"You… who are you?" he asked, trembling in his voice as he saw his wife in pain. "Why… why did you attack us?"
The man in the cloak smiled a little. He stepped out, bowed a bit, and said.
"I am the 'Latch,' the head of the 'Key' group."
"Key… Latch…?" He was confused.
"We did nothing to you… My wife didn't either. We don't know your group! Why did you poison us, destroy our home, kill my parents, and chase us?"
Latch took his time to look at them. Then he said, feeling a bit down.
"Our behaviors are not for you. Give us what we want, and I will say sorry right now. I will also get the best doctor in the town to treat you well. But when I came five days ago to talk about my goal, your people fought me. I was only defending myself."
"defending yourself?! You came when my wife was having our baby son's birth and asked for my newborn son—is that 'defending yourself'?"
"Yes," said Latch, smiling coldly.
"You don't know how important your son is to us. He is the 'Chosen,' key to our plans. I promised that I would offer you lots of things for him, but you said no."
He spat out blood and swore, "Nonsense! the 'Chosen'? What does that even mean?"
"You won't understand. And the 'Chosen' isn't the best word. He is 'The Emerald Sparrow.'"
"The Emerald Sparrow? What is that?"
Latch laughed.
"You don't need to know. Now, where is your child? And the sword, where is it?"
He spat at Latch and stayed quiet.
Latch looked angry. He walked over to the woman, made a sign, and his men pushed their spears into the man on the ground harder. He screamed as his wounds broke open and his body shook from the sharp pain.
Seeing her husband suffering from such pain, the woman shut her eyes, her tears turning into ice as they dropped.
"Tell me where the child and the sword are, and your husband will hurt less. You two will still survive if you tell me" Latch said to the woman.
Latch pulled the woman's hair, forcing her to watch.
"Tell me where the child is. You two are both young and can have more children, right? Then why die for that one? For such a child you can replace?"
Latch talked softly, trying to tempt her. She almost spoke…
"No! Lana, don't!" he yelled, but another spear soon hit his shoulder, making his yelling interrupted. He was weak and couldn't resist the sharp spears.
She kept her mouth shut, her heart breaking as the spears got close to killing her husband. The pain was more than just her body hurting but also pierced her heart thoroughly.
"Tell me!!! Tell me now! Give us the 'Chosen.' You can have more children later. Why just lose your lives here? I really can't understand you. Are you both idiots? "
Latch seemed to have exhausted his patience, losing his good temper to let out his anger.
"Don't say it, Lana! That's our son. I won't give him to anyone!"
Even with many spears in him, the man's voice was strong and determined. His words made her strong and resolute again.
"Damn you, I'll never give you our son… YOU GO TO THE HELL!"
She cursed at Latch for the first and last time.
Latch let go and stood up, no longer pretending to be kind.
She knew they were going to die.
"Byron… if there's another life… I still want to be your wife again…"
"Lana… Lana…! LANA—!"
Latch signaled, and two men stabbed the couple in their hearts…
The storm went on, snowflakes mixing with blood in the cold air. It was quiet in the alley…
After the Key's people took the bodies away, the Key's members knelt before Latch. Latch ordered them what to do next.
"Find any newborns in the city, no matter boys or girls."
"Master," one asked, "didn't the man say they had a son?"
"So what?" Latch said, playing with a skull.
"He said a son, but why not maybe a daughter? Find them all. Don't be nice to anyone who resists and refuses."
"Yes, master!"
They soon separated and went to look for the 'holy child.'
…
The noise outside gradually stopped. Finally, the sounds grew quiet, leaving only the soft drops of snow on trash can lids.
The little beggar stayed silent, hidden in the smelly, wet, cold trash bin. It was gross, but it was safe. He wouldn't risk emerging until he was certain the danger had truly passed.
Time ticked away… Tick, tick, tick…
It was a dark night, quiet and still. Even the sound of the snow seemed clear to hear.
The boy didn't know if the snow had stopped or if he was close to dying. His feet felt like they were stuck and turned into ice, numb, and almost couldn't move. If he knew clearly that couldn't run, he must die in the cold.
What about the baby girl?
He looked down and gently pulled the cloth from the baby's face…
Her cheeks were red again. Was it from the cold? He touched her forehead with his own.
It was hot.
Her fever was back.
He looked down at the baby he was holding and knew he should leave the sick baby and go back to his hiding place. It was clear he couldn't keep carrying a baby around for survival.
He started to let go of her, ready to bury her into the deep trash layers…
Then she made a tiny sound.
He almost let go. Did the sound come because she was losing his warmth? Her eyes opened a little…
She looked at him with soft green eyes, just simply looking.
She breathed out quietly, so softly. Her forehead was very hot as she closed her eyes again, falling back to sleep.
But now, as she was almost thrown away into the trash, her tiny hands held tight to her blanket, her little body shaking with fear…
His face showed nothing, and only the storm outside kept moving… Anyway, looking at her, he still stopped and kept still.
Another ten minutes passed.
The boy still kept observing carefully from inside the trash bin.
His left hand still held the baby tight, and he could hear her breathing softly…
The outside seemed safe now, leaving only the sound of noncreature like wind and snow. .
He got ready to face the storm and then he noticed what he was holding in his right hand.
The nervous situation he faced had made him forget this object, but now he had a few seconds to examine it.
Through the weak light filtering in from the snow outside, he saw a sword with its hilt chained up, seemingly impossible to draw, its sheath almost as tall as the boy himself.
He coldly surveyed the sword. After three seconds, he was done. A weapon so noticeable was of no use to him – he decided to sell it off tomorrow. As for the man's final words, the boy dismissed them with cold indifference…
Yes, completely indifferent…
Suddenly there was a crisp metallic sound.
The metallic scraping of chains against the sword blade suddenly pierced the quiet of the night, the chains slowly beginning to slide across the sword's surface.
The sound echoed as the boy was about to push the bin lid open. In the silent darkness, the sound of the blade slicing through flesh was muffled yet clear, sending out from his right hand.
What followed…
Was extreme pain, initiating its cruel and bloody embrace.