The Ministry's grand chamber was silent, save for the faint hum of energy resonating through the walls. At the center of the chamber stood Lord Dominic, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed into the great opening before him. The air shimmered with a golden hue, the remnants of the Surge pulsating faintly within the structure. This was the heart of his empire, the source of his power, and the cornerstone of his rule.
The heavy thud of boots echoed through the chamber as Lord Phil approached. His dark cloak trailed behind him, and his expression, as always, was a mask of disciplined calm. He stopped several paces behind Lord Dominic, bowing his head slightly.
"You summoned me, my lord?"
Dominic didn't turn immediately. He allowed the silence to linger, his gaze fixed on the golden currents swirling within the chamber. When he finally spoke, his voice was smooth and deliberate.
"Yes, Phil. I have a task for you."
Phil stepped forward slightly, his brow furrowing. "A task? What kind of task requires summoning me at this hour?"
Dominic turned slowly, his presence as commanding as ever. The faint golden glow from the Surge reflected in his eyes, making him appear otherworldly. "Gather one thousand of our best men. Find the rebels and their leader, Mr. Brian. Tell them this: we have his daughter, Sara-fin. If they deliver Wilson Tanga to us, we will release her and grant them their freedom. They can live their lives in peace, far from here. If they refuse..."
Dominic allowed the sentence to hang in the air, his smile dark and knowing.
Phil tilted his head, his skepticism clear. "And if they refuse? Do we eliminate them all?"
Dominic's smile widened. "That won't be necessary. I don't need an army to end their rebellion. If it comes to that, I'll deal with it myself."
Phil's expression hardened slightly. "Then why make the offer at all? We could crush the rebels and hunt down Wilson ourselves. Why waste time negotiating with insurgents?"
Dominic stepped closer, his tone turning sharp. "Because, Phil, this is a game of strategy, not brute force. The rebels know Wilson better than anyone. And after his betrayal, they'll be more than willing to turn him over to save their own lives. Why expend our resources when we can let desperation do the work for us?"
Phil nodded slowly, though the faintest trace of doubt flickered in his eyes. "As you command, my lord."
Dominic's smile faded, replaced by a steely glare. "Good. Now go. I expect results."
Without another word, Phil turned and strode from the chamber, leaving Dominic alone once more.
SARA-FIN'S ANGER AND CONFUSION
The faint light of dawn filtered through the small, barred window of Sara-fin's cell. She sat in the corner, her arms wrapped around her knees, staring blankly at the cracked stone walls. Her body ached from a day of captivity, but the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the storm raging inside her.
Her thoughts were a whirlwind of anger, grief, and betrayal. She couldn't stop replaying the moment Wilson had fled, leaving her behind. The memory burned in her chest like a fire that refused to be extinguished.
A loud clang broke her from her thoughts. The cell door creaked open, and a guard stepped inside, tossing a tray of food onto the floor.
"Eat up," the guard said gruffly. "You've got a meeting to attend."
Sara-fin glared at him, her jaw tightening. "I'm not eating anything you give me," she spat.
The guard smirked, clearly unfazed by her defiance. "Suit yourself. Just don't pass out before the meeting."
As he turned to leave, Sara-fin grabbed the tray and hurled it at him with all her strength. It hit the wall beside him, splattering food onto the ground.
The guard paused, his hand resting on the doorframe. For a moment, Sara-fin thought he might retaliate, but he simply chuckled. "Feisty. I'll let them deal with you."
The door slammed shut, leaving her alone once more.
A FORCED TRANSFORMATION
It wasn't long before the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor again. This time, two guards entered the cell, their expressions unreadable. Without a word, they grabbed her by the arms and hauled her to her feet.
"Get your hands off me!" Sara-fin shouted, struggling against their grip.
The guards ignored her protests, dragging her through the dimly lit corridors. They brought her to a separate room, stark and sterile, where a bath had been prepared.
"What is this?" Sara-fin demanded, her voice laced with suspicion. "What are you doing?"
The guards didn't respond. Instead, two women entered the room, their faces neutral. They motioned for the guards to leave before turning their attention to Sara-fin.
"You'll bathe," one of the women said curtly.
"And wear this," the other added, holding up a beautifully crafted dress. The fabric shimmered faintly in the light, a stark contrast to the tattered clothing Sara-fin currently wore.
Sara-fin's brows knitted together in confusion and anger. "Why? What's the point of this?"
The women didn't answer. Instead, they guided her toward the bath, their firm but silent insistence leaving her with little choice.
As she stepped into the warm water, her mind raced with questions. Why were they dressing her up? Who was she meeting? And what game were the Ministrians playing?
When she was finally dressed, Sara-fin stared at her reflection in the small mirror provided. The woman staring back looked almost unrecognizable clean, polished, and dressed in clothes far too fine for a prisoner.
But no matter how they tried to transform her appearance, they couldn't hide the fire in her eyes.