Suddenly, a voice from outside the room broke the silence. A familiar, warm, energetic voice:
"Brother, breakfast is ready!"
Albert half-opened his eyes. A gentle light filtered in through the small wooden window. Dust danced in the shaft of sunlight. His sister Sara's voice seemed to carry part of the morning into the room. A faint smile crossed his lips. He stretched his arms upward, a deep, slow, and satisfying motion. His bones clicked softly into place.
He rose. His body, like a sculpture carved from stone—firm and chiseled. Years of training and military discipline had built every muscle with purpose. From his earliest days at the Knights' Academy until now, this body was forged from hardship and effort. He put on a simple cotton shirt and pulled up his leather trousers. Tightened the belt firmly and stepped out of the room with heavy footsteps.
The creaking of the wooden stairs beneath his feet played a calm, nostalgic rhythm. As he neared the lower floor, the clatter of dishes, the shifting of spoons and plates, and the smell of fresh bread and warm tea filled the air.
Sara was no longer the pale, thin little girl of the old days. Now she was a woman, with a steady stance and calm eyes. She wore a long, dark-blue cotton dress—simple but dignified. A thick gray apron tied over it—proof of daily work and responsibility. Her hair was tucked under a thin scarf, knotted beneath her chin. There was a soft smile on her face, as if her brother's presence brought a deep sense of safety back into her heart.
Seeing Albert, her smile widened:
"Good morning, big brother. Did you sleep well?"
Albert offered a faint smile and sat down. His eyes were still a little heavy.
"A strange dream… so vivid."
Sara leaned in with curiosity.
"What did you dream about?"
Albert paused for a moment, caught between sleep and wakefulness. Then, quietly, he said:
"I dreamed of how we survived those dark days… the homelessness, the hunger, the fear… But now, now we have a life. We have a roof. We have breakfast. We have smiles."
Sara stopped what she was doing for a moment. She placed her hand gently over Albert's. Her gaze grew serious.
"Those were hard days… but they're over. We were strong. We stayed together."
Albert nodded, a firmer smile forming on his lips.
"Yeah… they're over."
Sara grinned, this time with a teasing lilt:
"Well then, time for breakfast. I made it with love. You only come home once every two weeks—I have to treat you like royalty!"
Albert glanced at the table. Fresh bread, cheese, fried eggs, butter, homemade jam, and a few slices of smoked meat. A full spread—worthy of a noble's feast. Tea steamed from a metal teapot, its warmth rising into the air.
"I didn't expect it to be this lavish… Thank you, little sister."
The two began breakfast in a pleasant silence. Sara spread jam over a piece of bread. The ticking of the wall clock blended with the scent of tea in the air.
"By the way…" Sara said. "The city's gotten really crowded lately. Have you been following the news?"
Albert frowned slightly.
"Which news?"
"They're going house to house, looking for criminals involved in the massacre of 500 people. Every day in the town square, the executions continue. They say some dark cult is behind it."
Albert picked up his spoon, but his appetite had vanished. His gaze fell to the table.
"A secret group… A cult, even some nobles were involved. The King himself ordered that anyone connected must be executed—no exceptions. Please, don't stay out late. It's dangerous right now."
Sara lowered her head.
"I hope they catch them all. So many innocent lives lost."
After breakfast, Albert stood and retrieved his silver armor from the corner of the room. The polished plates gleamed—proof of his status among the royal knights.
"Thanks for breakfast. I need to head to the palace. Today is an important day."
Sara, her eyes curious, asked:
"What's happening?"
"It's Princess Diana's birthday. There's a grand formal celebration at the palace."
Sara laughed, her eyes sparkling:
"So that's why you've been saving up?"
Albert smiled, reached into his small leather pouch, and pulled out a brown box. He opened it. Inside was a golden necklace, with delicate chains and a brilliant green emerald—like the princess's eyes—gleaming brightly.
"I bought this for her… I just want to see her smile."
Sara squealed with delight.
"It's gorgeous! You've got such good taste. But it must've cost a fortune! Where'd you get the money?"
Albert looked toward the morning light and smiled:
"Doesn't matter… I just want her to know she matters. That I matter to her…"
Sara smiled back. A brief silence followed—filled with reverence and hope. Albert said his goodbyes and stepped outside.
The alleyways were slowly coming to life. The sounds of children playing, merchants shouting their wares, the smell of fresh bread, leather, and iron. The city seemed calmer—but only on the surface.
When Albert reached the town square, he saw a crowd gathered around a wooden platform. Voices swirled—shouts, murmurs, whispers, excitement.
A boy's voice rose above the crowd:
"Papa, let's go closer! They're going to execute the criminals!"
His father chuckled. They moved forward. The crowd was thick. The voice of the Royal Writspeaker boomed. He wore a long robe, a scroll in hand.
"By order of His Majesty the King, all traitors to the Crown and those involved in the recent massacres are hereby sentenced to death. Let justice never fade from this land."
Five people in torn clothing were brought forward, their eyes pleading. One of them dropped to his knees, crying:
"Please… I'm innocent… I only stole bread… My daughter's waiting for me…"
Another had wet himself in fear. The crowd laughed. A boy standing next to Albert nudged his father:
"Look, Dad! That guy peed his pants! Ha ha!"
His father laughed too.
Albert's hand moved toward his sword. His jaw clenched. But he turned his gaze away, sighed, and walked off. The gallows still stood ready. The noose swayed in the air, thirsty for blood.
The people wanted justice.
But what their eyes held was something else entirely:
A thirst for spectacle. For vengeance.
Even if they no longer knew who was truly guilty…