The air inside the fortress was thick with the scent of damp stone and burning torches. Reed stepped out of the carriage, his boots pressing against the worn cobblestone path leading toward the looming iron gates. Lena was right behind him, her shoulders tense but her expression carefully neutral.
The robed figures flanked them as they were ushered forward.
Reed took everything in. The walls were high, reinforced with battlements. Guards patrolled the walkways above, their armor dark, almost black, unlike the silver-plated knights he'd seen in the village. These weren't royal soldiers.
The fortress wasn't grand or decorated like the Academy he had imagined. No banners of noble houses, no golden emblems of kingship. It was utilitarian—built for war, not politics.
Where the hell are we?
Lena's gaze flickered to him, her hands still bound. He could see the same question in her eyes.
The man in tattered robes led them through the gate, his grin never fading.
"You're quieter than I expected," he mused, glancing at Reed. "Thought you'd be cursing us to the heavens by now."
Reed shrugged. "Didn't see the point. You're obviously not killing us yet."
The man chuckled. "Smart boy."
Reed hated the way he said that.
Lena cut in, her voice sharp. "Where are we?"
The man didn't answer immediately. Instead, he led them deeper into the fortress, through a series of stone corridors dimly lit by flickering torches.
Reed's ears picked up faint sounds—clanging metal, low voices, the unmistakable echo of training grounds.
Finally, they entered a large chamber.
A hall, lined with stone pillars.
At the far end stood a man draped in heavy robes. His face was shadowed beneath a hood, but the moment he raised his head, Reed felt a chill run down his spine.
His eyes—deep, piercing, unnatural—settled on them like a predator inspecting prey.
The man in tattered robes gave a small bow.
"My lord," he said smoothly, "I bring you the ones from the village."
The hooded figure studied them in silence before speaking.
"Untie them."
Reed's bindings were cut. Lena's too. She immediately rubbed at her wrists, taking a careful step back.
The hooded man turned his gaze to Lena first. "I expected you."
Lena said nothing.
Then his gaze shifted to Reed.
"You," he said, his voice slow, calculating. "You are a curiosity."
Reed met his stare, forcing himself to remain still. "Flattered."
The man's lips twitched. "I doubt that."
He stepped forward, his presence alone enough to make the air feel heavier.
"I know what you are," he murmured, tilting his head slightly. "Or rather, what you are not."
Reed's heart pounded.
The man's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Your soul doesn't quite belong here, does it?"
Cold.
A sharp, paralyzing cold shot through Reed's chest, like something ancient had just brushed against him.
Lena frowned, glancing between them. "What are you talking about?"
The hooded man ignored her. He studied Reed a moment longer, then stepped back.
"No matter," he mused. "For now, you are both here, and that is what matters."
His gaze settled on Lena. "You know why you were brought here."
She stiffened. "I do."
Reed looked at her sharply. She does?
The man turned back toward his throne-like seat at the head of the hall. "You will serve."
Lena's fists clenched. "I will not."
He let out a small chuckle. "We'll see."
Then his eyes flicked to Reed.
"And you," he said, tone unreadable, "I have not decided yet."
Reed swallowed. "Decided what?"
The man smiled.
"Whether you will be useful."
The doors behind them creaked open. Two guards stepped forward.
"Take them to the holding chambers," the hooded man ordered. "We will speak again soon."
Reed and Lena were grabbed by the arms before they could react.
Lena cursed under her breath. Reed struggled briefly, but the grip on him was ironclad.
As they were dragged away, Reed glanced back—
And saw the hooded man watching him.
Like a man observing an interesting specimen.
Then the doors shut.
And the darkness swallowed them whole.