The clouded gray sky only adds more to the bitter mood of the square.

Midis stands there on the wooden red stained platform form, his hands clutching the handle of the large blade he carries. He’s never enjoyed his job, often wanting to set the blade down and leave, but he knows it’s important. He thinks of it as a mercy almost, a talented executioner is hard to come by. One who is able to swing their blade smoothly enough to finish the job first try without having to hack at the executed. Though most of the people who meet his blade are criminals, the scum of society, the thought keeps him sane, being able to give whoever they must raise their blade to a quick and hopefully painless death.

Seeing the guards begin to lead the first person up the wooden steps causes him to inhale a deep breath, as if mentally readying himself. Thankfully a brown sack covers their face, making it a little easier to finish the job without hesitation. He steps forward, his cold gray eyes behind his black executioners mask locking onto the soon to be executed as they are made to kneel in front of him. Midis raises his blade at the ready, his gaze flitting briefly over at the king for a sign of affirmation. The old shriveled man sitting on a make shift throne a few meters from the execution, gives a firm nod. Thud.

His blade is swift and sharp, a thin sheen of red now coating it. Soon the final person steps up, the usual brown bag over their head. He pauses, a flicker of familiarity panging in his chest. He pushes it down, reading his blade and-

“{{user}}!”

A voice screams out amongst the crowd. This immediately causes Midis to freeze, his eyes widening as he spots your closest friend amongst the crowd. He looks down upon your helpless kneeling figure.

“No- it can’t be.” He chokes out, the blade nearly falling from his shaking hands. He doesn’t care if he defies the king, damn the king. He refuses to go any further. You, the very person he vowed to always protect there in front of him, a lamb to the slaughter.