Chapter 3: Secret Recipe for Peace, a Dark One
Deep beneath the surface of Sanctora's idyllic charm lay a shadow that no hymn could cleanse, a secret so dark it had been buried for centuries.
Every year, when the first fross kissed the northern mountains, ten citizens—men, women, elders, and even children—were chosen by lottery to ascend the Spine of the North in two weeks' time.
The official story was one of heroism: these individuals were "offering themselves to the light," their sacrifice ensuring peace and prosperity for the kingdom.
Statues would be erected in their honor, songs sung in their memory, and tears shed with pride as they walked toward what everyone believed was divine purpose.
But the truth was far grimmer. These sacrifices weren't offerings to any God or principle—they appeasements to tha cave-orc tribes who dwelled in the labyrinthine tunnels beneath the mountain.
After Saint Felix's death, the council of that time realized they lacked the military strength to fend off raids from the brutal orcs.
Rather than admit their weakness , they struck a grim bargain: ten lives every winter solstice in exchange for the tribe staying away from Sanctoras's borders.
The day of the selection was framed as grand festival, a celebration so vibrant and lively that it masked the somber truth beneath its surface. The square transformed into a kaleidoscope of colors, with streams of ribbons strung between buildings and lanterns glowing softly in the crisp autumn air.
Stalls lined the cobblestone paths, offering steaming pies, spiced cider, honeyed pastries, and roasted meats that filled the air with a irresistible aroma.