From the moment I was old enough to walk, I was taught the stories of the glorious knights of Crimson.
The superhuman knights that could wield flame and lightning in defense of our great and prosperous nation, Eld.
Wherever they fought, the enemies of our country died in droves, leaving a flood of crimson in their wake.
Since I understood what the knights did for the country, and how they protected us, I wanted -oh, so desperately I wanted!- to be one of them.
I remember watching them pass through my village and stay for the night. Oh, how happy I was to witness the heroes I was taught of!
That happiness vanished the moment one of their swords bisected my mother's body.
I still remember the shouts of anger from the Crimson knights that day. I never forgot the faces of terror of my peers, the savage efficiency with which the knights decimated the villagers, and the screams of anguish that saturated the air that night.
"She's a witch! She has to be!"
"Kill the witch!"
"Unholy creature!"
"Monster!"
Monster. That word stuck with me for the rest of my life.
Monster? Who was the real monster here?
The woman who had raised an obedient and bright daughter, or the knights that murdered an entire village for no reason.
I turned and fled that night; abandoned all I knew and loved in favor of my own survival.
I hid in a tree for nearly a day, shivering in fear and cold as I prayed vehemently I would not be found.
After my hunger became unbearable, I climbed down and returned to the village....or what was left of it.
The ground had been covered by an inconsistent red, sprayed from the bodies that laid in a macabre tableau.
That was the moment I understood what the Crimson they left behind was. It was blood.
As soon as I understood this, I felt the reality of my situation come crashing down - along with my worldview.
What glory? There was no glory in the slaughter of village people! What honor? They wiped my village off the face of the planet!
I sobbed my heart out that day. In the coolness of the forest around me, I screamed in anguish and indignation.
Why did I need to suffer like this? Why could they do this to us? Why?
WHY?
I wept until I had no tears left to shed; no sorrow left to feel.
All I had left was anger and thirst.
A thirst for vengeance.
There are many instances of people who use power to do the wrong things, even if they claim them to be for the right reasons.
In the end, does the means justify the result? Should we stray from the path of good to accomplish our end goal? Or should we stay upon the path of righteoussness, no matter the cost?