I returned to my village at dusk, just as the sun began to hide behind the hills, as if afraid to witness what was about to come. Something is wrong. It's not just the commotion in the streets, it's not just the unsettling murmur of the crowd. It's the tension in the air, thick as the smoke from a recent bonfire. It's the heaviness on the faces of those who cross my path, their eyes cast down, the urgency in their steps. It's the smell… of fear.
Every pair of eyes that rests on me seems to hide a grim secret. They look at me with a mixture of pity and terror, as if my fate were already written and they were mere spectators of a tragedy foretold. But no one approaches. No one says a word. Did I earn their contempt while I was away? Were three weeks enough to turn me into a stranger? No… this is something else.
My unease grows like a knot in my stomach, until a hesitant figure steps away from the crowd and approaches me. It is an elderly woman, her face furrowed by tears. I recognize her: she used to visit our house often, always seeking my mother's guidance.
Her trembling hands cling to my arm, her voice barely a whisper between sobs.
"My son… forgive us. Forgive us for not protecting you." Her desperation pierces my chest like a dagger.
"What are you talking about?" My heart beats with absurd violence, as if my own body were trying to warn me of something my mind has not yet grasped.
"Tell me. What's happening?"
The old woman stifles a moan, unable to contain the tremor in her voice.
"Your family… your father… that duke."
My breath catches.
"My family… where are they?"
She sobs, but doesn't answer. Instead, with weak, trembling hands, she raises a finger and points toward the square. A chill runs through me from head to toe.
The streets that used to be my home… are now a labyrinth of shadows and whispers. The air is heavy, thick. Every breath burns in my throat. My steps quicken. I have no time.
Soldiers. Dozens of them. Stationed on every corner like vultures waiting for the dying to fall. They watch with predatory calm, their hands firm on the grips of their weapons, ready to snatch the life from anyone who dares to challenge their authority. Others advance like a plague, bursting into houses, dragging families into the street. Blows. Screams. Children's cries drowned out by the crash of doors breaking under the force of boots. The smoke from the torches twists through the air like hungry snakes.
The world I knew no longer exists.
I can't believe it. I can't believe it! It was only three weeks. How could everything fall apart in such a short time? The square…
A tumult of whispers and stifled gasps. A crowd gathered as if witnessing a grotesque spectacle. But there is no joy on their faces. No wonder, no excitement. Only horror. Then I see it. At first, just a rough wooden structure, hastily erected. A tall pillar. No… not just a pillar. A cross. And on it…
–God… no.
Horror paralyzes me, an invisible claw gripping my chest.
It can't be.
It can't be…
—Shit! No, no, no! My legs give way, my steps falter. I feel like I'm drowning in my own terror.
My father.
SHIT!
He's there. Crucified.
His body is nothing but a mangled mass of torn flesh, shreds of skin hanging like rags. Blood has stained the wood in layers—some dry, some fresh—as if his suffering had never ended, as if he were still bleeding.
The nails have done more than pierce his flesh. They have pulverized it. His hands are broken, tendons burst, fingers clenched into a useless claw. His feet, shattered to the bone, drip thick drops of black blood, as if his body still refuses to accept death.
His face…
Swollen, bruised, deformed beyond recognition. His lips cracked and dark, parted in a scream that no one heard or that everyone ignored. His eyes… are not just empty sockets
And at the top of the cross…
His head hangs limp, tilted to one side, his mouth parted in a final plea that no one heard.
A shiver of rage runs down my spine.
Sons of bitches.
The executioner, with his dry, inhuman voice, proclaims his sentence to all present:
"By order of Duke Edward Ciavattini III, we are searching for the rest of the Sapphirús family. Those who provide information on their whereabouts will be rewarded. Those who hide them… will meet the same fate.
The world turns red. A roar chokes in my throat.
Knights clad in steel rain down their fists and boots upon a woman who weeps and screams, clinging desperately to her husband's cold corpse. Her pleas mean nothing to them; her pain is a spectacle.
The boy beside him sobs, his tiny hands trying to push his mother's tormentors away. A soldier has had enough. Without hesitation, he lands a sharp punch on the boy's small face. A crack. The boy falls to the ground with a muffled whimper, his cheek bruised and his lip split.
"Sons of bitches!" My voice catches in my throat, my blood boiling. "How can you do this? He's just a damn kid!"
But they just laugh. One of them grabs the boy by the hair, shaking him like a broken doll.
"If it hurts you so much, come save him," he sneers.
My fists clench with murderous fury.
"This isn't some fucking show! Damn it! Bastard! I'm going to—!"
A piercing screech bursts into my ears, deafening, like a nail piercing my head. It stuns me, shakes me, robs me of my balance. I try to move, but my body betrays me; every muscle feels foreign, heavy, broken. Despair chokes me. I can't… I can't control my own body.
The world turns red. I'm about to scream, to lunge at them, when…
It hurts!
An unbearable burning sensation pierces my skull, as if something inside me were shattering into a thousand pieces. And then, I'm somewhere else.
I look down. A coffin. Inside, an old man with a gentle face lies motionless in death. I don't know him. I shouldn't know him. I know he's dead… but I also know I shouldn't care. And yet, it hurts
But this memory… this memory isn't mine.
I didn't experience it… but it hurts as if I had.
"What the hell is going on?"
Reality is crumbling. I feel as if something is tearing me from my own body, as if the line between the real and the impossible is dissolving like ink in water. But the pain drags me back.
The pain of seeing my father, mutilated and hanging on that cross, consumes me. It's a dagger in my chest that won't stop twisting. And the uncertainty… that damn uncertainty is tearing me apart inside. Where are my mother, my siblings? Why aren't they here with me?
No!
NO!
This can't be real!
Ahhh, the boy! I have to save him, I have to save them all… but my family, my family… Damn it! My head is going to explode, I can't think, I can't breathe.
I have to find them! I can't stay here, I have to do something!
I HAVE TO HELP THEM!!"
Stumbling, my throat constricted by anguish, I push my way through the crowd. My body betrays me. Everything I ate today is forced up in violent retches into an empty alley. My stomach cramps. My legs tremble. But I can't stop.
I have to save them.
My eyes burn with desperate determination.
Forgive me, Father. I can't do anything for you now.
But I swear to you.
On my life…
I will find them.