After the brutal flogging, Eryndor's body was barely recognizable. His skin was bruised and torn, his breathing shallow. Blood dripped from his wounds, pooling beneath him. Yet, amidst the agony, a strange fire burned within him. Instead of succumbing to the pain, he was drawing strength from it. His hatred, grief, and sense of betrayal coalesced into an unyielding determination.
Hours seemed to stretch endlessly until the heavy wooden door to the torture chamber creaked open. Eryndor's eyes shifted weakly toward the sound as three figures entered. Each wore a satisfied smirk, their eyes gleaming with malice at the sight of his battered state. But in a practiced motion, their smug expressions faded, replaced by masks of feigned concern.
They rushed to his side, their voices heavy with mock sympathy.
"Eryndor!" Alaric exclaimed, his voice dripping with feigned worry. "Look at what they've done to you. This is monstrous!"
Vort crouched beside him, shaking his head. "We came as soon as we could. It's unbearable to see you like this, brother."
Urek stepped forward, his expression solemn. "We had to come. Even though we've had our differences, we couldn't stand by and do nothing."
Eryndor's gaze flickered between them, suspicion briefly crossing his mind. These were his half-brothers who had always looked down on him, who had seen him as a threat to their claim to their father's favor.
Alaric placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know what you're thinking," he said, his tone earnest. "But despite everything, I still see you as my brother. That's why we're here."
Vort nodded, leaning in closer. "We overheard Father. He's ordered your execution tonight."
Eryndor's heart sank, his body tensing.
"We couldn't let that happen," Alaric continued. "We've come to help you escape."
Eryndor's suspicions lingered, his eyes narrowing. But the desperation in their voices and the apparent risk they were taking began to weaken his resolve.
Urek knelt beside him, his tone imploring. "We know you have every reason to doubt us, but we swear we're doing this because we care. Once you're safe, we'll try to change Father's mind about you."
The words touched something deep within Eryndor. He had spent his life yearning for his brothers' approval, for them to see him as more than an outcast. A faint smile touched his lips, his guard slowly lowering.
"Thank you," he whispered, his voice hoarse and weak.
The three of them exchanged fleeting glances, their eyes betraying their true intentions for only a moment before returning to their practiced concern.
"Let's get you out of here," Alaric said, pulling a hidden key from his pocket.
They released him from the bindings, helping him to his feet. Eryndor winced, his body screaming in protest, but he forced himself to stand, leaning heavily on them for support.
As they moved out of the chamber, their steps quick but cautious, Urek glanced around, ensuring no guards were in sight. "The palace's back gate is the safest route," he said. "We can't risk attracting attention."
Eryndor nodded, too drained to question them further. The faint hope of survival and the belief in their sudden brotherly concern kept him moving forward.
They led him through dimly lit corridors and shadowed hallways, their pace deliberate. Each time they met no resistance, their hidden satisfaction grew. Eryndor, oblivious to their silent exchange of triumphant glances, clung to the fragile belief that they were truly helping him.
As they approached the back gate, Eryndor whispered, "Thank you… all of you. For this."
Alaric smirked faintly, though he quickly masked it with a solemn nod. "Anything for family."
But in their hearts, they knew this was no rescue. Eryndor had walked willingly into their trap, and this time, they would ensure there was no escape.
The path they took was overgrown with thick underbrush, the sound of crunching leaves and snapping twigs filling the air. The sky was nearly dark, hues of dusky purple and deep orange streaking the horizon, yet there was still enough light to make out the winding trail ahead. Eryndor's breaths came in ragged gasps, his battered body struggling to keep up as his brothers maintained a steady pace.
He groaned softly, his legs threatening to give out beneath him. Alaric, walking slightly ahead, paused and glanced over his shoulder. His hand reached into his pouch, pulling out a small, gleaming pill.
"Here," Alaric said, holding it out to Eryndor. "Take this. It's a healing pill. It'll help."
Eryndor hesitated for a brief moment before accepting the pill with trembling hands. "Thank you," he said, his voice laden with gratitude.
He swallowed the pill, its bitterness quickly replaced by a wave of warmth spreading through his body. Almost immediately, he felt his strength returning, his wounds numbing as though they were being healed. For the first time since the flogging, he felt almost whole.
"Better?" Alaric asked, feigning concern.
Eryndor nodded, his lips curling into a faint smile. "Much better. Thank you, Alaric. I… I owe you."
Alaric simply nodded, his expression neutral, though a flicker of satisfaction crossed his features. What Eryndor didn't know was that the pill was no true healing remedy. It provided temporary relief, but its true purpose was far more sinister, it would begin to consume him from the inside, ensuring his demise over time.
After what seemed like hours, they emerged from the dense foliage and found themselves standing before a river. The air here was thick with a putrid stench, so foul that they instinctively covered their noses with their hands.
The river before them was pitch black, its surface eerily still and reflective like a dark mirror. No signs of life stirred along its banks, yet the oppressive atmosphere was suffocating.
Eryndor's heart sank. His voice trembled as he asked, "Isn't this… the rumored River of Death?"
Urek nodded solemnly. "Yes, it is."
Eryndor's suspicion flared again, his gaze darting between his brothers. "Then what are we doing here?"
Alaric stepped forward, his tone calm and calculated. "This is the safest and simplest way to get you away from the palace. When Father starts searching for you, he'll never think to look here. It's the perfect place to throw him off."
Eryndor nodded slowly, the explanation making a twisted kind of sense.
"And once we cross you safely to the other side," Urek added, "we'll take another route home. You see, the River of Death has rules. One can only cross it once in a day. Any attempt to cross it back within the same day will result in death."
Eryndor's eyes widened slightly at the ominous warning, but he nodded again, trusting their words. "Understood," he said softly.
Without hesitation, the brothers led him to a small, decrepit boat tied to the bank. Its wood was cracked and splintered, but it seemed sturdy enough to hold their weight.
Alaric gestured for Eryndor to step in first, and he obeyed, settling into the creaking vessel. The smell of decay was stronger here, the river's sinister energy almost tangible. One by one, Urek, Vort, and Alaric climbed in after him, their movements calculated and precise.
As the boat began to drift across the black water, the brothers exchanged fleeting, satisfied glances.
The trap was now in motion.