Betrayers and the Betrayed

"He must be sacrificed! Both of them! To appease the wrath of Da'!" shouted Galosh, standing in the center of Rhazab Kash village square, pointing straight at Rogg and Robb as they trudged out from the crowd.

Two of the five men who had survived the destruction of Rhazab Gush lowered their heads, unable to meet the boys' eyes. Meanwhile, Galosh and the other two remained loud, trying to convince the village elders that the two children brought misfortune.

"Listen! They're Brovos' sons! Their father cursed our village! And now you want to let the children of that cursed man walk free?" Galosh barked, his voice sharp with venom.

Rogg clenched his fists but stayed still. Beside him, Robb lowered his head, his eyes glistening.

"Your father was a coward! Brovos brought the Lagosh to Rhazab Gush!" Galosh continued provoking the villagers, his voice growing more intense.

"My father wasn't a coward," Rogg said quietly, but firmly.

"What did you say, boy?" Galosh stepped forward, glaring at Rogg with a threatening stare. "Your father is the reason we lost our home! If he hadn't defied the offering to the god and insisted on saving the weak, the Lagosh would've never come!"

"He saved us... and many others!" Rogg suddenly shouted, his voice trembling with emotion. "You were the ones who ran! You panicked and led the Lagosh to our village! You abandoned your own families!"

"Enough!" A deep voice boomed through the square.

Yaghal stepped forward, tall and imposing, a bow slung across his back and a Heraxes sword in his hand.

"Those children are not to blame," he said calmly. "You all know who Brovos was. And you know who the real cowards are."

Silence fell over the crowd.

"Brovos saved my life once, during a hunt in the Dark Swamp. He stood against a swamp tiger barehanded. He—he wasn't a coward," Yaghal continued, his voice low but unwavering.

The elders exchanged looks. Some nodded slightly, but others—especially those close to Galosh—still looked uncertain.

"We cannot kill children out of fear of the past," Yaghal said again. "But if you insist on sending them away, then I'll make sure they leave with proper supplies."

That night, Yaghal sat across from Rogg and Robb beside a small fire at the edge of the village.

He handed them extra weapons, in addition to what they had from their father, Brovos.

"This is an obsidian spear. Sharp, lightweight, good for both close combat and throwing," he said, handing it to Rogg.

"That… that knife looks like my father's," Rogg said in surprise, looking at the short blade with its dark wooden hilt.

Yaghal nodded. "A gift from Brovos. A symbol of our friendship. Now it's yours." He gave the Heraxes knife to Robb.

He also handed over three small pouches filled with roots and dried nuts. "Use these wisely. You'll need everything out there."

Robb clutched the pouch tightly. "Thank you, Uncle Yaghal…"

Yaghal nodded, then looked at them for a long moment. "Tomorrow morning, go south. Find your uncle. Don't come back. Don't stop."

Rogg stood and gave a firm nod. "We won't fail Father."

The next morning, they left the village. No one saw them off. Only the wind and the soft crunch of footsteps along the dirt path headed south.

Robb glanced back at the village one last time. "We're never coming back here… are we?"

Rogg shook his head. "No. We'll find a place that accepts us… and it's not here."

Fifteen Years Ago…

The village of Rhazab Gush lay southwest of Rhazab Kash. It was founded by Brovos—once a respected hunter and leader who no longer saw eye to eye with the elders. He chose to take those who had been cast aside, forgotten, labeled as burdens.

"Come with me," he said one night to the people gathered quietly behind his house. "If we keep living like this, we're just waiting to die."

Yaghal, at the time the only hunter who matched Brovos' skill, had wanted to go too.

"But they need you here," Brovos said, patting his friend's shoulder. "I'll protect the ones who leave. You protect the ones who stay."

With a heavy heart, Yaghal let his friend go. And so Rhazab Gush was born—founded on courage and belief.

But not everyone who followed had pure intentions.

Galosh, the nephew of one of the elders, joined simply to escape his father's shadow. Though he admired Brovos, fear ruled his heart when disaster struck.

When Brovos left with a few hunters to find food, a pack of Lagosh appeared from the north. Brovos made a quick decision: lure them away, sacrificing himself to buy time for the village to prepare.

But Galosh and a few others turned back toward the village. "The swamps are deep enough! They won't get through!" he claimed at the time.

They were wrong. The swamps around Rhazab Gush were shallower than they thought. The Lagosh crossed easily.

The village was devastated. Brovos returned before it was too late. He rushed to warn the people and find his family.

"Rogg! Robb!" he shouted as he ran down the village path.

After hiding his sons, he took them to the chicken coop, covered them with mud, and gave them his final instructions.

"Don't come out until the Lagosh are gone. If I don't return, go to Guava Valley. Find your uncle."

They nodded, lips sealed in fear.

Brovos meant to search for his wife, who had gone out to collect firewood—but scattered bodies forced him to join the battle instead.

He fought alone to save the villagers.

More Lagosh kept pouring into the village.

And he never came back.

Two Weeks After Rogg and Robb Left Rhazab Kash...

That night was bitterly cold. A thin mist hung over the hills surrounding Rhazab Kash, while gray clouds loomed low in the sky. Then came a tremor—subtle, but rhythmic. The thundering steps of Lagosh, towering beasts that resembled a mix of man and gorilla, echoed across the rocky slopes.

The first scream came from the eastern edge of the village.

"LAGOSH!! THE LAGOSH ARE COMING!!"

Panic exploded. Villagers ran, clutching their children, fleeing toward the swamp. But one Lagosh—larger than the others—smashed through the village's wooden gate with a single blow. Houses collapsed. Screams turned into sobs and cries of agony.

"Grab your weapons! Fight back!" one of the hunters shouted.

The adult men, armed with makeshift bows, spears, and axes, stood against beasts that towered over twenty meters high. They fought with all they had, but human flesh was too fragile.

Yaghal, the village's greatest warrior, was flung into a pile of rocks. His hand was bleeding, his right arm nearly torn off. But he rose, teeth clenched in pain, crawling toward the spear that had landed meters away.

"If this is the end… then let it be their heads, not ours, that fall," he muttered under his breath.

With a sudden leap, Yaghal climbed onto the back of the largest Lagosh. Though he could no longer use his right arm, he drove his left hand again and again into the creature's neck. At last, black blood gushed out. The giant collapsed with a thunderous crash.

When the attack faded, the remaining villagers huddled behind crumbling structures. A few Lagosh became trapped in the swamp and eventually retreated.

But just as the people began to recover, a new chaos unfolded. Five uninjured men—among them Galosh, the nephew of one of the late elders—started collecting valuables from the dead.

"Grab the jewelry from the north side! Gather any livestock still alive!" Galosh ordered.

Yaghal, exhausted, limped toward him. "What are you doing?! The village just lost hundreds of lives!"

Galosh grinned. "The dead don't need gold, Yaghal. What we need now... is a new leader."

"A new leader?" Yaghal narrowed his eyes.

"Yes. The elders are gone. My father… my uncle… all of them are dead. It's time for someone to take charge."

"You weren't even here when the Lagosh attacked! You ran, Galosh!"

Galosh stepped forward arrogantly. "But I'm still alive. And I didn't lose a hand like you. Look at yourself, Yaghal. You're broken. This world belongs to the strong."

Yaghal clenched his only remaining fist. But before he could strike, Galosh's supporters swarmed him and beat him down. Blood dripped from his brow.

Within a week, Galosh declared himself ruler of the village. No one dared oppose him. He ruled with an iron grip, forcing submission from everyone.

"Anyone who doesn't pay tribute will not be protected from the next attack!" Galosh bellowed during the village's first post-attack meeting. "It'll take effort to rebuild!"

The villagers said nothing. Many cried silently, especially those who had lost loved ones to the Lagosh. But they had no choice. Galosh was now surrounded by dozens of young hunters eager to profit.

The remaining elders grew uneasy. They realized that Galosh hadn't just seized power—he had become a tyrant.

"We can't let this continue," one elder whispered to Yaghal.

But things only got worse. Ash rain from the northern volcano choked off all routes out of the village. Lagosh began to reappear in the surrounding valleys. The village was under siege. Hunters refused to go out, too afraid to die. Only Yaghal continued to hunt—despite having only one working arm.

"Your hunts are saving lives, Yaghal," said a mother, hugging her child.

Yaghal offered a weary smile. He knew, as long as Galosh remained in power, the suffering wouldn't end.

One grim night, the sky turned dark again. Thick fog and ash rain reduced visibility to nothing. Without warning, a wandering Lagosh burst through the village defenses.

"EVERYONE, GET READY!" Yaghal roared, sprinting toward the beast.

A brutal battle erupted. Yaghal led the defense, climbing onto the creature's back, biting down on the hilt of his blade as he avoided its massive claws. With a final thrust to the throat, the Lagosh collapsed.

But Galosh twisted the narrative once again.

"I lured it into the swamp!" he proclaimed. "It was my trap that made it easy to kill!"

The villagers hesitated. They had seen who truly fought. But hunger and fear kept them silent. Galosh seized all remaining food and weapons.

The elders met in secret. "We must get rid of him… or this village will die," one of them said.

Even one of Galosh's uncles—who had once defended him—now lay dying. He pulled Yaghal close and whispered with his last breath, "We were wrong... we let him grow... into a monster…"

Yaghal nodded. "We'll fix this."

But their plan failed. Galosh found out. Coldly, he killed his own uncle in front of everyone.

"From this day forward," he declared, "anyone who defies me dies. I'm not just your leader—I am the law."

Rhazab Kash had become a place without hope. Galosh's reign was absolute. The surviving villagers lived in fear, working endlessly under the rule of a tyrant they despised but could not defy.

And amid the ruins, in hushed voices, one name was still whispered...

"Rogg… Robb… if you're alive and strong now… come back… this village needs you…" whispered Yaghal, gazing southward.