Breaking Point

Within minutes, Darius reached the outskirts of the village where the attack had occurred. The rain poured relentlessly, soaking him to the bone. As he drew closer, a foul stench hit him—an unmistakable mix of blood and decay. His heart sank.

The muddy road before him was strewn with bodies. Men and children lay lifeless, their forms twisted in death. The rain did little to cleanse the horror; instead, it painted the scene in a grim palette of red and brown. Darius froze, his breath catching as his eyes fell on a familiar figure. Avarora.

Her lifeless body was tossed carelessly by the side of the road, as if she were nothing more than discarded refuse. For ten agonizing minutes, Darius stood motionless, staring at the carnage. Questions tore through his mind. Why did this happen? How could anyone justify such barbarity?