Two Eyes Cenote tiburon

Cameo.

Kiyya’s small, light footsteps echoed softly against the cold stone floor of the prison corridors. His curiosity, stoked by whispered stories and half-heard rumors, had pulled him away from the comforting chaos of his sisters’ world. The promise of seeing something remarkable, something secret, was too tantalizing to resist.

His sisters had ventured into these depths before, and their tales had only added to his fascination with the mysterious underbelly of Muat-Riya. He knew, vaguely and innocently, of this thing called a pervert which Tiye had mentioned; he knew also that Safiya had been on-guard here before her sudden departure, but beyond that Kiyya was oblivious.

Kiyya hesitated just outside the stone arch of the doorway, his heart pounding with both excitement and fear. He wasn’t supposed to be here, and he knew it. But he had promised himself he would be brave, like the heroes from the stories he so adored.

The scene before him was nothing like he had imagined. The cell was a brutal tableau of violence and anguish of which he had no context. A foreign body—their form a grim symphony of dark fur and bloodied muscle—was locked in a savage embrace with the shape he did know. Kiyya’s eyes widened with terror and disbelief as he saw his father—the man he idolized, this perfect man who was strong, noble, and invincible—battered and bloodied.

Pinned in place.

His father’s face, usually so proud and commanding, was now a mask of pain and defiance, while Soto’s face was a twisted portrait of grim satisfaction. The contrast was almost too much for the young boy to process.

The young boy remained hidden, watching the scene unfold with a mix of dread and morbid curiosity. The chaotic dance of violence before him, Soto’s relentless assault on his father, and the stark contrast between the blood and the stone seemed to meld into a nightmarish tableau that Kiyya would not easily forget. As his father’s struggles weakened and Soto’s ferocious grip persisted, Kiyya’s small frame trembled with a fear far beyond his years.

In that moment, Kiyya’s innocent world shattered. The stories of valor and heroism he had clung to felt distant and hollow compared to the raw, painful reality before him.

He saw weakness in his father for the first time. He saw this thing which could not have been a man, pressed too close. He smelled the blood. His mind buzzed as he tried to justify what he was now witnessing, and out of him shrieked a child's barrage:

GET OFF MY DAD!

At the same time he was lunging in to the space, pushing off of the nearest wall and throwing all of his too-soft pudge against the demon, his warrior blood burning inside of him.