Sacrifice

Chapter 3

In the grand court of the king, Eliot knelt, his hands tied, feeling a rush of confusion. "Did I just magically end up here too?" he wondered silently. The king, sitting tall on his throne, looked at him with a mix of curiosity and disapproval, showing the weight of ancient customs and the power he held.

"Explain yourself, traveler," the king commanded, his voice echoing through the grand hall. "What brings you to my kingdom, and why do my soldiers deem you worthy of such contempt?"

Eliot swallowed hard, the weight of the king's scrutiny pressing down upon him like an iron vice. "Your Majesty," he began, his voice trembling with uncertainty. "I... I know not how I came to be here. I am but a humble villager, caught in the cruel whims of fate."

The courtiers exchanged murmurs of disbelief, their gazes flickering between Eliot and the imposing figure of the king. The soldiers who had brought him here stood stoically at attention, their expressions masked by the rigid discipline of their training.

The king's brow furrowed in contemplation, his mind grappling with the gravity of the situation. "A villager, you say?" he mused, his voice a low rumble that echoed through the chamber. "Interesting..."

Suddenly, the air crackled with tension as the king rose from his throne, his presence commanding the attention of all who stood before him. "It seems fortune has favored us with an unexpected offering," he declared, his words carrying the weight of centuries-old tradition.

Eliot's heart sank as he realized the gravity of the king's decree. In this kingdom, it was customary for a random villager to be sacrificed each month, a grim tribute to the gods in exchange for the powers humanity had been blessed with. It was a tradition steeped in ancient ritual and upheld by the royal family, whose members wielded the ability to strip and wield powers of unimaginable magnitude.

Although Eliot had not been in this world very long his observations came to one judgement rather fast, Eliot knew that the powers bestowed upon the majority of humanity were nothing extraordinary mere parlor tricks compared to the awe-inspiring abilities of the elite few. And yet, he also knew that in the eyes of the king and his court, he was little more than a pawn in their game of power and prestige.

With the king's decree hanging heavy in the air, Eliot felt the weight of inevitability pressing down upon him. He knew that in this kingdom, tradition held sway over reason, and the whims of the royal family were law.

Amidst the murmurs of the courtiers, Eliot's mind raced, desperately seeking a way out of the looming despair. But in the midst of his turmoil, a single voice pierced through the air, echoing with defiance and bravery. It was a villager, their face hidden in shadow, yet their words resounded with courage and determination.

"This is madness!" the villager cried, their voice ringing out like a clarion call in the silence of the throne room. "We cannot sacrifice one of our own to appease the gods! We are not pawns to be played with by the whims of kings and nobles!"

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd, the villagers emboldened by the courage of their anonymous champion. Even some of the courtiers exchanged uneasy glances, their loyalty to tradition warring with the stirrings of doubt in their hearts.

As the defiant villager's words echoed through the throne room, challenging the king's word with unwavering resolve, the air crackled with tension. The courtiers exchanged nervous glances, their eyes darting between the king and the courageous speaker who dared to defy his authority.

With a sudden, chilling resolve, the king rose from his throne, his expression a mask of cold indifference as he fixed his gaze upon the villager who had dared to challenge him. "Exile," he intoned, his voice a command that sent shivers down the spines of all who heard it.

In an instant, the air around the villager shimmered with an ominous energy, crackling with power as though responding to the king's decree. And then, with a blinding flash of light, the villager disintegrated before the eyes of the horrified onlookers, their form crumbling into nothingness as though they had never existed at all.

A stunned silence descended upon the throne room, broken only by the sound of Eliot's ragged breaths as he stared in shock at the spot where the villager had once stood. The king's words echoed in his mind, a grim reminder of the unfathomable power wielded by the royal family.

In that moment, Eliot knew that he stood on the precipice of a dangerous game—a game where the stakes were nothing less than life and death, and the rules were written in blood and betrayal.