"Who dared to kill my children!"
Somewhere in the capital, a furious roar resounded. A young man stood up in rage. His dark eyes were cold and his face trembled with rage. His red hair and handsome face gave him a devilish look. He was tall, wearing a white shirt, trousers and cowboy boots. But at this moment his face was red in fury.
However, after the initial outburst, he took a breath and closed his eyes, when he opened them again, all the rage and fury had vanished, replaced with calm and indifference. He turned around and looked at the man who was standing respectfully, not too far away.
"Go, find out who killed my children," he said in a soft voice, no previous anger remaining, "no one could escape after killing my babies," but there was a certain edge in his voice, a kind of chill we feel in the icy nights of December.
The servant bowed respectfully and left without speaking anything.