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They had trained for a while. Avso’s body was aching from training. He had trained especially hard. He walked down the dusty road to his house.
One of the children had left the door open. Avso closed the door as he walked in.
Upon entering, darkness enveloped him. His eyes slowly adjusted, and the contours of the hallway emerged, faint outlines against the deeper black—whispers of form and structure. The darkness seemed to absorb sound, leaving the halls shrouded in silence. Avso crept through the halls. His foot slipped on something wet on the floor.
He couldn’t see what it was in the ground. But his heart was suddenly hammering in his ears. Something wasn’t right.
He walked down the hallway; all the torches were extinguished. He started running.
He opened Bwaza’s room door. He didn’t find anyone inside besides the faint outlines of furniture.
He went to his father’s room. No one was there.
Avso's breathing was erratic. He felt like he would explode from stress.
He rushed into each room, but no one was anywhere.
He rushed out of the hallway and into the dining room; what he saw chilled his bones.
In the far corner, a grotesque pile of lifeless bodies lay in a heap. The scant moonlight filtering through the windows cast an eerie pallor over the scene, making the contours of the pile seem to shift unsettlingly in the dimness. The air was thick with blood, a scent that invaded the senses. A deafening silence pervaded the room. The oppressive atmosphere was palpable, pressing against the skin with the weight of dread.
“Father?” Avso whispered, his voice cracking.
There was a faint whimpering in one corner of the room, but the pile of bodies did not move.
Avso stepped into the room slowly. His sandal-covered feet slipped in wetness.
The whimpering came again. Avso walked closer, his feet making wet slapping sounds.
The whimpering shifted to all-out crying. “S-stop!” the child whimpered.
Avso could barely make out the form of someone huddling in the corner.
“W-who are you?” Avso asked, his voice was trembling.
“Avso?” The voice was Bwaza’s.
“Bwaza?”
The form rushed at him. Avso put his arms up to fight, but the little figure hugged his body, crying and trembling around Avso.
“They—They—They killed them,” Bwaza cried.
Avso put his arms around Bwaza hesitantly. He couldn’t say anything. His mind was blank.
“Did they kill Father?”
Bwaza trembled. “They took him—and—and—they killed them all—dragged Dad away.”
Avso was trembling so hard his mind was blank. He couldn’t think. Is … Is father dead?
The thought was impossible. It seemed foreign. It couldn’t be possible. It wasn’t. His father was alive. He had to be.
Bwaza clutched closer to Avso’s chest, crying horribly. Avso comforted him. “D-don’t worry … I-I’ll fix this … I’ll fix it, I swear. Whoever did this—they’re dead.”
