As they approached the gate, the weight of dread pressed down on Sorken. He could feel it in the tension of his shoulders, the frantic flutter of his heart, mirroring the strained expressions of Jorah and Kesta. This wasn't just a change of scenery; it was a descent into something darker, something more sinister. The overseer's cryptic comments about Soru had been like a prelude to a nightmare, failing to ease their minds at all.
"Nasty bastards," Jorah muttered, his voice a low growl, barely audible above the rasp of their chains. "I finally see the sun and I can't even enjoy it." There was a bleakness in his tone, a deep-seated weariness that resonated with Sorken's own feelings. The overseer, with his unnerving ability to catch the faintest whisper, snapped his fingers. A guard stepped forward, his whip whistling through the air before it landed, a stinging lash on their backs. "Prudent!" the overseer barked, his voice laced with a cruel satisfaction, "you must be prudent in front of Priest Soru."
'224… 225… 226…' Sorken's mind recited the numbers, a futile attempt to distract himself from the searing pain. 'Just wait,' he thought, a promise simmering beneath the surface of his suffering. 'Just wait until I have my hands on you, each lash will be repaid tenfold.'
They entered Soru's chamber, a place of opulence and cold indifference. The architecture was grand, adorned with symbols and gold, yet it felt devoid of warmth, a tomb rather than a place of worship. As he passed the threshold, Sorken's breath caught. The pain from the whip seemed to recede into the background, overshadowed by the figure sitting on the dais. It was the priest, the very same man whose words had sealed their fate, the architect of their enslavement. His eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned them with the detached curiosity of a scientist examining lab rats. The overseer bowed and then retreated, leaving them alone, as if they were to become sacrifices or something.
'Speak, damn you!' Sorken's mind screamed. 'Did you call us here just to marvel at the pain you inflict on us everyday?' But his heart seemed to have stolen his voice. The priest's mere presence was a tangible force, stifling every word before they could form in his mouth.
"Elara is dead," Soru said, the words flat, devoid of any emotion, like describing an object on a table. He spoke as if they were discussing the weather, an inconsequential fact over a cup of tea. No hint of sadness, no flicker of regret, as if Elara's life had been as disposable as the scraps of bread they were given.
The casualness of the statement made Sorken's stomach churn. They hadn't known Elara well, but she was from their world, a fellow victim of this twisted reality. Her death felt like a violation, a brutal reminder of their precarious existence, the fragility of life itself, and the monstrous cruelty of their captors. These people, were they even human?
He took a sideway glace at Jorah and Kesta, both were equally shocked and a strange emotion painted their entire face. He remembered that a few days back they were cursing their luck for not being as good as her, but now, it seemed that they were the lucky ones instead.
'These monsters have no hearts,' Sorken thought, anger bubbling up inside him. 'Even the corrupt priests from our old religions were more sympathetic than this…thing!' He felt something snap within him. The silence that had been imposed on him had become suffocating.
"Hey!" Sorken's voice broke through the tense silence, his words raw, laced with a pain he hadn't realized he was carrying. "Can you at least show some respect? She died! It's not like she went on a stroll and came back in the evening!" Tears welled in his eyes, a mix of grief for Elara, a fellow victim, and a desperate, visceral fear that he, too, could be snuffed out so carelessly, his life a footnote in some vile ritual.
Soru's gaze remained cold, unmoved by Sorken's outburst. "Cry over a slave?" he said, his voice flat, almost bored. "We are men of Zartan, not children with no experience in the real world. People die every day. We cannot mourn each one who dies." His eyes narrowed, a hint of something dangerous flickering in their depths. "If you do not stop this whining, it will be you that will die next. And believe me when I say that, I did not care for that slave. I will care even less for you."
The priest's words were like a slap, a brutal reminder of their worthlessness in this world. Sorken clenched his teeth, swallowing the urge to scream. He had to control himself. He would not die like this, not here, not now.
At the edge of the room, Sorken finally saw her. Tamara stood amidst a group of other priests, clad in the same golden robes that seemed to signify some level of status. She stood there with an unnerving calmness that was so unlike the fiery spirit he knew. Her gaze was fixed on the priest, unreadable. This was the first time he'd seen her since that horrible day. She was the same as he remembered, with her strength, beauty, and her kindness.
'Look at me,' his heart cried out to her, yearning for the connection, the assurance that they were not entirely alone in this madness. Just seeing her made the recent pain feel trivial, secondary, almost non-existent. Yet, she remained still, her eyes fixed on Soru, her face a mask of serene indifference.
"How did she die?" Jorah's voice broke the silence, his tone heavy with apprehension. He, too, was struggling to remain calm, Sorken could tell.
Soru paused for a moment, as if considering his words. Then he spoke of an expedition to an ancient ruin. Some accident had claimed Elara's life. He spoke of "loss," of "duty," of the "will of Zartan." The words were a hollow echo, empty of meaning and completely devoid of compassion.
'Blah, blah, blah,' Sorken's mind mocked. 'Such pious words to hide the truth. All this suffering for your twisted God.' He closed his eyes, struggling to control the rage that was threatening to overwhelm him. He had to be cautious, for the sake of them all. Even Tamara might be punished for his actions. 'I hope she didn't say anything about our relationship,' he thought with a sigh, picturing her unwavering loyalty, her determination. 'Knowing her, she might have done anything to help me.'
Soru continued, his tone shifting from dismissive to something that resembled enthusiasm. He informed them that due to their "unique circumstances," they would be joining an expedition to another ruin. If they survived, they might have a chance to become guards. "A chance" Soru had said, making Sorken even more enraged than before. A chance to do what? serve them like dogs?
As they were led out, Sorken felt a gaze on him. It was Tamara, her eyes filled with an unspoken question, a blend of worry and a fierce determination. 'I knew you were not avoiding me,' he thought, the brief moment of connection a spark in the darkness. 'First death, then some crazy Indiana Jones trip. What did we do to deserve this?'