Rol walked through the streets with a downcast expression. Things were spiraling out of control. His father was becoming tyrannical, coercing people to die on the throne so their loved ones could have better lives.
He looked around and sighed. The water source had been repaired, allowing people to wash daily. There was more food than before, and the damaged streets had been restored. These were all positive changes that came from their leadership, but the number of people dying had increased dramatically.
When he observed the citizens now, those who followed the leaders lived in fear—exhausted from their desperate pursuit of a better life. Those who didn't follow weren't much better off, terrified of being branded as traitors. And then there were the unexplained disappearances.
His father claimed he had no involvement, but Rol suspected it was Dol's doing. His father remained silent because he believed it was a necessary evil. Rol had no proof, but he was convinced these people were being forced to sit on the lord's chair, dying in the process just to open the bridge.
When Rol reached home, his wife welcomed him with a hug and food. Later, they went to their room to rest. They both froze. On their wall was a message:
"Rol, you doubt your father. You don't like the killing he is allowing. You are a good man, Rol. You can help stop all this. You above all know that The Cursed One is not evil. He cured you with no strings attached, he..."
Rol rushed to clean it off. "Who came inside here?"
His wife stammered back, "I don't know. I just returned from the gathering too!"
Hysterical fear gripped her—body trembling, face filled with horror.
Rol was taken aback. This wasn't the first time he had shouted at her, but she had never shown this much fear.
"It's alright!" he said, wanting to pull her close. She didn't resist, but her body continued trembling.
'We are tyrants,' he thought. This was the type of fear they, the leaders, had instilled in people. Now even his own wife saw him that way.
"Hey, please calm down. It's nothing. Father found something similar in his room too."
She sighed and hugged him back, but the fear remained.
---
"People are afraid, Father. We are proving the cultists right with our actions," Rol said during a meeting. "I truly believe we should slow down. We should show them emotionally that we care about them."
"You are blind, little one," Dol snickered. "The only love we should show them is the development we've brought!"
"Development built on blood," Rol shouted. "We have surpassed the Cursed One by now, and more are dying."
"More are dying, my child, but for the first time in five years we have pregnant women among us," Mol said in a measured voice.
"To make great change, we need to make hard choices," Dol added.
"No. Not like this. We're forcing ourselves to run when we can barely walk. This development should be gradual and agreed upon by everyone. People should have some freedom, and there should be less hierarchy."
Mol stood. "Come with me, Rol!"
Mol's power lay in Rol, his son. The boy had been born with incredible physical strength, easily reaching Rank 1 at fifteen years old and now achieving Rank 2 with all the recent developments. If he lost his son's support, the others would have an easier time scheming against him.
---
"What are you doing?" Mol asked angrily. "We are creating a revolution, and it requires sacrifice."
"Yes. 'Willing' sacrifice. People who know what they're dying for. Not like this!"
"I think the cultists have gotten into your head so much that you can't see our achievements!"
"No. Both you and I know the cultists are right. I'm your son, not a dumb brute," Rol's voice became stern, hand clenched. "You ordered me to kill Gole, and I did it because I believed we didn't need an alien child to rule us. I believed we had the power to determine our destiny. Even now I stand by that belief, but I will not be silent when people are suffering and dying just because we want to make things better."
Mol sighed and placed his hand on his son's shoulder. The boy had really grown up. He came closer and whispered, "I want to become a Lord for you... so you will inherit from me. It's your birthright."
Rol moved away. "I don't want a chair smeared with the blood of innocents," he growled.
Mol calmly beckoned him closer. "Let me tell you a secret." When Rol didn't approach, Mol came to him and whispered, "I'm pushing faster because the alien won't stay long. In two weeks he'll be gone, and without him we won't be able to open the bridge."
Rol froze. "I thought he was here to rule us forever."
"No. He's here for just two months, and we're running out of time."
Rol shook his head. "If he wasn't here for long, why were all these plans? Even if he ruled us, he's bound to leave!"
"You are an ignorant boy. If we let him leave, we won't be the leaders. Do you know who will be?"
Rol shook his head.
"The Misfortune Teller. She's a Rank 8 powerhouse. We won't stand a chance against her. And there are other Rank 7 and 6 fighters hiding among us. They've just forgotten everything. Once they remember, we won't have power."
Mol was now shaking Rol, trying to drill the implications into him.
"Still, we shouldn't be demons to our people. I believe we should have done better than this!" Rol said.
"Fine. What do you think we should do?" Mol asked.
Rol had no immediate answer. Things had gotten too complicated for instant solutions. "Slow down the intense activities we make the weak people do!"
Mol sighed and nodded. "You know what, you're right!"
Rol sighed, knowing his father wasn't truly convinced and he wouldn't be fooled.
"The activity is indeed hard because they're partially sick even with the healing," Mol added, stroking his grey beard. "How about this—convince the alien to heal 100 or more people. That way we will..."
Rol stepped back. "Why would I go to that alien? We know nothing about his powers. What if he can still harm us?"
"He can't," Mol smiled. "I went there last month and even touched his face. He did nothing." He locked his hands behind his back. "He's here to aid us. Any chance to do that, he'll take it. Just be smart about convincing him."
Rol remained skeptical, but Mol had a way with words and eventually convinced his son.
After Rol left, Mol sighed, feeling a headache coming on. He'd known that Rol was growing irritated with their methods, but he hadn't expected the boy to have the courage to confront them directly.
'It's a good thing he came to us now, rather than siding with the cultists,' he thought.
"Ah, man. I didn't know a cruel old man could birth a softie!" Dol emerged from his hiding place with a smug grin. "You know, the source of Rol's worries is his wife. It's her kindness that's rubbing off on him."
Mol walked away, giving him no audience. 'I need to pull Rol back on the right track. If not, these vultures will devour me!' His gaze landed on a queue of people before the ancestral building.
Each person was accompanied by their loved ones, who were well-clothed and fed. They were the sacrifices—fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, siblings, friends—all standing together. One from each group would go and sit on the lord's chair until they died, and the price was that their loved ones would receive lifelong care with food, clothing, and easier jobs.
A boy looked at an old man and bowed. "Greetings, Leader!" His father bowed with the same greeting.
"Be a good boy, okay? No more stealing from the bakery. Work well in the gathering. Also, don't wait for me—I'm traveling to another world. I'll bring gifts and more fruit for you!" The man kept talking to his son before being beckoned inside.
"Yes, Father." The boy bowed repeatedly until his father vanished inside the building, then turned and ran away.
"Hey, come back here!" a guard shouted. "The gatherers are here!" He sighed, unable to follow the boy.
"That brat is a notorious thief. I don't think he can change his ways!" spat a tall man angrily—one of the boy's daily victims. He too was there with his daughter, hoping to give her a better life.
Mol looked toward where the boy had run, then turned toward where Hollow Fell was located. By now, Rol was approaching the gate.
'I doubt the alien will agree, but if he does, it's good. If he doesn't, then at least it will keep Rol occupied and prevent him from disturbing us for the time being'
---
The man entered the room he hadn't visited since the blood rain. The glass table and stone lord's chair remained the same. He stood before it, turned with a deep breath, and nodded at the guards who had guided him. The guards nodded back, and the man sat down. His body trembled as the pressure settled on him.
The guards' eyes reddened as they left.
Another sacrifice. They still hadn't grown numb to it. The first time, they had almost broken their allegiance seeing their kinsmen dying. Since then, they always left the room and returned an hour later when the person was truly dead, secretly removing the body.
"I hate Dol. He is a madman!" one of them whispered.
"No. He is evil incarnate," the other said with venom, quickly becoming silent when they saw someone passing. After a moment, they whispered again.
"I can't believe Leader Mol is agreeing with him that they shouldn't pay the families of the sacrifices what they promised," the first one whispered. "What's the meaning of their sacrifice then?"
"You have no idea. Dol is secretly choosing people he doesn't like and sacrificing them in secret. The old man knows but stays silent."
They sealed their mouths upon seeing one of Dol's men passing.
---
Rol stood before the alien. "I came to bargain."
Eiran's eyes opened, his crimson gaze making Rol step back. He took a deep breath, hesitating to remove the muzzle but ultimately deciding against it even after checking that no one was on the roof.
"I want you to help me stop the death of my people by healing 100 more people. In return, I will set you free, but under the condition that you won't interfere with our leadership."
Eiran's eyes opened wider, and moments later, the muzzle suddenly fell away. Rol stepped back in fear as the chains binding Eiran began to slacken and slip off.
"What... Father?" Rol shouted, about to run, but Eiran was already standing. Another idea struck him. "Father wants to kill me?"
That was the most logical conclusion. He had spoken out, and his father had decided to eliminate him using the alien. He fell to his knees, tears pouring out as he lamented his choices.
The life he had lived was not the one he wanted. He didn't want to be a murderer; he wanted to be a hero to his people. He wanted to be someone people would remember and smile about, not the abomination his father had created.
And now his father was killing him just because he had defied him once...
Eiran passed the weeping man as he moved toward the gate. There was an uproar inside the settlement, along with the clash of weapons.
Rol stood and looked back surprised, he was not attacked but looked at the gate.
The guards were being attacked by people, more guards were arriving, and he saw Dol running with a dangerous weapon they had acquired from another world. Dol aimed it at the alien and fired. A projectile faster than the eye could track exploded against the alien's body.
The rebellion came to a halt.
Rol stood, still able to see the alien's silhouette, though the people couldn't.
"Kill the cultists! KILL them all!" Dol shouted, his anger knowing no bounds.
Rol's eyes moved toward the people who had come to free the alien. His wife was among them. She looked different—clad in warrior's attire, red markings on her face, the stern eyes of a warrior ready to die for what she believed in.
His heart broke. She had sworn it wasn't her writing in their room, but it turned out she had been lying.