Seeker was shoved into the holding area, the harsh clinking of his chains echoing against the stone walls. The guards behind him laughed as he stumbled, his battered body barely able to hold itself upright. He didn't react, didn't flinch. He had learned long ago that showing weakness only invited more cruelty. The cell doors slammed shut behind him, cutting off the jeering voices of his captors.
The air in the holding area was stifling, thick with the mingled stench of sweat, blood, and damp stone. Dim torches flickered along the walls, casting long, wavering shadows that danced like specters of the dead. The other prisoners barely looked up as Seeker entered. Their faces were gaunt, their eyes hollow, staring into nothingness as they awaited their turn in the pit.
Seeker's back burned with every movement, the fresh wounds from the guards' whips searing against his skin. Stripes of raw, torn flesh crisscrossed his back, each lash a testament to his defiance in the arena. He could feel the warmth of his own blood trickling down his sides, soaking into the coarse fabric of his tattered tunic. His wrists and ankles bore similar marks, the iron shackles biting into his skin until the flesh was raw and bruised.
He leaned against the cold stone wall, his breaths shallow and labored. Pain had become a constant companion, a gnawing presence that refused to let him forget his circumstances. But it was the emptiness inside him, the hollow ache where his past should have been, that truly tormented him.
A soft voice cut through the heavy silence, timid but persistent. "You're bleeding."
Seeker's dark eyes turned slowly, landing on the young girl from the cell corridor. She stood a few feet away, her frail frame barely noticeable in the shadows. Her reddish-brown hair fell in tangled waves around her pale face, her wide eyes fixed on him with a mixture of fear and concern.
"I can help," she said quietly, stepping closer. Her small hands clutched a scrap of cloth, its edges fraying. She looked even younger up close, her thin arms and bony shoulders a stark reminder of how little nourishment they were given.
Seeker shook his head, his voice rough. "Save it. You'll need your strength."
Her brow furrowed, a flicker of defiance sparking in her expression. But she didn't argue. Instead, she crouched beside him, her movements hesitant.
The iron gate creaked open, its sound cutting through the stillness like a blade. A guard's voice boomed, mocking and cruel. "Seeker! You've got a treat today. Duke decided he will award your defiance. We're sending you in with some help."
The girl flinched as the guard's words reached her, and her eyes darted to Seeker in alarm. He stood, the movement stiff and pained, and offered her a single glance. She understood without words: follow him. Her small hand reached out to steady herself, clutching at the edge of his tunic as they moved toward the gate.
The guards shoved them forward, their laughter echoing in the narrow corridor. "Two thralls," one guard sneered. "Let's see how long you last with that little twig slowing you down."
Seeker didn't respond. His focus was on the arena gate ahead, the blinding light spilling through its iron bars. As they stepped into the open, the roar of the crowd hit them like a physical force. The noise was deafening, a chaotic symphony of cheers, jeers, and bloodthirsty chants.
The arena stretched wide and open, its coarse sand sticky with the blood of countless fighters. Above, the nobles reclined in their shaded boxes, sipping wine from ornate goblets as they watched with detached amusement. The commoners in the lower tiers shouted and waved crude banners, their voices raw with excitement.
Seeker's eyes adjusted to the light, and he scanned the pit. The far gate began to rise, its chains grinding against the frame. From the shadows emerged two thralls.
The first was massive, its hulking frame covered in patches of leathery, mottled skin. Thick, elongated arms ended in claws that scraped the ground as it moved. Its glowing yellow eyes were unblinking, devoid of humanity, and its breath came in ragged huffs that sent plumes of steam into the air.
The second thrall was smaller but no less horrifying. Its wiry limbs twitched with unnatural energy, and its elongated jaw revealed rows of jagged teeth that gleamed in the harsh light. Its movements were erratic, jerking and shifting as though it could barely contain its own aggression.
Seeker's grip tightened around the hilt of the crude sword in his hand. The blade was dull and uneven, its weight poorly balanced, but it was all he had. He glanced at the girl briefly. Her knuckles were white as she clutched her dagger, her chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths.
"Stay close," he said, his voice flat. "And don't freeze."
The larger thrall roared, its guttural bellow shaking the arena. It charged, its massive claws tearing into the sand as it closed the distance. Seeker barely had time to react, shoving the girl to the side as the thrall's claws swiped through the air where she had been standing. The force of the swing sent a spray of sand flying, blinding him momentarily.
The smaller thrall darted forward, its movements almost too quick to follow. Seeker raised his sword in time to block its claws, the impact reverberating up his arm. His back screamed with pain from his earlier whipping, each movement tearing at the raw wounds. He staggered under the force of the blow but didn't fall.
The girl scrambled to her feet, clutching her dagger but keeping a safe distance. She looked at Seeker, her expression frozen in terror.
The larger thrall roared again, swinging both claws in a wide arc. Seeker ducked, the wind from the swing ruffling his dark hair as he barely avoided the strike. He countered with a quick slash to the thrall's side, his blade cutting through the leathery skin and drawing dark, viscous blood. The creature bellowed in rage but didn't slow.
The smaller thrall lunged at the girl, its glowing eyes fixed on her trembling form, its movements a chaotic blur of twitching limbs and snapping jaws. She stumbled back, her eyes wide with terror, the dagger slipping from her hand and clattering uselessly to the blood-soaked sand. The creature's claws gleamed in the torchlight, poised to tear her apart.
Seeker's chest tightened. His instincts roared louder than the crowd above, drowning out the chaos. Without thinking, his body moved, a surge of adrenaline propelling him forward. He slammed into the thrall with all his weight, driving it away from the girl. The impact sent the creature skidding across the sand, but not before its claws raked across his side. Pain flared, searing hot and sharp, spreading like wildfire from the deep gashes it left behind.
He gritted his teeth against the pain, staggering slightly but refusing to falter. Blood seeped from the wound, warm and sticky against his skin, but he pushed the sensation aside. There was no room for weakness here. Not now. Not with her life on the line.
The thrall scrambled to its feet, its wiry frame twitching with unnatural energy. It let out a guttural screech, its glowing eyes blazing with rage as it charged again. Seeker shifted his stance, raising his sword, his grip tightening as the creature closed the distance.
The first clash of steel and claws sent a jolt through Seeker's entire body. The thrall was fast—faster than anything he had faced before. Its attacks were relentless, a whirlwind of savage strikes and unpredictable movements that forced him onto the defensive. Each swing of his sword felt slower, heavier, as though the weight of the weapon had doubled in his hands.
And then he reached for it.
The hum began as a faint vibration at the edge of his awareness, subtle and persistent, like the first tremors of an approaching storm. It pulsed deep within him, a whisper growing louder with each beat of his heart. His breath hitched as the sensation spread, radiating from his core and flooding his veins with a strange, simmering warmth.
The girl let out a cry as the larger thrall advanced on her, its massive claws raised to strike. Seeker's focus split for a fraction of a second, his heart pounding with a desperate urgency. The hum surged in response, the whisper turning into a roar, demanding acknowledgment.
The smaller thrall lunged again, its claws slashing toward Seeker's throat. He moved without thinking, his body reacting faster than his mind could process. His sword met the thrall's attack in midair, the impact sending a shockwave through his arms. The force of the blow would have staggered him before, but now he held firm, his grip unyielding.
The world around him began to blur, the edges of the arena fading into a haze of noise and movement. The crowd's deafening roar dulled to a low hum, and time itself seemed to slow. He could see every detail—the thrall's glowing eyes narrowing, the muscles in its wiry limbs tensing, the faint ripple of its leathery skin as it prepared to strike again.
The hum within him transformed into a rhythm, a pulsing energy that synchronized with the pounding of his heart. It sharpened his senses, quickened his reflexes, and heightened his awareness. The dull pain in his side faded into the background, eclipsed by the sheer intensity of the power coursing through him.
The smaller thrall struck again, its movements erratic and unpredictable, but Seeker was ready. His sword moved with a precision that felt both foreign and instinctual, blocking and countering each strike with fluid grace. His body felt lighter, his movements faster, as though the weight of the world had been lifted from him.
But the power was wild, untamed. It surged through him like a storm, fierce and uncontrollable, threatening to consume him entirely. His vision flickered, the edges darkening as the energy roared in his veins. He felt his muscles tighten, his pulse quicken, his grip on the sword trembling as the power demanded more.
The thrall lunged once more, its claws aimed at his chest. Seeker sidestepped effortlessly, his blade flashing upward in a counterstrike that sent the creature reeling. Dark blood spattered across the sand, and the thrall screeched in agony, its movements growing more frantic.
The larger thrall roared, its guttural bellow shaking the arena as it charged at the girl again. She screamed, scrambling backward, her hands scrabbling in the sand for the dagger she had dropped. Seeker turned, his focus split once more, and the power surged violently in response.
The larger thrall raised its massive claws, its glowing eyes fixed on the girl as it prepared to strike. Seeker's chest burned with exertion, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, but the sight of her fragile frame cowering before the monstrous creature ignited something deep within him.
The hum became a roar, the power flooding his body in an overwhelming surge. His vision sharpened to an almost unbearable clarity, every detail etched into his mind with painful precision. The sound of the crowd vanished entirely, replaced by the rhythmic pounding of his heart and the raw energy coursing through him.
With a guttural cry, Seeker surged forward, his body moving faster than it ever had before. He slammed into the larger thrall with a force that sent it staggering, his blade driving into its thick hide. The creature bellowed in pain, its claws swiping wildly as it tried to dislodge him.
Seeker gritted his teeth, his arms trembling as he forced the blade deeper. The power within him burned like fire, demanding more, urging him to keep pushing, to dominate, to destroy. He pulled the blade free and struck again, each blow fueled by the relentless energy that coursed through him.
The smaller thrall screeched, leaping onto his back and raking its claws across his shoulders. Pain flared, sharp and blinding, but Seeker didn't falter. He spun, slamming the creature into the ground with enough force to crack the sand beneath it. His blade flashed downward, silencing the thrall with a single, decisive strike.
The larger thrall lunged at him, its claws slashing toward his chest. Seeker ducked and rolled, his movements impossibly quick, his blade slicing across the creature's neck in a brutal arc. Dark blood sprayed into the air as the thrall collapsed, its guttural roars fading into silence.
Seeker stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving, his muscles trembling under the weight of exhaustion. The roar of the crowd was a distant, muffled sound, like the crashing of waves far away. His breaths were ragged, each one burning in his chest, as though he had been running for miles. The power that had surged within him was gone now, leaving behind an all-too-familiar emptiness. It was a hollow ache, one that seemed to settle in his very bones, a reminder of what he had tapped into and the toll it took.
The two thralls lay crumpled in the sand, their grotesque forms motionless. Dark blood pooled around their bodies, soaking into the gritty floor of the arena. The smell of iron hung heavy in the air, mingling with the acrid stench of sweat and fear.
Seeker's legs buckled slightly, and he planted his sword into the ground to steady himself. Blood seeped from the gashes on his side and shoulders, fresh wounds layered atop the welts and bruises from his earlier punishment. The raw sting of the whip marks on his back flared with each movement, a cruel reminder of his defiance in sparing the woman from his last fight. His entire body screamed in protest, yet he remained upright, his eyes scanning the arena.
The duke reclined in his plush chair, savoring the scene unfolding below. His lips curled into a cruel smile as Seeker staggered in the arena, blood dripping from his numerous wounds. Every lash mark on the slave's back was a reminder of his punishment for sparing the girl in the previous fight—a leniency the duke deemed unacceptable.
Beside him, Magus Arven stood rigid, his hands clasped tightly around the staff he carried. He watched the battle with less delight, his sharp eyes flicking between Seeker's movements and the flashes of energy that occasionally sparked from the slave's strikes.
"Your Grace," Arven murmured, his voice low but urgent. "This is dangerous. He's not just some brute with a sword. He's on the verge of becoming a full Initiate."
The duke scoffed, taking a leisurely sip from his goblet of wine. "And what of it? Let him become what he will. It only makes his suffering more amusing. He defied me by sparing that girl—he'll pay the price for it until his dying breath."
Before Arven could respond, the heavy door to the viewing box swung open, and the emissary strode in. His polished boots echoed against the marble floor as his sharp gaze swept the room. He was tall and imposing, clad in the black and gold sigils of Archduke Valtheris, the ruler of the eastern territories.
The duke's smile faltered but quickly returned, though it lacked warmth. "What an unexpected honor. To what do I owe this visit, emissary?"
The emissary, Edran Faltir, bowed stiffly but wasted no time with pleasantries. "Your Grace, I come bearing the Archduke's orders. A conscription has been declared. Every able-bodied fighter under your jurisdiction is to report to Torvald's Crossing immediately."
The duke's smile disappeared entirely, replaced by a thin veneer of irritation. "Conscription, you say? My fighters are the backbone of my arena. Surely His Excellency does not intend to strip me of my best entertainers."
Faltir's gaze drifted to the arena below, where Seeker stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving and his blade dripping with blood. His eyes narrowed. "That one," he said, gesturing toward Seeker. "Explain why he is here."
The duke leaned back, feigning nonchalance. "An exceptional fighter, wouldn't you agree? The crowds adore him, and his victories line my coffers."
The emissary's jaw tightened. "Your Grace, that man is wielding magic. By law, anyone with the ability to wield magic is to be sent to the front or into the service of noble courts. Slavery is forbidden for such individuals."
The duke's lips parted in protest, but Faltir cut him off with a sharp gesture. "You've been toying with fire, Your Grace. I'll not have the Imperium laws flouted for your personal amusement."
Arven stepped forward, his voice hesitant. "Emissary, Seeker is not fully an Initiate yet. He's close, but—"
"Close is enough," Faltir snapped, his tone brooking no argument. "His potential makes him a free man under the Archduke's decree. As of this moment, he is no longer your property."
The duke bristled but held his tongue, knowing better than to openly defy an emissary of Valtheris. Faltir turned back to the duke, his expression cold. "Seeker will join the conscripts bound for Torvald's Crossing. See to it that he is prepared and armed appropriately."
The duke's smile returned, bitter and mocking. "As you wish, emissary. But be warned—he's no loyal soldier. The arena is all he knows."
"That will change," Faltir said curtly. "A man with such power has no place in chains."
As the emissary turned to leave, the duke's gaze flicked back to the arena, his mind already plotting. He wouldn't forget this humiliation, nor the man who had brought it upon him. Seeker's freedom might be inevitable, but the duke vowed that it would come at a cost.
Meanwhile, Magus Arven's thoughts were elsewhere. He watched Seeker intently, his fingers drumming against his staff. The raw potential he had witnessed today was troubling—and dangerous. Whatever awaited Seeker at Torvald's Crossing, Arven doubted it would be enough to contain the storm brewing within him.
On the arena sand a few feet away from Seeker, the girl knelt in the sand, her small frame trembling. Her wide, pale eyes were locked on him, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she clutched the dagger she had finally recovered. The blade shook in her hands, her knuckles white with the force of her grip. She didn't say a word, her face a mixture of awe, fear, and something else—gratitude, perhaps. Or maybe disbelief that they were both still alive.
The crowd erupted into chaos, their cries of excitement and fury blending into a deafening roar. Some cheered wildly, their voices hoarse from shouting, while others jeered, hurling insults and coins onto the arena floor. The clinking of metal was barely audible over the cacophony, a rain of silver and gold scattering across the sand like discarded remnants of their bloodlust.
Seeker cast a brief glance at the girl, his expression unreadable. He couldn't afford to think about her now, couldn't afford to consider what her survival might mean. He turned his gaze upward instead, toward the balconies where the nobles watched from their silken perches. His dark eyes locked onto the magus, who sat beside the duke, his sharp features illuminated by the flickering torchlight.
The magus was watching him with cold detachment, his bony fingers steepled beneath his chin. There was no hint of emotion on his gaunt face, no sign that he even recognized the man standing bloodied in the arena below. But Seeker remembered him vividly—his icy gaze, his cruel precision, and the moment he had unleashed the power that destroyed the farm and killed the girl.
Seeker's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, his knuckles whitening. His breathing quickened, the edges of his vision darkening as his rage threatened to consume him. He could feel the power stirring again, faint but insistent, like the echo of a storm. The thought was sudden, unbidden, and impossibly reckless.
He could kill the magus.
Even now, battered and broken, with his strength nearly spent, he could do it. The crowd was distracted, their attention focused on the aftermath of the fight. The guards wouldn't expect it. If he moved quickly enough, if he used the power...
His body tensed, the sword shifting in his grip as he prepared to launch himself toward the balcony. He didn't care about the consequences. He didn't care if it meant his death. The thought of the magus's blood on his hands was enough to drown out everything else.
A flash of movement in the duke's box brought Seeker back to the present. Armed men entered the balcony, their armor polished and bearing an unfamiliar sigil—a crimson hawk with outstretched wings against a black field. The sight made Seeker pause, his grip on the sword faltering.
The men moved with precision, their presence commanding immediate attention. The duke rose from his seat, his expression darkening as he addressed the newcomers. The magus's head turned slightly, his cold gaze flicking to the soldiers before returning to Seeker, as though dismissing the interruption entirely.
Seeker's heart pounded in his chest as he took in the scene. He had never seen that sigil before, and its sudden appearance sent a ripple of unease through him. Whoever these men were, they carried themselves with authority, their hands resting lightly on the hilts of their swords as though they expected trouble.
The crowd had taken notice as well, their cheers and jeers faltering into a confused murmur. The armed men exchanged brief words with the duke before stepping back, their faces unreadable. Whatever was happening, it was clear that it was significant enough to command even the duke's attention.
Seeker's moment of recklessness passed, the opportunity slipping away like water through his fingers. He exhaled slowly, the tension in his body easing as he lowered the sword. The magus was still watching him, his expression as inscrutable as ever. Seeker forced himself to turn away, his focus shifting back to the girl.
The gate to the holding area creaked open, its rusted hinges groaning in protest as two guards stormed onto the arena floor. Their faces were hard with anger, their movements brisk and unrelenting. One grabbed Seeker by the arm, yanking him roughly toward the exit. The sharp pull made him stumble, the pain from his wounds flaring as he struggled to stay upright. The other guard barked at the girl, his tone sharp and impatient.
"Move, both of you!" the guard snarled, his voice cutting through the lingering noise of the crowd. The girl hesitated for a moment, clutching her dagger tightly as if it could shield her from the wrath of her captors. Then she stumbled after Seeker, her steps shaky but obedient, her wide eyes darting nervously between him and the guards.
Seeker staggered as they dragged him back into the dim corridors of the fortress. The oppressive stone walls loomed close, their damp surfaces glistening faintly in the flickering torchlight. The air grew colder with every step, the familiar chill of the lower levels seeping into his battered body. The rough-hewn walls seemed to echo the clinking of his chains and the guards' heavy boots, the sound filling the narrow passageway like a dirge.
He barely noticed the girl following a few steps behind, her small frame shrinking further with every shadow they passed. Her presence was a faint whisper of warmth in the cold, her fear palpable but not overbearing. She was a ghost of innocence trailing behind him, caught in the same web of violence and survival.
When they reached Seeker's cell, one of the guards shoved him inside with little ceremony. He staggered forward, catching himself against the rough wall. The movement sent another wave of pain coursing through his body, but he remained upright, his jaw clenched tightly against the sting. His gaze fell to the damp floor, the ache in his muscles a stark reminder of his earlier battle.
The other guard hesitated at the threshold, turning to the girl. "You," he barked, pointing a finger at her. She flinched, her fingers tightening around the dagger she still carried.
"Drop that," the guard ordered, gesturing to the weapon. "You won't need it where you're going."
She hesitated, her knuckles white as she clutched the hilt. Slowly, she obeyed, setting the blade down on the ground. Her wide eyes flicked to Seeker, searching his face for something—reassurance, perhaps, or a sign of what was to come.
The guard grabbed her by the arm, hauling her toward the cell. Seeker's head snapped up, his dark eyes narrowing as he took in the girl's terrified expression.
"What are you doing?" he rasped, his voice rough from exhaustion and disuse.
The guard sneered. "Orders from the duke," he said, shoving the girl inside the cell. She stumbled, barely catching herself before falling to the floor. "She's your reward, gladiator. A little gift if you both stay alive."
The words hit Seeker like a blow, his stomach twisting in disgust. He glanced at the girl, who had pressed herself against the far wall, her small frame trembling like a cornered animal. Her wide eyes darted between him and the guards, her fear palpable in the dim light.
Seeker's hands curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms. "Take her out," he growled, his voice low and cold. "Now."
The guard laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "She's not going anywhere. The duke thinks she'll keep you focused—give you something to fight for." He stepped closer, his smirk widening. "Besides, it's not like you have a choice."
The second guard joined in the laughter, his rough hand slamming the cell door shut with a resounding clang. "Enjoy your prize," he sneered before turning to leave.
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the faint drip of water from somewhere deep within the dungeon. Seeker stood motionless in the center of the cell, his broad shoulders rising and falling with each labored breath. His dark eyes remained fixed on the iron bars, his jaw clenched tightly.
Behind him, the girl pressed herself against the wall, her small hands clutching at the frayed fabric of her tunic. She didn't speak, didn't move, her gaze flitting nervously between the door and Seeker's towering form. The dim light from the corridor cast faint shadows across her pale face, highlighting the fear etched into her features.
"I won't hurt you," Seeker said finally, his voice quiet but firm. He didn't turn to face her, his gaze still locked on the barred door as though willing the guards to return and take her away. "You're safe here."
Her breathing slowed slightly, though her hands didn't relax their grip on her tunic. "Why… why would they do this?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
"Control," Seeker replied, his tone bitter. "They think this will make me fight harder. Make me care."
The girl didn't respond immediately. Instead, she sank to the floor, drawing her knees to her chest. Her small frame seemed even more fragile in the dim light, her reddish-brown hair falling in messy waves around her face.
Seeker finally turned to face her, his dark eyes softening as he took in her trembling form. "What's your name?" he asked, his voice quieter now.
She hesitated, her fingers clutching at the fabric of her tunic. Her gaze flicked up to meet his for the briefest of moments before dropping back to the ground. "Liora," she whispered, her voice soft and trembling. "My name is Liora."
The name hung in the air, delicate and fragile, like a spark in the darkness. Seeker nodded, his expression softening slightly. "Liora," he repeated, the name rolling off his tongue with a quiet weight. "It suits you."
She looked up at him again, her brow furrowing slightly as though she wasn't sure whether to trust his words. There was no malice in his tone, only a weary sincerity that seemed to catch her off guard.
"I… I don't know why they put me here," she said after a long pause, her voice barely audible. "I don't want to be in the way."
"You're not in the way," Seeker replied firmly. His tone carried an edge of resolve, though his anger simmered just below the surface. "They think this will make me easier to control. That I'll fight harder because of you."
Liora's lips pressed into a thin line, and she looked away, her hands gripping her knees tightly. "I don't want to be used like that," she said, her voice trembling but defiant.
Seeker crouched down, lowering himself to her level. "Neither do I," he said, his voice quiet but steady.
"How did you end up here?" Seeker asked.
Lira didn't respond at first, her thin fingers tracing patterns in the sand on the cell floor. Finally, she sighed, her voice barely above a whisper. "My village was in the far east, close to the borderlands. It wasn't much, just a handful of farms and a chapel. The Elves raided us in the night. They always raid at night."
She glanced at Seeker, her wide eyes glimmering with a mix of bitterness and pain. "They burned everything. The fields, the houses. My father tried to fight them off—he had an old sword he'd kept from the wars. He didn't last long."
Her gaze dropped again, her fingers gripping the fabric of her torn dress. "My mother tried to hide me and my little brother. She begged me to run, but I couldn't leave him. When the Elves found us, they…" Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard. "They took me. I never saw her or my brother again."
Seeker's jaw tightened, the faint scars on his knuckles whitening as he clenched his fists. "You escaped?" he asked, his voice low.
Lira nodded. "To arms of a slaver. He brought me here. The duke bought me for the arena. I was small and quick, he said. Wouldn't last long, but the crowd loves a girl who puts up a fight."
Her lips twisted into a bitter smile. "And here I am. A year later. Still alive."
"A year?" Seeker asked, his dark eyes narrowing. "How?"
Lira shrugged, her fingers still fidgeting. "I don't fight to win. I fight to survive. They pair me against others like me—other slaves. The kind who don't want to kill any more than I do. We just… make it look good enough to keep the crowd entertained. Most of the time, they let us live."
Her voice hardened. "But every once in a while, they throw someone like you in. Someone who doesn't hold back. Someone they know will spill blood."
Seeker's gaze didn't waver. "I've never killed without a reason."
Lira studied him for a moment, her eyes searching his face. "Neither do rest of us."
Her words lingered in the air, a quiet accusation that Seeker couldn't ignore. Finally, she spoke again, her voice barely audible. "Do you think there's a way out of here? A way to escape?"
Seeker didn't answer immediately. His gaze shifted to the iron bars of their holding area, his mind racing with thoughts of the chains that bound them—not just the physical ones, but the ones forged by the nobles who watched from above.
"I don't know," he admitted, his voice heavy. "But if there is, we'll find it."
For a moment, she said nothing, looking at his him. Then she nodded slowly, the faintest flicker of determination crossing her features. "Together," she whispered.
Seeker rose to his feet, his gaze drifting back toward the iron bars of the cell. He could feel the weight of the duke's game pressing down on them, a cruel reminder of the power their captors wielded.