For the first time in my life, I can almost see it?—
A future where we rise together, forged in shadow and sin.
Two sons of ruin bound by blood and betrayal.
Ascending as brothers.
Not just him.
Not just me.
But both of us.
The days of silence ended with the scrape of iron.
The cell door groaned open, hinges screaming like they hated being disturbed. The first thing that came through wasn’t light—it was the smell of sweat and rust.
The guards entered.
They didn’t bother with words. Just the sound of chains. The drag of steel across stone.
One seized Lazarus by the collar, hauling him upright without care for the bruises blooming down his arms. He staggered but didn’t fight. His eyes cut toward me once, burning with the same hatred he’d thrown at me days before. Another guard drove the butt of his spear into my ribs before yanking me to my feet.
“On your feet, filth,” one spat. His breath reeked of old wine and decay. “Severen’s waiting.”
The shackles tore at my wrists, reopening the scabs that had only just hardened. Each pull sent a pulse of hot pain up my arms. Beside me, Lazarus’ chains rattled, iron grinding against skin.
The silence between us was thicker than shadow—louder than the guards’ snarled orders, heavier than the weight of the chains dragging us toward whatever fresh hell waited ahead.
Two of the guards marched behind us, their fists finding our spines whenever our steps slowed. The corridor stretched long and narrow, its torches coughing black smoke. The air grew hotter with each step, heavier.
The moment they threw us inside, the air turned foul.
It pressed down on me—thick, wet, and heavy—each breath a struggle against the smell of stone, blood, and something reptilian hiding in the dark.
I knew that scent.
Snakes.
A sickly-green glow seeped from cracks in the limestone, spreading like veins of poison across the walls. It painted everything in that light—Lazarus’ face, pale and gaunt, the wet glimmer of the chains at his wrists. Shadows moved within the glow, thin and sinuous, writhing across the ceiling like living threads of ink. They whispered as they passed—scales brushing scales, voices too low and cold to be human.
Across the chamber, an archway yawned open, a mouth of solid dark. I couldn’t see where it led. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
My stomach clenched. The old fear rose fast and ugly. I’d always hated snakes—the way they moved, the sound of them. They were patience and hunger woven into flesh.
I stepped back before I realized it, my back striking something solid—a guard’s chest.
He grinned down at me, teeth yellow and split like old bone. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said, gripping my shoulders and shoving me to the floor. My back hit the stone hard enough to knock the air out of me.
“You wait here,” he said, the words thick with mockery. “The Lord of Shadows will come.”
I didn’t answer. The taste of fear flooded my mouth, sharp and metallic.
The guards stepped out, their voices low and cruel as they muttered beyond the doorway. The sound of iron faded down the corridor until only the sick hiss of torches filled the chamber.
Lazarus and I were left alone in that sickly light—the green glow crawling over the walls, painting his face into something half-human, half-demon.
“Lazarus, please…” My voice cracked. “Talk to me. Let me explain.”
