[Twenty-Three Years Ago]
Hail!
Hail!
Hail!
Chant the cadre of silver knights as they pour over the village, weapons drawn as they heard the horned townspeople toward large, cage-backed carts.
"By order of his majesty, King Arnbaith the Unbroken, the fiendlings of Burning Beach are to submit to relocation beyond Maesda's northern border. Any who stay behind will be found guilty of treason against the crown and put to death by beheading. Any who return after relocation will be found similarly guilty of treason and likewise beheaded. This is the will of King Arnbaith; hail to the King!"
Hail!
Hail!
Hail!
The chorus continues, as the knights crowd the carts full and lock them up, some already starting on the bumpy, miserable ride to the north.
A little ways away, two of the knights wrestle a curly-haired horned youth to the ground, holding his arms at his sides. "You should know better than to speak to us that way, brat!"
"Leave him alone! He's just a boy, he didn't mean it!"
"Like hell he didn't." One of the knights sneers. "...You know what I think, Abel?"
"What's that, Seth?"
"I think the little blighter was trying to run. Don't you?" The knight draws his sword, and-