Blood began to pool slightly on the wooden floorboard next to Erzo's hand. It was dark under the bed, but he knew it was blood because the sword that punctured through the mattress next to his sweaty head was covered with his mother's flowery smell.
Though, tainted with a metallic aroma, it was definitely hers.
Three simultaneous heavy drops landed on the back of his neck. It was enough to make him squelch. His voice suddenly locked behind gritted teeth as his tiny hairs stood on end. Erzo's fist began to whiten the tighter he gripped the collar of his worn, hooded, leather vest. Anything to not make another sound.
Why were they even here? Whoever they are... Erzo's thought trailed off as a foreign shadow approached the bed.
A fine, studded, curred leather boot suddenly landed in front of his face. The surprise almost made him gasp. Both hands suddenly clasped over his mouth before he could think of any means of potential escape.
Not that one could exist at the moment.
Hiding under the bed probably wasn't the best idea anyway, but it was also her idea.
The cold voice of a man soon broke the heavy silence that made Erzo want to cry out in pain.
"I thought she would put up more of a fight," a cold and distant voice said. It seemed almost disapproving. "Aren't elves known for that blasphemous nature affinity? A shoddy, low class hobble such as this would at least make for some low-end botany shop."
Another voice spoke up in response. One that made Erzo's pointed ears twitch.
"Ya, well, sometimes they need time to cast their, er, magic. Or so I've 'eard."
Erzo couldn't mistake the voice of the local butcher, even if he wanted to. The large man was a known racist toward demihumans. Really, anything that wasn't human at all. This included dwarves and gnome-folk.
Even as a half-elf, Erzo was still ostracized. Often by both sides, sadly enough.
But he never heard of anything related to his involvement in such vile incidents. Then again, people in this area would be difficult to question about it. Murders, assassinations, they are all par for the course if you're involved in the wrong sort. Sometimes, even the right sort.
But what did we do?
Erzo could only makeout that the boots belonged to the other man, but wasn't able to see where the butcher had stood. He was probably just outside the door but their voice sounded much closer.
"So - er, Ziro? What do we do wit' her?" the butcher spluttered. The other man oddly didn't respond. Erzo could see the man's boots head toward the doorway at the other end of the room and out of sight.
The man that slain his mother in cold blood had stood just inches away, and there was nothing he could do. He couldn't imagine her final moments above him. Erzo was there - witnessing it. Experiencing it with her. But couldn't fathom her point of view. How scared she must have been. But how strong she was to stand up to them and make sure he was out of sight.
The thought made Erzo well up and glance toward his left shoulder.
His brooch, one made of a pure sapphire gemstone, has a silver encrusted leviathan in the center and embroidered with platinum lacing around the edges, was pinned to his vest. He grabbed hold of it and squeezed his eyes shut. Everything seemed to fade away, but it couldn't stop his tears from escaping.
The sapphire brooch was always cold to the touch, but it brought him peace. Mother often told stories of how this particular gemstone used to first appear clear as crystal and often mistaken as such, but when born from the sea, it would drink the water and keep it trapped within. This was an elvish folklore from long ago.
The kingdom of Jura, Erzo's home, revered Leviathans as the wardens of the sea-fairing realm, and not monsters. At least, that was how she told it.
They were truly guardians of Sitrah's inhabitants that were too old to die properly, so they would nurture them with its waters and protect their souls as they were guided into the afterlife.
The founder of the kingdom, the late King Edward Jura I, wanted the land to revere the might of its protector by using its figure as a symbol, that all races and creeds were welcome and would be supported. Shame that the opposite is true enough by this point. And though Erzo couldn't quite remember it, he was certain she said she'd met the man before at some point.
Not that it matters now.
But just like the leviathan, she told him, "This brooch will always keep you safe and protect you when I cannot."
Erzo opened his eyes and wiped his face to prevent himself from getting lost further in thought. To be trapped in memories he could no longer replenish with her warm embrace seemed to hurt more than the memories themselves.
She pinned the brooch to Erzo's tunic just the night before. He remembered her fingers trembling. Her smile, brittle. Something was definitely wrong - but this?
"Elves, like I, may live for a long time my child, but this is for those times when I can't be there," she'd said.
The butcher seemed to rummage around the room. His hefty weight made the floorboards groan like something was wounded but too stupid to finish dying. A heavy thud followed by a wet sound quickly attracted Erzo's eyes.
He just caught the sight of her feet dragging along the floor as her body coupled the green rug she bought last week to match the new plants she was growing with her magic.
Erzo's stomach convulsed. He was moving her.
What could they possibly want with her?
"Careful, Erik," the cold man muttered from behind the door frame. "We need all of her."
A sharp sound cut him off. Something outside. It was the middle of the day in a relatively populated location. Not that anyone in the outer district slums would soon come to help. The paladins that roam the streets don't exactly lend a helping hand out here.
Silence again. Thick. Suffocating.
Erzo felt it then. Something coiling in his chest. It was slow and patient. Not panic. Not yet. Something colder. Something watching.
The blood above him began to drip faster, soaking into his shaggy, brown hair, crawling down his spine. His body shook, not with fear, but with some primal urge to move. To do literally anything other than wait. It's natural for preteen boys to fight against such urges daily, but this also felt different.
Erzo found himself slowly scratching his nails bloody into the floorboard beneath him.
Not yet, he told himself, though he didn't know why. Not yet what?
A spark bloomed behind his eyes. The darkness under the bed began to illuminate the space with a low pale blue light.
The pressure behind his eyes grew and the brooch began to burn against his chest. He gasped it with a bloody hand.
The sapphire flared in a deep ocean blue light, swallowing all shadow beneath the bed. As his eyes widened, the sound he confessed from his mouth didn't sound of anything humanoid. Erzo clamped his hands tighter over his mouth, but it rumbled out of his chest, low and vast, like a distant tide colliding with stone.
That's when he looked up to see the bed flipped over, and two men staring at him - wide eyed and frozen in place.
"Kill him," the cold, thin man murmured. It was deliberate and without hesitation. His black eyes, though human, showed he was capable of doing inhumane things regularly. Erzo's heart sank.
"Wait, not him!" exclaimed a third man as they hobbled into the room. He was older and in butler's attire with a cane by his leg. Both the butcher and the other man turned to face him.
Soon, something whispered into Erzo's head.
But before anyone else could move. Erzo closed his eyes, and felt himself slip away into nothingness.