The air grew heavy with the echo of an old man's words as he uttered the poetic phrase, "In a foreign soil, our sorrows root…" His voice, a calming breeze amidst the stifling atmosphere, was suddenly interrupted by the youthful exuberance of Princess Alexandra.
"Grandpa, when are you going to get tired of that tale?" she asked, her tone laced with a mixture of frustration and affection.
The old man's eyes sparkled with wisdom as he met her gaze. "Princess Alexandra, I have to," he replied, his voice firm yet gentle. "We must not forget who we are. We must constantly remind ourselves of our true identity. We are Thorenzians!"
Alexandra's gaze shifted, her voice tinged with sorrow. "There was a time when that name sent fear through nations. But now, we are just a homeless nation."
The old man reached out to grasp her hands, his voice urging. "Princess, don't give up!"
But Alexandra pulled away, her tone firm. "Grandpa, please, stop calling me Princess. I'm not a princess."
The old man's smile was gentle, yet his words were resolute. "Of course, you are! You are the descendant of the great Rufrius, the Emperor of the mighty Thorenzia Empire from five centuries ago."
Alexandra's laughter was laced with bitterness. "And what did that fool achieve as an Emperor? He just lived on the successes of his ancestors and destroyed their legacies by sending Thorenzia to five centuries of slavery. How pitiful."
The old man's expression hardened. "Princess Alexandra, don't talk like that."
As Alexandra surveyed their surroundings, her voice rose in frustration. "By the way, why aren't we trying to escape? Everyone seems comfortable with our current situation. Are we really Thorenzians? The same empire that ruled the world for so many years? What is wrong with us?"
The old man's eyes clouded, his voice measured. "There are two reasons. The first is that we have forgotten who we are. We've lost our identity. When a lion loses its identity, even an ant can scare it."
Alexandra's curiosity was piqued. "Oh, and what is the second reason?"
The old man's gaze locked onto hers, a single word hanging in the air: "Fear."
Before Alexandra could press for more, their conversation was abruptly halted as a procession of influential dignitaries from neighboring lands arrived to visit Emperor Absalom. They were ushered onto a moving platform, which effortlessly conveyed them toward the palace. The men marveled at the ingenuity of Vylonia Empire, their voices filled with admiration.
Unbeknownst to them, beneath the polished exterior, a group of enslaved men pushed the moving ground from underneath, their sweat and toil unseen by the visiting delegates. Suddenly, one of the men broke free, sprinting toward the gate in a desperate bid for freedom.
The guards gave chase, their footsteps pounding the ground. Just as the man reached the gate, his head was brutally severed, his lifeless body collapsing in a pool of blood. Alexandra watched the horrifying scene with wide-eyed terror.
The old man's voice broke the silence. "Princess Alexandra."
She turned to face him, her chains rattling with each movement. "What you just witnessed is the reason for the fear the people feel, which makes them hesitant about escaping," he explained. "As you've just witnessed, the closer you are to the walls, the closer you are to your death. And there is no warning or second chance."
Within the grand palace, Emperor Absalom observed the unfolding scene alongside his wife, Queen Sariel. Their composed expressions belied a calculating nature as they watched the failed escape attempt. The emperor's displeasure was evident as he summoned the guards with a commanding voice.
"Guards!" His voice resonated through the halls.
Two guards entered, kneeling before Absalom in unison. "Your Majesty," they replied.
The emperor's eyes narrowed as he questioned them. "What were you doing? How did that fool manage to break away?"
The guards nervously exchanged looks. "We are sorry, sir. It will not happen again," one of them responded.
Absalom maintained his stern expression. "You need to be vigilant."
"Yes, sir," the guards hastily agreed.
The emperor's tone turned cold as he issued his decree. "Due to this failed attempt to escape, the people of Thorenzia shall go without food for two days. Inform their taskmasters this is my order!"
The guards bowed. "Yes, sir."
Dismissing them, Absalom said, "You can go."
As the guards left, Queen Sariel exhaled softly. "That was close. How close was that?"
Absalom arched an eyebrow. "You're not serious, are you, dear?"
Sariel maintained a serious expression. "How could I joke about this? A slave almost escaped. Of course, it was close."
Absalom offered a reassuring smile. "No, it wasn't. He didn't even have the slightest chance."
Intrigued, Sariel inquired, "What do you mean?"
With a matter-of-fact tone, Absalom explained, "They cannot escape because attempting to do so means certain death, just like what occurred earlier."
Sariel's eyes widened slightly. "How so?"
Leaning forward, Absalom patiently elaborated, "Every Thorenzian is bound in chains, correct?"
Sariel nodded. "Yes, because they are our slaves, right?"
Absalom unveiled the sinister truth. "These chains are not ordinary chains. They conceal sharp blades within. At every attempt to escape, the blade will emerge and decapitate the person trying to flee."
Sariel's eyes sparkled with comprehension. "Oh, so that's what happened. They have no hope of escaping."
Absalom confirmed with a nod. "That's right. But it won't just sever their heads. There is a warning signal attached to the chains. It begins with a slow beeping sound, increasing in frequency as the slave nears the walls. Upon reaching the walls, the blade is released, resulting in decapitation."
Sariel's admiration was genuine. "When did you develop this mechanism?"
Absalom seemed surprised by the question. "I thought I had already informed you. I developed it 13 years ago. In response to the prophecy made by that blind old fool, I was restless and concerned. This was my solution, which I devised and implemented a year later."
Sariel laughed gently. "Perhaps I'd forgotten."
Reflectively, Absalom continued, "But that's why I maintain you shouldn't be concerned about a 14-year-old prophecy. Nothing will come to pass."
A brief moment of silence followed before Absalom's demeanor shifted. His face grew serious as he spoke in a whisper, "If..." he began, attracting his wife's attention, "if there is anything to worry about, it's him"
Sariel, her curiosity piqued, questioned, "Who?"
Absalom's gaze intensified. "A year ago, a slave vanished, leaving no trace. Till now, there has been no sign of him anywhere in Vylonia"
Considering this, Sariel responded pragmatically, "It's possible he has perished by now. No one has seen him in a year? Perhaps the blades in his chains have already taken his life."
Absalom's expression remained grave. "True, but including today's incident, there have only been five recorded deaths resulting from the chains since their implementation, all of which have been accounted for. This leads me to believe the man in question is still alive and in hiding somewhere within the walls of Vylonia."
Sariel's voice betrayed her concern. "Geez, how troublesome."
"Well, don't worry about it. One way or another, he will come out of his hiding place," Absalom said, his tone laced with confidence, "And when he does, the guards will be ready"