An ethereal Queen sat down beside her husband in bed. Her husband wore robust, leather trousers. He perched at the edge of the massive, tall bed, his elbows on his knees and his hands on his head. Some of his fingers were shrouded by his hair strands and his eyes were completely shrouded by the shadow of his bangs.
His wife inched toward him. She too had been mourning. Mourning the death of someone special to them. She was about to touch her husband, raising her hand when …
"Dare not," he said, "I wish be untouched for I wish not to hurt you too."
"You would never hurt me," she said, "never."
One leered from the corner of the only eye she could see from where she sat, was enough to curtail the entirety of that deluded sentiment of hers. In fright, she quickly turned her head away from the staring eye.
The king turned his head again and closed his eyes once more. "Good morning to you, my queen."
"Good night," she said, not looking at him, "my dear husband."
"Have I …" he trailed off, "really slumbered for so long?"
"Three dawns," she said, "and now you have finally awoken at dusk. For that, I am grateful."
"Pardon my behavior, my Queen," he frowned, "it's the souls … they are taking everything from me yet give so much. All of my insides and more have been whittled away. Yet, I feel … stronger. Weaker. No … stronger. Stronger at the cost of my sanity and my ability to sleep at night."
"Take as many nights of rest you'd need," she said, "I couldn't care less. I will stay at your side, in bed, for all the nights you choose to slumber. As long as you are not …" she shuddered, "like … that again."
"Fear not, my Queen," he said. "I shall mend all cracks in our lives the fall of our beloved has stemmed. Fear not."
The Queen forced a smile. "I am forever grateful for your efforts, and my support you will forever receive."
"I thank you," he coughed, "now, could you leave the bed? I just want another hour of rest." It was same thing he said when he was last awake.
The Queen stood. "I am going nowhere."
The king laid supine upon the bed. "But you must. You must leave this bedroom. The entire castle if you can. You see, I'm afraid, you'd be deprived of your life should you sleep in the same bed as me. I …" he frowned once more, "do not want you to end up like them."
The Queen looked over her shoulders and met a rather egregious sight. Twelve men or rather standing corpses, all soulless. Dead before their time simply because they chose to stand at their king's side until he recovered. An awful mistake.
The Queen knew all their names and their middle names and the nicknames her son had chosen for them. It was a pity she had to watch them lose parts of themselves every night. She had failed to convince them to leave just as her husband had failed to convince her to.
***
Tin stood before the tied up Aran. "Stop trying ... You can't escape those."
"Get me out of here or I'll press charges," Aran snapped.
"Hmmm," Tin placed hand upon his chin, "about half an hour ago, you seemed more malicious."
"I only just woke up …" Aran looked around, "here. I wasn't awake half an hour ago."
"How do you do it?"
Aran grimaced. The conversation only baffling him further. "What?"
"Make such genuine faces," Tin said, "when you know you're lying to me. How do you do it?"
"Look, sir, I'm hurt, confused and soaked in piss," Aran said, "could you please—for the love of God—cut me loose!"
"You? Please?" Tin scoffed. "Why, I'll cut you loose. But only when we get to Aradona."
"Aradona?" Aran echoed. "Who said I'm going to some 'Aradona' …wherever that is on Earth?"
"Haven't you caught on yet? I'm selling you. Most likely you'd be in the hands of Lord West from tomorrow."
"Like hell I'd let you sell me. Human rights exist."
Tin cackled. "Don't make me laugh! Human?" He cackled again.
Aran growled. "What's so funny?"
"You're one delusional brat, that's what I make of you. I'd cut you loose and have a drink with you just to get my arse laughin'," he said, "but I know better than that. I love my thumbs."
'Is that what this is? He thinks I'm guilty of the assault? I did find the thumb in my mouth–but no–that meant nothing. Is this the reason why I'm tied up? No, that doesn't make any sense. He said he's selling me.'
"I'm not guilty of that crime," Aran said.
"O, the faces," Tin said, "I love those. So genuine. You're a fine liar, boy. Who taught ya?"
"I didn't bite your partner's thumb off!"
"And let me guess," Tin scoffed, "you didn't burn his house down either."
'Where'd that part come from?'
"Burn his house down?" He grimaced. "I'm not guilty of arson either."
"Okay, I've had enough of your games, child," Tin said. "You stink. Prepare yourself for a ba—"
Suddenly, a cloaked figure—supposedly a man—ruptured through the Inn's door, wooden splinters pitching about.
Every man paused, peering at the figure. They stopped their laughing, dancing, singing and their banter. An undisturbed silence lingered long before a man stood.
"Hey, you just broke that door down!"
"You have to pay for that!" Another shot out his seat.
The cloaked figure drew his sword from his scabbard. The weapon shrieked as metal slid along the scabbard. He then whipped the sword out.
The nearest man shot to his feet, his chair sliding behind him. He drew his sword. "I don't think you know who you're meddling with!" He lunged forward.
The cloaked figure slashed thrice. Fast. Head, chest, and gut. The assailant fell in not one but three parts.
This acted as a cue. After staring in shock, the men in the Inn all drew their weapons and started toward the white-cloaked figure. First they walked, then some proceeded to lunge.
As men charged in, the cloaked figure readied himself. He started toward the charging lot; his long sword held low, screeching along the stone as he walked.
The men neared. The cloaked figure used some of his sith. His sword glowed. It vibrated, an energy emanating. The men drew closer. The energy erupted like flames. The cloaked figure then swooped his sword.
In one fell swoop, heads flung about. As the bodies thudded to the floor, the cloaked-figure continued through the Inn, getting showered in raining blood.
More men launched toward the formidable figure and were cut down like nothing. Blood and organs and weapons pitching about. Slashes, groans, and wails were all Tin heard as the figure neared him.
'He's one o' them soul cultivators,' Tin thought, drawing his sword, 'indubitably.'
He stood, Aran behind him—tied up and on the floor.
Bodies were spread out across the Inn. Tables and chairs were upended. The flooring, was drenched in blood. The cloak figured halted, and looked to his left.
There was one man remaining. He drank from a tankard and rested it upon the table at which he sat. Then, he gave his gaze to the cloaked figure.
The cloaked figure looked ahead again. He needn't bother with a civil.
Tin raised his sword in a hanging right. "Stay back, Soulbound! Turn around now and I'll let you l—"
The cloaked figure swept his free hand to the left. Tin went pitching in the same direction, rupturing through the embryonic, cobblestone wall.
The cloaked figure then stopped before Aran, peering down at him and sticking the sword in its scabbard. Aran gazed up, watching as the cloaked figure reached for his hood.
The figure lowered the hood such that it was at the back of his neck. A female face was thence revealed.
"Chandrelle," she said, "I'm Chandrelle, The White-Cloaked Campaigner. And I'm—"
Aran saw sudden blackness. But then, he saw light. He squinted and blinked as rays of golden sunlight beamed into his eyes like throbbing spears.
In but a second alone, Chandrelle was no longer in front of him. In fact, he was no longer amidst the Inn. He wasn't tied up either.
His peeled eyes were set to a sky. A violet sky and a sun towering over at all. He was only able to see such sky through gaps between wooden planks: dilapidated, rutting strips of wood running horizontally; each spaced a hand apart.
Heart quickening, he began to rove about. His eyes swept every object near him. Wooden planks. More planks. Gaps in the planks through which he could see a path. A path upon which the carriage wheeled.
It didn't take him long to figure it out. He was incarcerated within a carriage. A carriage on a straight, sloped, sole path to the unbeknown.