Chapter 92:
Chapter 91 : A Father’s Gaze
The Sovereign Ascendant
“You carry honor,” he declared. “And your bravery ensures Arkwyn thrives. Do not fear death—”
His gaze swept over them like a blade of judgment.
“—your deeds will echo beyond your life.”
A trembling man near the center spoke, barely audible.
“I… I don’t want to die…”
The guard beside him slammed the butt of his spear against the planks. “Quiet.”
Sylas raised a hand, silencing the guard.
“Let him speak,” the captain said calmly. “Fear is natural. That is why your courage matters.”
The man’s breathing hitched. “My daughter… she’s five. She won’t even remember me. How is this courage?”
Sylas stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough to seem personal.
“If you refuse,” he said, “your debt transfers to her. And the Council will choose who replaces you.”
The man’s blood ran cold.
“Those are our laws. Unpleasant, yes. But our city must survive. And someone must bear the burden.”
A different villager, older and hollow-eyed, whispered shakily to the man:
“Calm yourself. Think of your family. Only your death can secure their safety.”
Another voice—more desperate—added,
“If not you, then who? They’ll take your brother… my son… someone else will pay.”
A woman clutched her shawl, voice trembling.
“It doesn’t feel right. No city should demand this…”
“But they already paid us… we agreed…” muttered another man, guilt pressing into his shoulders.
One young man—no older than seventeen, shaking violently—clutched the chain around his wrists.
“I can’t go…” he whispered. “I can’t… I can’t…”
The middle-aged man beside him put a hand on his shoulder, voice breaking even as he tried to steady him.
“Boy, listen to me. We don’t choose. You heard the captain. If you run… if you resist… they choose someone else. Someone who didn’t agree. Someone who doesn’t deserve it.”
The boy sobbed into the fog.
Another villager—a tall man with sunken cheeks—whispered bitterly:
“What a world… where we die for coin… for bread…”
A woman beside him sniffled. “My husband is sick. They promised medicine. If I don’t go… he dies anyway.”
The fog grew heavier, pressing into their lungs.
Sylas lifted his chin.
“Board the boat,” he ordered. “With dignity.”
The villagers did not move.
Not one.
Not until the guards stepped behind them, spears lowered—not quite touching, but close enough to freeze breath.
One by one, stiff with terror, the villagers shuffled forward.
Feet dragging.
Spines rigid.
Faces pale from fear and lack of hope.
They moved like marionettes pulled by invisible strings—mechanical, reluctant, drained of humanity.
Every step creaked painfully against the wooden boards.
A woman muttered a prayer under her breath.
Another whispered, “I’m sorry,” though no one knew to whom.
Two men at the back exchanged a last look—one filled with resignation, the other still fighting panic.
“It’ll be over quick,” one lied.
“No, it won’t,” the other whispered back, trembling.
Sylas raised his voice once more, the fog swirling around his boots as he stepped closer to the edge of the pier.
“You will row yourselves,” he instructed, tone firm and unwavering. “Steady and slow. Two guards will accompany you—nothing more.”
Several villagers stiffened, exchanging fearful glances.
Sylas continued, voice cutting through the thick night air:
“When you reach the meeting point downriver, you will remain there. Do not wander. Do not attempt escape. Another boat will arrive shortly to continue the transport.”
The words fell heavy, sinking into the villagers’ chests like stones.
“Follow instructions,” he added coldly. “Do this properly, and your families will receive what was promised.”
Guards prodded the last few forward.
One villager stumbled on the plank leading to the boat and nearly fell. Another caught him instinctively—only for both to freeze when a guard barked,
“Move.”
The small boat rocked under the weight of the twenty unwilling souls. Fog swallowed half their faces, making them look ghostlike already.
Sylas Marrow stepped onto the dock beside them, watching with an unreadable expression.
“Good,” he murmured. “Arkwyn will thrive another year.”
The villagers sat in rigid rows, hands trembling, eyes distant. A heavy silence settled—one of despair and resignation.
And the fog coiled tighter around the dock, as though eager to drag them all into the waiting dark.
-----------
Understood — here is the corrected and expanded version, exactly matching your layout:
Villagers rowing toward the island
Lio, mother, Narissa, Ian, Slyvie waiting ON the island
Tension during rowing
Lio’s father sees his son and is shocked
Boat reaches the island
Two guards try to react
Aren instantly knocks them unconscious
Then the emotional scene begins exactly as you requested
Everything is written in a humanic, immersive tone.
---
The river was unusually quiet.
So quiet that the soft creak of oars seemed to echo like breaking bones across the fog-swallowed surface.
Twenty villagers sat packed inside a long wooden boat, their backs hunched, their gazes locked on the spreading mist ahead. Lantern light flickered on the water, bending their shadows into distorted shapes.
At the rear, two guards rowed with stiff arms, faces set in thin, uneasy lines.
“Eyes forward,” one muttered.
No one dared answer.
The fog grew thicker the farther they went, so dense that it swallowed the world behind them. Some villagers clutched their chest. Others prayed under their breath. One man vomited over the side, shaking uncontrollably.
“It’s just an island…” someone whispered.
“Then why does it feel like a grave?” another replied, voice trembling.
Every oar stroke pushed them deeper into dread.
More than one villager wondered—
What truly happens on that island?
Why does no one ever come back?
Who are the emissaries?
But no one spoke the fears aloud.
Suddenly, through the pale fog, silhouettes appeared on the island shore.
Shapes… movement… figures.
“Are those… people?” someone whispered.
“Probably guards,” muttered another, though the tremor in his voice betrayed doubt.
But as the boat drifted closer—
The villagers froze.
Because the shapes became clearer.
And standing in front, illuminated by a faint torch behind her, was—
Narissa.
Flanked by Ian.
Slyvie.
And behind them, clutching her shawl with trembling hands—
Lio’s mother.
At first, Lio’s father thought it was a trick of the fog.
His breath hitched. His eyes burned.
“…Lio?” he whispered
His gaze swept over them like a blade of judgment.
“—your deeds will echo beyond your life.”
A trembling man near the center spoke, barely audible.
“I… I don’t want to die…”
The guard beside him slammed the butt of his spear against the planks. “Quiet.”
Sylas raised a hand, silencing the guard.
“Let him speak,” the captain said calmly. “Fear is natural. That is why your courage matters.”
The man’s breathing hitched. “My daughter… she’s five. She won’t even remember me. How is this courage?”
Sylas stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough to seem personal.
“If you refuse,” he said, “your debt transfers to her. And the Council will choose who replaces you.”
The man’s blood ran cold.
“Those are our laws. Unpleasant, yes. But our city must survive. And someone must bear the burden.”
A different villager, older and hollow-eyed, whispered shakily to the man:
“Calm yourself. Think of your family. Only your death can secure their safety.”
Another voice—more desperate—added,
“If not you, then who? They’ll take your brother… my son… someone else will pay.”
A woman clutched her shawl, voice trembling.
“It doesn’t feel right. No city should demand this…”
“But they already paid us… we agreed…” muttered another man, guilt pressing into his shoulders.
One young man—no older than seventeen, shaking violently—clutched the chain around his wrists.
“I can’t go…” he whispered. “I can’t… I can’t…”
The middle-aged man beside him put a hand on his shoulder, voice breaking even as he tried to steady him.
“Boy, listen to me. We don’t choose. You heard the captain. If you run… if you resist… they choose someone else. Someone who didn’t agree. Someone who doesn’t deserve it.”
The boy sobbed into the fog.
Another villager—a tall man with sunken cheeks—whispered bitterly:
“What a world… where we die for coin… for bread…”
A woman beside him sniffled. “My husband is sick. They promised medicine. If I don’t go… he dies anyway.”
The fog grew heavier, pressing into their lungs.
Sylas lifted his chin.
“Board the boat,” he ordered. “With dignity.”
The villagers did not move.
Not one.
Not until the guards stepped behind them, spears lowered—not quite touching, but close enough to freeze breath.
One by one, stiff with terror, the villagers shuffled forward.
Feet dragging.
Spines rigid.
Faces pale from fear and lack of hope.
They moved like marionettes pulled by invisible strings—mechanical, reluctant, drained of humanity.
Every step creaked painfully against the wooden boards.
A woman muttered a prayer under her breath.
Another whispered, “I’m sorry,” though no one knew to whom.
Two men at the back exchanged a last look—one filled with resignation, the other still fighting panic.
“It’ll be over quick,” one lied.
“No, it won’t,” the other whispered back, trembling.
Sylas raised his voice once more, the fog swirling around his boots as he stepped closer to the edge of the pier.
“You will row yourselves,” he instructed, tone firm and unwavering. “Steady and slow. Two guards will accompany you—nothing more.”
Several villagers stiffened, exchanging fearful glances.
Sylas continued, voice cutting through the thick night air:
“When you reach the meeting point downriver, you will remain there. Do not wander. Do not attempt escape. Another boat will arrive shortly to continue the transport.”
The words fell heavy, sinking into the villagers’ chests like stones.
“Follow instructions,” he added coldly. “Do this properly, and your families will receive what was promised.”
Guards prodded the last few forward.
One villager stumbled on the plank leading to the boat and nearly fell. Another caught him instinctively—only for both to freeze when a guard barked,
“Move.”
The small boat rocked under the weight of the twenty unwilling souls. Fog swallowed half their faces, making them look ghostlike already.
Sylas Marrow stepped onto the dock beside them, watching with an unreadable expression.
“Good,” he murmured. “Arkwyn will thrive another year.”
The villagers sat in rigid rows, hands trembling, eyes distant. A heavy silence settled—one of despair and resignation.
And the fog coiled tighter around the dock, as though eager to drag them all into the waiting dark.
-----------
Understood — here is the corrected and expanded version, exactly matching your layout:
Villagers rowing toward the island
Lio, mother, Narissa, Ian, Slyvie waiting ON the island
Tension during rowing
Lio’s father sees his son and is shocked
Boat reaches the island
Two guards try to react
Aren instantly knocks them unconscious
Then the emotional scene begins exactly as you requested
Everything is written in a humanic, immersive tone.
---
The river was unusually quiet.
So quiet that the soft creak of oars seemed to echo like breaking bones across the fog-swallowed surface.
Twenty villagers sat packed inside a long wooden boat, their backs hunched, their gazes locked on the spreading mist ahead. Lantern light flickered on the water, bending their shadows into distorted shapes.
At the rear, two guards rowed with stiff arms, faces set in thin, uneasy lines.
“Eyes forward,” one muttered.
No one dared answer.
The fog grew thicker the farther they went, so dense that it swallowed the world behind them. Some villagers clutched their chest. Others prayed under their breath. One man vomited over the side, shaking uncontrollably.
“It’s just an island…” someone whispered.
“Then why does it feel like a grave?” another replied, voice trembling.
Every oar stroke pushed them deeper into dread.
More than one villager wondered—
What truly happens on that island?
Why does no one ever come back?
Who are the emissaries?
But no one spoke the fears aloud.
Suddenly, through the pale fog, silhouettes appeared on the island shore.
Shapes… movement… figures.
“Are those… people?” someone whispered.
“Probably guards,” muttered another, though the tremor in his voice betrayed doubt.
But as the boat drifted closer—
The villagers froze.
Because the shapes became clearer.
And standing in front, illuminated by a faint torch behind her, was—
Narissa.
Flanked by Ian.
Slyvie.
And behind them, clutching her shawl with trembling hands—
Lio’s mother.
At first, Lio’s father thought it was a trick of the fog.
His breath hitched. His eyes burned.
“…Lio?” he whispered
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