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Drag. An executioner hauling their axe forward—heavy with the weight of their responsibility. Thunk. The accused’s knees—slamming into the hard ground, ready for their punishment. Step. Finality—the executioner’s final step, and the accused’s final breath.

Drag. Thunk. Step. Drag. Thunk… Nothing.

The silence stretched—long and damning—until only Rymedur’s frantic, desperate struggles ricocheted around the cavern. Eventually, someone Rymedur could not see spoke, and the spasms finally stopped.

‘Prince!’

A large, bulky figure rushed past, and blue light streaked the cavern walls. Lightning, Rymedur realised, glimpsing the opening. Screams tore through the air—violent and unnerving.

Wind rushed in, swathing him in cold air, a balm against his burning skin. Another voice followed, wheezing a rambling response that Rymedur couldn’t quite catch over the thunder of rain pouring in from outside.

Freedom. Escape. Those were the only thoughts flooding his mind.

All he needed to do was reach that opening. Home. It was so close he could taste it.

Where had the others come from? Rymedur was certain he had only heard the one voice before stepping into the cavern. Had his brain finally shut down? Someone was screaming. Was he hallucinating?

The language was unfamiliar to him. Too many people were speaking at once, but the dialect revealed crucial details: a mix of rolled consonants, elongated vowels and guttural stops.

This was a diverse group of individuals.

Rebels. They had to be!

Why else would they have attacked him? This rebellion was not formed of one country, but all. Their enemies were everywhere. They could be anyone! Is this what Aerileas feared? Rats, everywhere. He had said so once. Did he know about this?

Ever so slowly, his breath returned, and the pain reduced. Though his muscles locked in place—stiff and sore—the shocks had at least stopped, and Rymedur focused on breathing.

Gulping air in short, sharp puffs, his chest pumped hysterically. A bitter saltiness coated his lips. Had he been crying?

‘W-who… a-are… y-you?’ The words stuttered, gravelly and harsh.

A swish of hair—so dark it almost blended into the cave—covered the male’s face as he turned abruptly towards Rymedur. ‘Ah! Son of Selcirith—’ the male wheezed, his too-bright eyes like fallen stars—deep, intense azure, that flicked over Rymedur’s bare form as it curled on the ground. Rymedur knew those eyes. ‘You have proven a difficult man to restrain.’

Drag. Thunk. Step. The sound thudded around the chamber, loud enough to drown out the growing screams Rymedur could hear in the distance.

The male moved closer, and Rymedur realised what was making that thudding noise—a metal cane. The dark-haired, bright-eyed male leaned heavily on the walking stick, clutching the handle like it was the last piece of thread connecting him to the world of the living.

Another rattling wheeze left the male’s lips as he said, ‘I’d have thought, with that human heritage of yours, it would be much easier, yet here we are.’

Suddenly, his head turned to the side, as though he were listening to someone. Rymedur followed his gaze, but there was no one there.

The male muttered something incoherent—his words quick and looping like he was arguing, before abruptly stopping and returning his attention to Rymedur.

‘Yes…’ he hissed. ‘Had to use quite a strong sedative, but even then those pesky shadows…’ His bright eyes wandered the cavern walls as his voice dropped low, like he was speaking to himself. ‘Vile things… Cold to the touch, yet sharp as a blade. Shadows, shadows, shadows!’

The high-pitched caw of a laugh had Rymedur’s eyes darting to the opening again. He didn’t care who this male was anymore. He was mad. Rymedur needed to get out, and quick.

Gods knew what he would do to him!

‘Little shadows of yours made it nearly impossible. Hence the need for the… collar.’

Rymedur’s snarl was instinctual. How dare this male suppress his powers! How dare he collar him like some mindless beast?

‘It’s for our protection, you see. Didn’t want you getting any murderous ideas, did we?’ A mischievous, childlike glint—a look Rymedur had so often associated with Resmundur—passed the male’s eyes as he leaned closer. ‘I wasn’t after you at first, you know? I had intended to capture her.’

The male moved back. Leaning heavily on his cane, his long hair—unruly and tangled—swished from side to side as he walked away from Rymedur, dragging his right leg behind him, forcing Rymedur to turn so he could keep him in sight.

The others had disappeared through the opening as soon as the male addressed Rymedur. If he could just find the strength, he could overpower this male and escape.