The air hung heavy with an admixture of fear and defiance as Alistair stood pulsing, brand gripped tightly in his hand. General Ecolier, a man reared like a bull with a cruel glint in his eyes, laughed, the sound echoing through the clearing.

Alistair's fear was a palpable presence, cold sweat sticking to his skin despite the cool forestland air. Yet, a flicker of defiance sparked in his eyes. He wouldn't surrender without a fight.

"I'll fight you before I die," he rasped, his voice slightly a tale. The words sounded foreign on his lips, yet they were each he had. Ecolier's smile widened." Foolish child," he snickered." You have the spirit of a sparrow trapped in a Hawk's cage."

Soldiers charged towards him, a surge of glinting sword. Alistair raised his Sword, a flicker of stopgap sparking in his chest. He knew he was outmatched, but the will to live burned bright. Replacing the terror in his eyes was a flicker of defiance. He wouldn't surrender without a fight.

"Well, Well," he boomed, his voice trickling with recreation." Looks like the little rabbit has some claws after all. But a tiny scratch from a kitten will not stop a lion, will it?"

General Ecolier barked a command, halting the soldiers in their tracks." Leave him to me," he boomed, a cruel smile twisting his lips. The soldiers parted, their eyes fixed on Alistair.

Alistair, his voice pulsing slightly, gripped his new sword tightly." Why are you doing this? There has to be another way. Can not we solve this peacefully?" General Ecolier threw back his head and laughed, a harsh, grating sound that echoed through the clearing."Peace? You speak of a fairy tale, boy. A dream fantasied by those too weak to face reality."

Alistair's jaw gripped." But there is always a better way! Violence only creates further violence."

Ecolier Snored."Listen. In this world, child, strength is the only language understood. Power speaks louder than pleas for peace. Look around you. This village thrived on peace, and where did it get them? Ruined. Burned to the ground."

Alistair's eyes inspected the destruction, his heart heavy."

"But wouldn't peace have prevented this? Why attack an innocent villagers?"

Ecolier leaned closer, his voice low and dangerous."Peace is a luxury, boy. A transitory moment between battles. There are wolves in the world, always empty, always looking for weakness. You show weakness, you get devoured."

Alistair recalled his father's words, a cherished memory amidst the chaos. "My father used to say, 'True peace comes not from the absence of conflict, but from the willingness to overcome it.'"

Ecolier scoffed. "Your Father is a dreamer, just like you. The world doesn't work that way. Sometimes, the only way to overcome conflict is to crush it under your heel."

Alistair felt a flicker of anger fire within him."So, you believe there is no hope for peace? No chance for coexistence?"

Ecolier's eye turned cold."Hope is a dangerous thing, boy.It clouds judgment and makes you vulnerable. There is only survival, and in this world, the strong survive and the weak perish."

Ecolier stepped forward, his brand flashing in the sun." Now then." he began, his voice dropping with distraction. Alistair dived forward, a wave of despair fueling his attack.

Steel metal sword in a loud clang. Ecolier, towering over the slight boy, fluently diverted the blow. He broke up, the sound harsh and grating. " Well," he smiled." You have a sword, but a tiny bone at that. Almost comical."

The weight of Ecolier's sword forced Alistair back. He stumbled, his hands shaking with a shake that spread through his entire body. Ecolier pressed his advantage, launching a grim assault. Alistair desperately escaped each blow, the clang of metal a terrifying negation to his hammering heartbeat. Ecolier's blows were deliberate and important, driving Alistair back step by step. The boy's foot caught on a gnarled root, and he fell to one knee. Ecolier impended over him, his sword raised high.

Ecolier swung his sword with practiced comfort, the heavy weapon a blur in his grip. Alistair, fuelled by adrenaline and fear, escaped as stylish he could, but his movements were clumsy and hopeless.

The ineluctable happened with a sickening clang. Ecolier's blade struck Alistair with a force that shot shockwaves up the boy's arm. The lighter weapon flew from his grasp, clacking to the ground several measures down. Alistair stared at his empty hand, a swell of terror replacing the defiance that had flickered in his eyes moments ahead. The soldiers around them watched with a admixture of amusement and bloodlust. A cruel laugh erupted from Ecolier, the sound echoing through the clearing. The General lounged in the display of his dominance, his smile widening with each barking chortle.

Alistair climbed for his sword, but a soldier's boot slammed down on it, pinning it to the ground. Despair washed over him. This was the same dogface he'd shot with an arrow before by Alistair in his neck.

"You see, little coward," the soldier sneered.

Ecolier watched the exchange, a thoughtful look on his face. Finally, he spoke. "Soldier, Carvied, return to the camp no point in staring at him."

The injured soldier, Carvied, saluted and limped away. Ecolier turned his attention back to Alistair, the boy who lay whimpering on the ground.

"Tell me, boy," Ecolier said, his voice surprisingly mild. "Do you know how to hunt? To catch a rabbit, or any animal?"

Alistair shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes.

A cold, calculating smile spread across Ecolier's face. "Do you know how to cook?"

Alistair continued to shake his head, a sob escaping his lips.

"I imagine your parents are dead," Ecolier said, his voice devoid of sympathy. "Probably taken as slaves or worse. But listen closely." He addressed his entire troop.

"This boy is nothing but a burden. Leave him here in the forest. He'll die soon enough without food or shelter. No point wasting our time on him."

The soldiers murmured in agreement, their bloodlust sated.

Many Soilders kicked Alistair with a final show of cruelty before turning and walking away. Alistair lay there, his vision blurring with tears. He watched ants crawl on a leaf, a dragonfly flickering from flower to flower. The sounds of the forest, formerly filled with terror, now seemed distant and muted.

Collapse, both physical and emotional, washed over him. A wave of dizziness swept over him, and the forest floor seemed to tilt beneath him. The world shrank to a prick of light before fading to black. Alistair seeing crying in lying on the ground. The Birds chirping in the forests.

The smoky haze lifted from the village like a cloak, revealing the sun-dappled clearing as the soldiers departed. Gone were the rumbling carts laden with grain, gold, and food, replaced by the quiet clop of hooves fading into the distance. General Ecolier lingered before, his gaze sweeping over the remaining villagers. Their faces, etched with exhaustion and fear, seemed to sag with a newfound despair.
"Are these all of them?" he asked, his voice laced with suspicion, echoing in the sudden quiet.

"Yes, sir," a soldier replied, bowing low.

"Keep a close watch," Ecolier ordered, his face grim. "We can't afford any escapes."

A flicker of movement caught Ecolier's eye. Shadows danced across the faces of the villagers, a silent language of worry and fear. Then, a gasp ripped through the crowd, sharp and sudden like a breaking string.

There, amidst the weary faces, stood Alistair's parents. His mother, tears streaming down her face like a broken dam, clutched desperately at her husband who wore a mask of despair. Ecolier's eyes widened in surprise.

"Alive?" he breathed, a cold feeling creeping down his spine. "What will the King say?"

Alistair's mother crumpled to her knees, her sobs echoing through the clearing. "It's over," she cried, her voice raw with despair. "We're captured...and Alistair, our son...where is he?"

Her husband squeezed her hand, his own eyes welling up. "Alistair," he whispered, his voice thick with worry. "Be safe, my son. Wherever you are..."

Suddenly, a commotion erupted from the nearby forest, shattering the fragile peace. Shouts and crashing filled the air, sending a flurry of birds into the sky. Then, a young girl, barely fourteen, burst into the clearing, her village clothes billowing behind her like a ragged flag. Her face, pale and streaked with dirt, was etched with fear. Soldiers, their swords glinting in the sun like malevolent eyes, chased close behind.

With a desperate agility honed by fear, the girl darted behind a massive boulder, just as the soldiers swept past. They stopped, frustrated, their shouts echoing in the stillness of the forest.

"Spread out and search!" one soldier barked, his voice laced with urgency. "She can't be far."

The girl, her chest heaving like a bellows, pressed her ear against the rough stone. Behind her, another soldier jogged up, panting heavily.

"General says leave her," he announced, wiping sweat from his brow. "She'll just starve in the forest anyway. Back to the village entrance, everyone."

Relief flooded the girl as the soldiers retreated, their footsteps fading into the distance. Peeking from her hiding place, she caught sight of her bloodstained sword, the metal slick and crimson in the sunlight. A wave of nausea washed over her, the metallic tang of blood thick in her throat. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision.

"I...I didn't mean to..." she choked back a sob, the words catching in her raw throat. "I had no choice."

Crows are flying above in the sky. Some are standing eating the flesh of the remaining dead of the villagers, especially of the villagers who tried to escape. Crows are there flying over it.

General Ecolier stood before King Thassalor in the village's outer entrance. "Your Majesty," he announced, his voice laced with a hint of apprehension, "one of the villagers seems to know you quite well. He demanded an immediate audience with a disrespectful tone."

"Very well," the King boomed, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. "I shall meet this insolent man. But make no mistake, Ecolier," he added, his voice hardening, "any insubordination will be dealt with harshly. You and your soldiers secure the captured resources from the village. See that everything is cataloged and transported to the palace with utmost haste."

Ecolier bowed deeply. "As you command, Your Majesty," he replied, his voice betraying a flicker of unease at the King's icy demeanor. He departed with his soldiers, leaving the King with his entourage.

They approached the villagers slowly, the King's eyes narrowed in scrutiny. The stench of smoke and death still hung heavy in the air, a grim reminder of the recent violence. A low murmur of sobs and wails rippled through the crowd, a heartbreaking symphony of despair.

"Who is this man?" the King muttered to himself, a sliver of unease creeping in. "Do I recognize him?"

Tears welled up in the villagers' eyes as the King approached. He stopped abruptly, his breath catching in his throat. There, amongst the crowd, stood Alistair's father, his face contorted with a rage that seemed to burn from within. His arms were wrapped protectively around his weeping wife, her body wracked with sobs.

"Impossible," the King breathed, his voice barely a whisper. "He can't be alive..." The revelation sent a tremor of fear through him, a fear he quickly buried beneath a mask of icy indifference.

Silence descended upon the crowd as the King raised his hand, demanding quiet. His voice, dripping with venom, echoed through the clearing.

"You are all slaves now," he declared, his gaze sweeping over the villagers like a predator sizing up its prey. "You will serve me, and any resistance will be met with swift death. Does anyone dare to defy me?"

Alistair's father, fueled by righteous anger and a deep well of grief, shot up from his crouched position. A soldier lunged forward, his sword drawn, but the King stopped him with a gesture.

"Apologies, Your Majesty," the soldier stammered, lowering his head in shame.

The King's gaze locked with Alistair's father's, a silent duel raging between them. Alistair's father's eyes blazed with fury, his voice trembling with barely contained rage.

"King Thassalor," he roared, his voice thick with emotion. "What is the meaning of this? Why have you descended upon our peaceful village like a ravenous wolf? You've massacred innocent people, tearing families apart! Have you no heart? No conscience?"

The King's face remained impassive, but a flicker of something akin to annoyance played in his eyes. "Peace?" he scoffed. "You speak of peace while harboring traitors within your midst!"

Alistair's father's brow furrowed in confusion. "Traitors? What are you babbling about?"

"Do not play coy with me," the King snarled. "Where is your son, Alistair? Where is the boy who dared to defy me?"

Alistair's mother, clinging to her husband's arm, let out a fresh wave of sobs. "Our son..." she choked out, her voice barely audible. "We don't know... they took him..."

The King's eyes narrowed. "Taken? Or did he flee like a coward, abandoning his family to face my wrath?"

Alistair's father bristled. "Coward? My son is no coward! He is brave and noble, unlike the tyrant who stands before me!"

King Thassalor glared down at Alistair's father, his gaze heavy with disdain. The stench of smoke and death still clung to Alistair's father's clothes, a stark reminder of the carnage the King had wrought.

"So, you question my actions?" the King sneered. "Do you threaten me with violence? Or perhaps you'd prefer to drown yourself in your own misery and leave me to rule unchallenged?"

Alistair's father met the King's gaze unflinchingly. His calloused hands, roughened by years of honest labor, clenched into fists at his sides. "I seek answers, not violence," he countered, his voice firm despite the tremor running through him. "Why have you done this? Why have you brought death and destruction upon our village? We've always paid our taxes and never caused any trouble. What have we done to deserve this?"

Thassalor's smile, once a smug facade, faltered for a brief moment. A flicker of something akin to fear danced in his eyes, quickly masked by renewed arrogance. He cleared his throat, his voice regaining its mocking edge.

"Meetings in dusty clearings are hardly befitting a King, are they?" he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Come. You and your wife will be my… guests… in the palace. We'll continue this… enlightening conversation there."

The King's smile stretched wider, revealing a hint of something akin to predatory glee. It was a smile that sent shivers down the spines of even the most hardened soldiers. A smile that hinted at something far more sinister than a simple audience.

The King barked an order, and two soldiers stepped forward, their expressions grim. They moved towards Alistair's parents, their armor clinking softly as they walked. Alistair's mother, her face etched with grief and defiance, locked eyes with her husband. In that silent exchange, they shared a wealth of unspoken emotions: fear, determination, and a fierce love that even the King's cruelty couldn't extinguish.

"We won't go willingly," Alistair's mother spat, her voice surprisingly strong. "You've taken everything from us. We have nothing left to lose."

Alistair's father placed a calming hand on her shoulder. "Don't provoke him further" he murmured, his voice low and urgent. "We need to stay alive, for Alistair. There has to be a way out of this."

Alistair's Mother, her eyes blazing with defiance, reluctantly nodded. As the soldiers grasped their arms, she cast a desperate glance back at the villagers, her voice cracking with emotion.

The villagers, cowed by the King's cruelty, could only watch helplessly, a knot of dread tightening in their stomachs. The King's smile seemed to widen further in the face of their despair. King Thassalor With a Cruel Smile sees them going.

Something dark and unsettling hung in the air, a sense that this capture was just the beginning of something far more sinister. The King's easy demeanor, and his theatrical invitation to the palace, it all feel like a predator luring its prey into a trap. What awaited Alistair's parents within the palace walls? Was this a twisted form of hospitality, or something far more sinister? And what did the King hope to gain by taking them captive?