[Arthdal Chronicles] Fight for freedom

CHAPTER 1 : It all begins. (EDITED 01.22)

Arthdal.

That city dominated by selfish greed and in which people find their happiness into the domination of others.

That city in which some people think it's a normal thing to own someone else's life and to pigeonhole people according to the place they are from.

A simple look is enough to understand what kind of place I stepped in.

On my left, a horse is being flogged because it refuses to move. Further, chicken are caught because they escaped the tiny cages they were emprisoned in. On a quiet street, a slave is being beaten by his master because he was caught stealing an apple to nurrish himself in order not to starve to death.

Right, that's the way of Arthdal, they don't respect all living beings the same way, those of lower status are treated like animals, or worst, they are not even called humans, barbarians, that's how the citizens of Arthdal consider those who aren't part of the Union, those who aren't like them.

But animals and barbarians aren't at the lowest of their social scale, people like me are, though I am one of the last representatives of my species.

I am an Igutu, child of a Saram and a Neanthal. My blood is purple, a perfect mix of my mother's red blood and my father's blue one.

Arthdal citizens hate those they call barbarians but they hate people of my kind even more. And yet, what's so different between us? Sarams, Arthdal citizens or barbarians, Neanthals or Igutus, do the place we come from or the color of our blood matter that much? No, it shouldn't matter, blood is just a fluid going through our bodies, red, blue or purple, blood is just blood. We are all humans with two eyes to see, one mouth to speak, one nose to smell, two hands to touch, two ears to hear and one heart to feel and love, isn't all of that sufficient to forget our differences?

People like me are rare nowadays, especially in Arthdal, Neanthals and Igutus have been exterminated by the Sarams who think their own species is the superior one. They wanted our land, we refused the deal and so they took it by force by hunting down those who opposed their will. We were a problem they got ridden of.

And yet, they hadn't found us all. Some of us have survived, and I wonder how the citizens of Arthdal would react if they knew that, at that exact moment, someone whose life is considered worth less than one of the chicken they emprisoned, was walking among them?

They hate people like me because they fear me and, instead of seeing what make us alike, they only see my differences: my capacity to see in the dark allowing me to see my enemies in the night before they see me, my capacity to hear better than them allowing me to hear their evil whispers, my blood allowing me a certain resistance to injuries and a quick recovery, my natural strength which allows me to be able to easily break a neck like a Saram breaks a thin wood stick but maybe they fear even more something they are jealous of, my dreams, those images the Gods allow me to see in my sleep since I was born while even the most sincere followers of the Gods in Arthdal can't have without a long training.

I am an Igutu, a purple blood monster, a cursed person, someone bringing bad luck according to what they say.

Maybe they are right, maybe that's what I am, after all, I do intend to mess with the city I am now in. But they can't know about me, they can't see what I am, it's not written on my face, it can't be heard in my voice, it can only be seen if someone rubs the lipstick covering my purple lips, or if someone tears off my clothes to let appear the blue scab still visible on my back. It could also be seen with a scratch but I would challenge anyone here to dare trying to inflig me one.