In the coldest shadows, the soul finds its deepest wounds and most unexpected solace.
Tears
As soon as I opened my eyes, I knew that day was going to be shittier than the rest. The first warning sign was that my morning stiffness had moved to my back. My throat was dry, and a pungent smell was stinging my nose—and if that wasn't enough, every part of my body ached.
I opened my eyes; my vision was at first disturbingly blurry, but eventually cleared after a few blinks. The smell of my blood reflected off the damp walls of the cold cell. I could have killed for a hot bath at that moment.
Pain exploded in my temple as I clapped my hands over it. I struggled into a sitting position and took a good look around. The cell must have been about ten feet by ten feet, with the walls pulsing with magic that amplified the effects of the spells cast on the dungeon.
This is amazing, I thought. Of course, I would have grunted in recognition of the prison's security had I not been sitting in one of the cells—so I could only grimace.
"You up, Sleeping Beauty?" a voice that was all too familiar interjected.
"Zack?" I was taken aback.
"Personally," the fae prince said mockingly from the cell next to me.
"How did you get here?" I asked.
"Well, as fate would have it, I found myself with two strong prey, I thought it would be worth fighting them," he sighed, "I didn't expect that they would throw a net made of iron wire at me instead of a fight..."
All I could manage was a deep sigh. "How long have you been here?"
"About a week," Zack mused.
"Have you tried to get out?" I asked.
"There are twenty-millimetre diameter iron bars in the walls about three inches apart, and if that wasn't enough, there are powerful spells to protect the place. I haven't figured out what kind yet, probably one of the Ancients' spells," he said, "Besides, this place isn't so bad. Every day they throw someone in front of me and then I can execute them."
Somehow, I sensed that he didn't really mind the situation. He sighed in disappointment.
"I haven't met a really strong opponent yet, so it's about time I was released..."
"Zack," I started hard, "they'll never let you go."
"What?" the fae was shocked. "Are you serious?"
"The most serious possible," I replied.
"And what is your plan?" he asked.
"What plan?" I raised an eyebrow, although he couldn't see it.
"Well, to get out," he said.
"What makes you think I have a plan?"
"You're Alistair's direct descendant," he said, "If you've inherited half of his wit, then you have a plan."
"In fact," I began with a slight smile on my lips, "for the first time in my life, I have no idea what to do."
"Heh," he groaned, "You're boring. And a liar."
I laughed. I leaned my head against the icy wall, then looked at the ceiling with half-closed eyes. I'd known for some time that Willingham wanted me, just as he knew it was true the other way around as well.
I didn't turn my head to the side to look at Simon. For a moment, I merely basked in his cold presence, which now seemed even colder than usual. He held me ruthlessly by the wrist, and I didn't resist as his consciousness almost burrowed into mine.
Rolo continued to shake, eyes narrowed. He was no longer thinking. Perhaps he only really realized what he was doing when he was standing in front of the paladins, arms outstretched, unwavering.
Willingham raised one eyebrow mockingly.
"I won't let you take him," the kid hissed.
"Do you think you stand a chance against us?" Willingham sneered. "Alone?"
"He's not alone," Alex declared from beside him.
They looked at each other and nodded slowly. It was an unspoken agreement that whatever happened, they would fight. They knew immediately what they had to do.
Rolo ran swiftly through the crowd, while most of the men got a little of his homemade fast-burning elixir. When he stopped and faced his opponents again, many looked at their wet clothes in bewilderment, others simply groaned at what sort of attack this was.
Rolo smiled too, then snapped his fingers. The tiny sparks turned into huge tongues of flame in a second.
"Absolutio," he hissed sounding almost hateful.
The air around him seemed to blur, a shimmering haze of raw magic distorting his outline. His eyes glowed a vivid green, an eerie, otherworldly light that pierced the gloom. His hair was ruffled by an invisible wind, the strands whipping around his face as if caught in a storm.
For a moment, there was a stunned silence, the flames crackling loudly in the void.
"Accende!" he cried out, his voice echoing with a commanding edge.
The flames roared, growing larger and more ferocious, their hungry tongues licking at the paladins with a fierce intensity. The heat became unbearable, forcing the men to shield their faces and retreat. Although it took the paladins by surprise, no one was seriously hurt. He certainly didn't think he'd succeed in wounding them—Rolo was merely the diversion.
Alex, meanwhile, was wrestling with another paladin. He was struggling, and it was clear he wasn't winning. The paladin's partner continued to hold my body on his shoulders.
Something in Alex snapped. With a guttural roar, his body began to change. His muscles bulged, tearing through his clothes, and his skin rippled as patches of fur sprouted. His fingers elongated into sharp claws, and his size increased, towering over the paladin. His eyes glowed with a wild, primal fury.
"What?" breathed the paladin. "Partial transformation?"
He didn't have much time to wonder, though. Alex's clawed hand swiped across the paladin's chest, rending through armor and flesh with ease. Blood sprayed, and the paladin screamed, staggering back.
Alex did not relent. He moved with the speed and power of a ferocious wolf, his claws tearing into his opponent. The paladin tried to fend him off, but Alex was relentless. He slashed and bit, his jaws closing around the man's shoulder, tearing through muscle and sinew. He did not kill him, though.
Alex turned his feral gaze towards the other paladin, a low growl rumbling from his chest. The primal rage in his eyes was both terrifying and awe-inspiring. He took a step forward, his claws flexing, ready to strike.
But before Alex could pounce, a powerful spell struck him, sending him crashing to the ground. He roared in pain, his body convulsing as he struggled to rise. The remaining paladins closed in, their weapons and spells at the ready.
"Now," growled Alex.
A bitter smile crept onto Rolo's lips, surely they knew from the start that this was a losing battle. Both were aware of this, yet they stood up to the best of the hunters. I wanted to close my eyes, but I didn't.
Rolo took out the last of his bottles, but the next moment he had to jump backward as they shattered in his hand. Some of the acid spray got on his arms, but he didn't hiss. His gaze settled on the tattooed hunter, who held his weapon straight at him.
He drew the dagger I'd given him. He watched his reflection gleam on the cold, sharpened steel, then tightened his grip on the blade and moved toward the hunter holding my body.
A bullet struck him in the shoulder, sending a jolt of pain through his entire frame. He staggered but did not fall, his focus unwavering as he hissed, "Leni!"
The magic worked quickly, easing the throbbing agony in his shoulder. The searing pain dulled to a manageable throb, allowing him to move more fluidly, though the damage was still visible.
His gaze briefly flickered toward the paladin nearest him, a flash of determination mingling with his agony. He moved his dagger to his left hand and ran on, but he had barely made it a few steps, another bullet tore into his left leg. The impact was searing, a fiery lance of pain that nearly made him collapse. With a strained grimace, he stumbled but managed to steady himself.
"Leni!" he screamed.
Limping terribly but in a state quite fast for his condition, he approached his target. The world around him felt distant, distorted by the haze of his suffering. Only one thing seemed clear in his eyes. Another shot was fired—his right leg was ruined too.
Summoning his remaining strength, Rolo screamed the incantation again. "Leni!"
His voice was barely audible over the chaos. Rolo's face was etched with a mixture of resolve and desperation. The shimmering aura around him flickered faintly then gave out.
"Leni!" he screamed again but nothing happened. "Leni!"
He had no magic left to soothe the pain he was feeling.
Desperation clawed at him as he cried out once more, "Leni!"
But the silence that followed was deafening. The void left by the fading magic seemed to echo louder than the battle around him.
Igor watched with pursed lips as the kid crawled in the dust, trying to get closer and closer to the other paladin.
The ground beneath him was a thick, suffocating cloud of dust, which clung to his sweat-soaked skin and bloodied clothes, smearing his already grimy face. Each movement was a struggle; every inch Rolo crawled felt excruciating.
His left leg, now agonizingly twisted and crimson, dragged behind him, leaving a faint trail of smeared blood in the dust. Every time he attempted to push forward, the shards of pain in his limbs flared up, sending waves of nausea through him. His once sharp, determined eyes were now bloodshot, rimmed with fatigue and desperation. He blinked through the haze, his vision blurring with tears and dust, every gasp for breath coming out in ragged, pained bursts.
With each agonizing crawl, Rolo's hands scraped raw and bruised, struggled to push his small, battered frame forward. The dirt clung to his fingers, turning them a deep, grimy brown as he clawed at the ground for traction.
"Enough," snapped Igor. "Don't waste the chance the mixed-blood gave you!"
Rolo slammed his dagger into the ground and tried to hide his tears from the hunters. "We will find him," he promised, his voice breaking. "Even if you take him now, we will rescue him!"
Without a word, the hunters left the child sobbing in the dust and the wolf knocked unconscious.
Rolo's gaze was fixed on the departing figures, his eyes wide with a mix of anguish and helplessness. His heart pounded furiously, a relentless drumbeat of despair and frustration that echoed in his ears. The stinging grit of the dust in his eyes made it nearly impossible to see clearly, the world around him fading into a dim blur of shadows and shapes. The magic that had briefly offered him relief had long since faded, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.
His sobs grew more frequent, the sound muffled by the thick dust that filled the air and clung to his clothes. The distance between them seemed to stretch endlessly. Rolo continued to cry, his small body wracked with sobs as he watched them take me away.
His hands clenched into fists. Rolo's small frame trembled with the force of his silent anguish. He then looked at Alex, who was lying motionless, and the guilt weighed heavy on him.