951 Grandfather and Grandson

A single drop of sweat lit. Igna left the dungeon, leaving behind a screaming woman of pitch similar to a banshee. She screamed loudly, woke prisoners, rattled the walls, and forced herself into self-harming tendencies. "-RAIDEN!" cried what would son become the crying lady of Raid. A nickname given by guards who shackled her hands without care for the shattered forearm – they had her face her dead child, left to fester and decompose – a feast for rodents and bugs. 

He climbed to the ground floor, following the radiance of the light atop. In a glance, silhouettes blocked the doorway, thrusting imposing shadows. Backlight rendered recognition a tad difficult. 

 "Majesty," whispered disappointed sighs, "-please tell us, please say you didn't just slaughter a child before their mother?"

 "Hello Alta, how's it going," he acknowledged the entourage and walked at a peaceful pace.