The clouds gathered in the sky, blocking the sun from seeing the hot red iron in the executioner's hand. He took small steps toward the criminal in the pillory and pressed the hot iron to his skin, branding it in the process.
The man, however, showed no sign of pain or remorse. He seemed to relish being tortured slowly before his death. The noise of the crowd around the gallows increased with each mark made on the criminal's body. "Kill him!" "Burn him to death!" "Feed his bones to the hounds!"
The thunderstorm worsened, and it started pouring heavily. The man in the cloak hastily made his way from the forest, carrying his wounded fellow on his back in desperation. He didn't care that the dreadful rain he hated was drenching him.
He moved with unimaginable speed, pacing toward shelter, so focused that he barely registered the people he sped past.
Burning the criminal repeatedly, the executioner felt nauseous, especially as the man smiled happily with each strike. It was a horrifying sight. The criminal's younger brother had long since fled, but his father, standing motionless next to the guillotine, felt every strike on his son as if it were a strike on himself. He was hoping for the Emperor to change his mind. He was hoping for anything to stop this maddening torture.
In the near distance, a flash of lightning showed a derelict house in the woods, marking a town or city nearby. The slippery road made it difficult to walk in the mud, and the cloaked man took a step forward but fell with a thud.
He got up roughly, then instantly softened his movements, realizing the agitation made it worse for his injured fellow. He took slow, deliberate steps again. The main entrance seemed unguarded due to the rain. He opened the entrance gate and headed up the pathway to the building, two lanterns flickering dimly near the door, his only welcome.
The clouds darkened as the time for execution drew near. The crowd's curses intensified. "It's time," one of the knights spoke in the executioner's ear.
The executioner nodded, dropped the hot iron back into the flickering flames, and unsheathed his sword. The criminal, who had his head hung low, rose and glanced at the thundering clouds. He whispered something as the executioner came towards him. The executioner raised his sword, hiding his trembling hand as he saw the satisfactory grin on the criminal's face. He lowered his sword to give the finishing blow—
—Bang.
It was over in a short moment, and no one had the chance to react. The guillotine had caught fire, and the executioner was barely safe. As things cleared up, people saw the criminal lying dead—not by the executioner's blade, but by the thunderbolt that fell from the sky.
"Divine judgment!" The crowd cheered while the criminal's father flopped to the ground in utter despair.
Bang.
Felix sat bolt upright, the sheets tangled around his waist, struggling to pull in a deep breath.
"My lord!" His old butler handed him a glass of water. It wasn't the first time Felix had that dream—it happened every time there was a thunderstorm.
Felix chugged down the water and placed the empty glass on the table.
"My lord, I—"
"I'm alright. There's no need to worry." Felix cut him off.
"That's not what I was saying," the butler explained. "There's a guest. Downstairs."
"At this hour?" Felix raised an eyebrow.
"He has a wounded person with him. I couldn't say no." The butler dropped his gaze.
"Wounded?"
"Judging by the injuries, it was likely that a beast had done that."
"Well what are you waiting for? Get the physician!" Felix threw the blanket from himself and stormed out of his bedroom in his soft slippers.
"He's downstairs treating him, my lord. Good thing he had stayed the night." The butler hurried to keep pace.
Downstairs, a man with a dark complexion paced back and forth outside the room, scratching his head from time to time as the physician worked on saving his fellow.
Time stood still for the cloaked man. He didn't know how much time had passed—an hour? two? The subsided thunderstorm went unnoticed. Felix silently observed the impatient guest from head to toe...
A healthy warlock, with fierce, long brown hair reaching his back. He'd removed the water drenched cloak earlier, revealing his well-built body beneath his clothes. His golden-brown eyes were fierce, betrayed only by the concern for his partner.
"Your name, lad." Felix said, breaking the silence.
"Hugo." He responded sharply. "The one in there is Owen. Fighting a beast and he got hit saving me." Maybe it was because he hated being questioned that he answered before Felix could ask.
There was a deafening silence in the hallway for a moment. Felix turned to his butler and he nodded, knowing what his master was thinking, and left.
Before any of the two could speak, the physician opened the door.
"Out of danger. Need to change his bandages after six hours. Has a concussion- might not wake up for a while."
"Thankyou." There was gratitude in Hugo's voice. The physician gave a curt nod and shuffled out, grumbling under his breath.
"Say, you said his name's Owen?" Felix inquired out of curiosity.
"What about it old man?" Hugo shrugged.
"That's peculiar. Noone's named their child Owen for three hundred years."
"Beats me."
Felix entered the room of the patient and stopped on his tracks seeing the person lying on the bed.
"My lord?" The butler spoke seeing him in awe.
"Interesting." Felix shut his eyes with a smile and sat on a chair next to Owen. "It's a name I haven't heard in a long time and a face I haven't seen for centuries."
"Pardon, my lord?" The butler politely asked.
"He looks a lot like my Owen." Felix spoke softly mesmerized by the sleeping guest.