Chapter one introduces us to the horrors of life in Domeska under the rule of King Roth.
|Putrid smelling air and sky dark with the gloom of pollution, a cloud of smoke blocking the stars and moon from shining through and dimming the sun’s effect, these were the constant companions of the citizens of a country under the tyrannical command of a dictator. Now a dictator is not by definition a negative thing; however history tends to forget the good done by dictators, only remembering those who hurt the people they were supposed to protect. The king of Domeska would be remembered in the history books for the fear and agony by which he ruled, the once noble race of Domeskans sickened by bearing the weight of oppression.
The city known as Moreksau was falling apart, its once majestic buildings crumbling into rubble, their windows smashed and boarded up, the streets were filthy with litter, grease and muck from houses and animals, there were stray dogs and cats running thin and filthy through the streets and attacking people in starvation. The city had an almost overwhelming stench of death and illness as the people starved and died. Yet through all this despair, pain and ruin was something that no amount of tyranny could extinguish; the pride of the people for by their very nature true Domeskans were passionate, loyal and courageous and such a spirit could never entirely be crushed.
The city was silent, all citizens seeking refuge in their houses, terrified of being caught out after curfew, the punishment for which was a beating almost always resulting in ‘accidental’ death which the police would never punish, this was the state of things in Domeska, corruption and oppression were the key words to describe what had become of this once proud nation. Corruption of power, of ideals, of faith and of family. Oppression of freedom, of dreams, of speech, of wealth, of honour. The citizens were kept down by oppression, corruption, deception and acts of outrageous violence.
The tense silence held for mere heartbeats more before it was brutally shattered by the anguished scream of a woman as she was held back by her husband, they were watching with horrified and terrified eyes as several men adorned in the crimson uniforms worn by the King’s Militia were savagely beating a tiny figure on the ground, one that was could be no older than seven years of age who had broken curfew. The child gave out tiny yelps and terrified screams every time that a blow connected with her.
From the surrounding windows neighbours watched the entire spectrum of negative emotions playing through them; terror, pain, grief, sadness, fury, disgust... with the sheer numbers they could have taken those so called ‘soldiers’ and saved the tiny life that was fast being extinguished before them and yet, not one even made so much as a sound in protest, such was the grip held by their oppressors.
Behind one of those windows sat a boy, his hair was dead straight and a deep shade of red, it fell over face, shielding his silvery blue eyes, thin lips pressed sadly together, those glimmering eyes shining with fear. Unable to watch the child caught in her death throes he looked to the skies, something he found himself doing more and more frequently as of late. He was searching desperately for the promised sign, desperately searching for an indication that it was time, he could feel it, the energy surging through the country, the time was fast approaching. He had never seen a star and that was of course intended, trying to suppress the prophecy by hiding the sky from the people. His eyes never left the sky, not even as the woman gave another pained scream, her shrill voice filled with agony and loss, the boy knew that her daughter was dead. He could hear her weeping and no matter how much pain he saw this boy was sensitive to the suffering of his country and so as he watched the skies there were tears running down his face carving tracks into the dust on his cheeks and catching as droplets in his long bottom lashes, the tears over a life which had been so savagely stripped away. This was not the first murder he had witnessed in his sixteen years and it would not be the last, such was the state of Domeska.
Yet for its sake the people would endure the suffering, waiting for the sky to clear and light the way to their freedom. So the boy watched the sky and the woman rose from her knees, drying her eyes as they burned with silent fury. They would never give in, Domeska would regenerate, the people were simply waiting for a champion, a champion who would wave a banner beneath which they could fight.