or if people mock," Bardr spat, his calmness all but gone, replaced by a father's fury. In the same motion, he grabbed the falling Sinbad from the air, cradling his son against his chest.
Sinbad, safe in his father's arms, clutched Bardr's clothes and began to cry into them, his small body wracked with sobs of relief and lingering fear.
"However," Bardr added, his voice now low and dangerous, a promise rather than a threat, "if anyone harms my family, I'll be as sure as the gods, that they won't take another step."
Darius fell to the ground, his legs giving way beneath him. Blood began to flow down his chest and into the soil, staining it a dark crimson that spread outward like a blooming flower. The crowd that had gathered around began to disperse back into their houses, seemingly afraid of Bardr himself, the warrior they had mocked now revealed as the killer he had once been.
"You," Darius said, his voice weak, blood pooling in his mouth and staining his lips a bright red. "scoundrel."
Despite everything, despite the betrayal and the fear, Sinbad looked down at the dying man with sorrow in his golden eyes. He remembered the stories, the adventures, the worlds beyond his own that Darius had told him every night.
"Mister I liked your adventure stories," Sinbad said, his own voice catching in his throat as he looked at the man who he had grown so attached to.
"I liked them," Sinbad reiterated in tears, his words a testament to the complexity of human emotions, to the ability to find beauty even in those who cause pain.
Darius' eyes widened, as if in realization of something profound, some truth that had eluded him until this moment. Yet all he said were four simple words, the four which would be his last, carried on his final breath.
"Shut up, you kiddo."