The ground shook violently. In the distance, a loud rumble could be heard. Lyra, a young girl with dark hair and ruby-colored eyes, let out a cry. She clung hard to the gold and white robes of a young woman who shared her unusual eye color. The young woman of seventeen gently squeezed Lyra's hand. She was beautiful, with ash-colored hair braided with ribbons of gold.
"It's okay. There's nothing to fear, sister," said Isadora. Her voice was sweet and confident. "The gods will protect us."
Lyra glanced at her sister. She was only eight years old, yet her eyes held nothing but worry and doubt. They sat on the ground in the corner of a dark room. Their small house was beginning to crumble around them. And terrified voices were urgently passing outside their door.
Suddenly, a loud knock struck the door. Lyra let out a terrified whimper, clinging to Isadora.
"It's okay, Lyra," said Isadora, gently removing Lyra's hands and standing up. "Yes?"
The door swung open, and a young man entered. Isadora's face erupted into relief. She ran to him, and they embraced:
"Christos! I thought they had taken you."
"I barely escaped. They took the other priests. Last I heard, they have all been beheaded in the square."
Isadora let out a gasp, placing her hands over her mouth in shock. Her eyes filled with tears.
"Why is this happening?" she asked. Her voice trembled.
Christos ran his hand through his long blond hair. "I don't know, Issy." He wore the same gold and white robes that Isadora wore.
Lyra watched as Christos and Isadora suddenly grasped hands. They looked at each other with a sense of urgency—like lovers who knew their time together was ending.
After a moment, Christos removed his hand from Isadora's, moving toward a small window. He pushed aside a small curtain, revealing chaos on the streets. People of all ages, running for their lives in the dark, as shadowy figures chased them down. At the end of the road, a house was in flames.
"I believe some people are angry with the gods and have vowed revenge against their creators," said Christos solemnly. "But they do not know with whom they fight. The gods will not like their most devoted followers killed, or their temples destroyed."
Isadora suddenly stood up straight, and her eyes flashed. "The temple has been destroyed?!"
Christos turned toward Isadora, not meeting her eyes. "It has been set alight."
She suddenly made a quick movement toward the door, but Christos grabbed her, stopping her.
"If you go out there, you will surely perish!"
"I don't care," she exclaimed loudly. "I do not fear death because I have found favor in the immortals' eyes. And I made a promise to protect the temple."
"You have also promised to take care of your sister!"
Isadora stopped. She slowly turned to look at Lyra, who sat so small in the corner. Tears streamed down her little face.
"Please, Issy. Don't go," cried Lyra.
Isadora moved to the corner, lowering herself to Lyra's level. She grasped her hand.
"This is something that I must do. But I promise nothing will happen to me."
She kissed Lyra on the forehead. "Hide yourself, Lyra. I will go help protect the temple and will return when I can."
Isadora picked herself up from the dirt floor. She gave Christos a determined look.
"I'm going."
"Fine. But I'm coming with you," said Christos, his voice suddenly firm.
Isadora's face filled with fear. "No! It's too dangerous. They won't spare you. They may spare me as I am a priestess."
"It doesn't matter. You are right. It's our duty to protect the temple," he said.
They nodded in agreement and moved toward the door. Lyra began to scream.
"Issy, no!! Please don't leave me!!"
Isadora stopped for a moment; her back tensed. Then, she suddenly opened the door and left— Christos trailing behind her.
Lyra cried until her eyes turned red, rocking back and forth—in rhythm with the pounding of the feet that fled into the night.