The chains bit into Veythor's ankles as Darius and two others hauled him upward. His small frame swung in the night air, blood rushing to his head, hair dangling like a dark veil. The fire below hissed and spat, the heat licking his skin before the flames even touched him. Sparks leapt upward as though eager to taste his flesh.
Shimi's muffled sobs carried from the shadows, each trembling note breaking against the night like fragile glass. Raika, however, stared blankly, hollow eyes following the boy's inverted form as though he were already seeing a corpse hanging before burial.
The tribe gathered closer. A sea of faces flickered in the firelight, eyes reflecting greed, cruelty, hunger. They leaned in, waiting not for answers, not for truth, but for the sound they craved most. Screams. The snapping of a child's spirit. The final cry of surrender.
