The first thing he noticed was the darkness. There was no light, no warmth, just cold wood and earth. A certain numbness reigned in his body, one he couldn’t place, a certain coldness. Before anything else though, he had to get out. That was what his mind screamed at him to do. To get out. His hands once more moved in the dark, feeling the material cornering him on all sides. Wood, he was certain of it. In his hands were bits of...earth? He was certain it must’ve been. The comfortableness of the element was recognizable in an instant. They had buried him. He began applying force to the coffin, demanding the wood and subsequent earth to move out of his way. The wood crook and squeaked, giving way and breaking, the earth being brushed out of the way as he went. It went easier than he supposed it would. Had they tried to bury him in such cheap materials or had he found a new strength he never knew he had? And what was that throbbing pain in his torso it felt like... It felt like he had been stabbed. Enrolled in the elite peacekeeping force of the city since being a young teen, he had dealt with enough fights, enough magic and knives being send his way. He knew what it felt like and this was that feeling. He had gotten stabbed. Sitting in the grave, glancing at the night-sky, a wave of anger went through him as he remembered what had happened. It had seemed like any normal day at work, that was how every day appeared. After many years of serving as Spymaster, not much surprised him and he was more than content with that. Surprises were not a nice thing in his line of work. And that day had been one of the biggest of all. (edited)
His Majesty had summoned him, as always. The young King was more a child than a young adult but after years of spoiled life - part in thanks to the Spymaster himself, albeit he would still curse it all the same - one did not expect much from the incompetent and inexperienced ruler. He had build a council around himself of officials he trusted, or more precisely, they had made that council for him and made him belief he did it on his own. And as always, the Spymaster would visit and brief his ruler on the latest developments and educate him on matters of state. In theory. Though, this time, when he walked through the double doors to the Throne Room, he was met with a surprise. The King was accompanied by members of the Military Council, a few of the high ranking Ministers, other officials, and...he could see his own family, his wife, son, and infant daughter, standing in the crowd, too. Surrounded by guards. Almost immediately guards walked up behind him and in a quick motion, kicked him in the kneeholes, forcing him to fall to the floor, landing painfully on his knees while his hands were being grasps and tied behind his back. He softly cursed the competence of the only other competent arm of the Throne. But there was only one thing that stood out to him, that called to him, that wouldn’t let him go no matter what. “Commander, for crimes against the Kingdom and it’s people including but not limited to conspiracy, torture, murder, and treason, you are guilty.” And the subsequent several stabs that followed.
Several stabs in his torso were given just to punish him. To make him bleed and suffer. He could hear the piercing screams of his wife, falling to her knees and crying, begging. He could hear the sobs of his son, worried and afraid. You’re all wrong. You’re all making a mistake. All of you are too foolish to understand, manipulated by that fool of a pacifist, painting me a villain. He thought to himself. I saved this city! I protected this city! I created peace and safety! As he looked at his family, he felt anger. Complete and utter anger. Anger at how they forced his family to watch him suffer, anger at how these officials were all too much of a moron to understand anything except the obvious, and how the military and the oh-so-famous Chosen One had only continued to polarize the Court against the Secret Police. Rendering them as evil without ever listening to a single word of explanation of why. Angry at how his agents were going to be treated even though they were all loyal servants of the Kingdom, protectors of peace. He wanted them all to pay, for them to suffer, for their idiotic actions, idiotic plans, idiotic beliefs that had led to so much suffering. He climbed out his grave and wandered off toward the Palace, having chosen his first target. The Leader of the military council, who was more than happy to get rid of the Secret Police. He was so consumed by the will for vengeance and revenge that he forgot the last part of the memory. How his throat was slit, spilling dark red blood on the dark colors of his uniform, how his body fell to the floor, limb. How he suddenly felt his wife’s arms around him and gave her a last look in her eyes. He remembered her cries until it all ended in darkness.