The dusty road leading toward the western edge of the town square was alive with the sounds of shrieking laughter. Three siblings dived and weaved between stalls that were beginning to close for the day, their mother trailing a few paces behind, carrying a heavy wicker basket.
They were playing tag. The rules were simple, but cruel to the smallest legs. Miles, the youngest, was "it." His breath hitched in his chest as he pushed his little body to its absolute limit, desperately chasing the fluttering coat-tails of his elder brother, Graham, and his sister, Millie. Their larger bodies gave them an easy grace that allowed them to devour the ground Miles struggled to cover.
Seeing Miles gaining slightly, Graham executed a perfect, sharp pivot around a grain cart, leaving Miles tumbling in his wake. Stubborn and determined to prove himself equal to them, Miles didn't slow. He refused to accept his limitations. Instead, he lunged forward, throwing his arm out with all his might to forcefully snatch Graham's shirt.
But momentum does not bend to a child's will.
Miles' little hands clutched at the empty air Graham had occupied seconds before. Gravity, an unyielding force he didn't understand, unrooted his feet from the earth. The anticipation of victory instantly shifted to the harsh reality of the fall, and Miles kissed the ground with a sickening, dusty thud.
The laughter cut off instantly. Miles did what every child does when the world becomes too painful—he screwed up his face and screamed for his mother.
"Aigo," their mother sighed, rushing forward to scoop her youngest son out of the dirt. She patted the dust from his knees, casting a stern look at the elder two. "You guys play too much. Grahm, you are the oldest; you should be mindful of where Miles is running so he doesn't get hurt."
Graham shot a pleading look toward Millie, hoping for an ally in the face of this injustice. Tag was tag, after all. But Millie was already looking down at the ground, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve—playing safe and staying out of it.
Knowing that arguing with his mother was a battle he would never win, Graham bregundily looked up at her and spoke. "Yes, mother."
"Tidy yourselves up," the mother said, adjusting the basket on her hip as she set Miles back on his feet. "We are about to reach your father at his outpost. Today, I made his favourite dish. Let's not keep him waiting; he must be getting hungry by now."
"Yes, mother!" the children shouted in unison, their playful dynamic instantly restored by the promise of seeing their father.
The pair of four soon made their way toward the town guards' outpost. The tension from Miles' fall evaporated as they walked through the bustling market. They paused to look at new merchandise displayed in the shop windows and exchanged cheerful greetings with familiar faces along the route. Everyone knew the guards' families.
But as the market began to thin and they drew closer to the perimeter wall, the mother's steps began to slow.
Her maternal senses, finely tuned to the rhythms of this area, picked up a discordant note. The usual heavy traffic of guards changing shifts was missing. At this exact hour, there was always someone coming or going through the massive iron gates near the outpost, accompanied by the clatter of armor and the harsh commands of captains.
Now, there was only silence. A thick, heavy blanket of quiet that gives her goosebumps.
Oblivious to their mother's growing unease, anticipation began to fill the children as their destination finally came into view. The race was on again, but this time it was a race of love. Their father always stood post right outside the small, wooden-door of the outpost at this time. Having only two arms, he could only pick up the first child who reached him.
Victory was paramount.
The children burst into a run, sprinting towards the post where they expected to see his massive silhouette against the setting sun.
"Kids, wait!" their mother called out, a genuine note of worry cracking her voice.
But the children had gained too much momentum, their ears deaf to their mother's fears. They only heard the thump of their own hearts and the imaginary cheers of being the first.
The mother keeps shouting and her voice carried by her emotions reach her kids.
Hearing the crack in her mother's voice, Millie and Graham slowed for a split second, there eyes darting back towards the trailing woman. That single hesitation was all Miles needed. He dug his small feet into the dust, pushing past Millie and Graham, overtaking them for the first time in his life. He was running straight towards the outpost door, straight towards where his father awaited him.
The elder siblings immediately picked up their pace again, running after the younger to catch him. Perhaps they were trying to stop him because of the emotion they felt in their mother's voice, or perhaps they just couldn't stand being beaten by the baby.
But the momentum was entirely with Miles, and he didn't intend to slow for anything. He was going to be first.
Soon, Graham and Millie were chasing the coat-tails of the younger boy. Miles' steps felt light as feathers. He was flooded with happiness—finally, he had outrun his brother and sister. He was going to be the first one swept up into his father's embrace.
He could already visualize his father's smile.
"Father, I am here!" Miles yelled, approaching the small wooden door of the outpost. It was slightly ajar, hanging loose on its hinges.
Miles threw his full weight against the wood, dive through the opening and bursting with triumph .
But the scene were not what he has expected , he could have never have imagine reality in front of him . So with the new reality .
He froze.
The momentum of the world has reversed itself against him once more.
Inside the tight confines of the outpost, the ground was hidden beneath a widening, deep ruby pool that was already starting to congeal. The other guards in the room were frozen in place, slain in defensive postures, the iron scent of blood so thick it made Miles choke.
And there, in the centre of it all, sitting propped up on his chair, was his father.
He looked straight at Miles. His face was exactly the same, his uniform was familiar, but there were no powerful arms waiting to sweep the boy into the air. He had no arms at all. Just two horrific, vacant sockets, staring blankly back at him with eyes that possessed no life.
Momentum has reach it's end and the universe has stopped for Miles. He could only stand on the threshold of the bloody room, unable to move, unable to breathe.
But the world had not stopped for his family. They continued their charge, reaching the end of their momentum right behind him, only to skid to a halt as the reality inside the room washed over them.
In that static moment, the silence was shattered. They could only scream. As loud as they could. A collective sound of total, unmaking grief.
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Guard favourite :- Sandwich: Smoked Ham with Sharp Cheddar and Sweet Pickle