Chapter 3

The ground beneath me was still warm from the blood that had been spilled, yet my heart felt as cold and lifeless as the body I had been torn away from. I was dragged through the remnants of the battlefield, the once vibrant colors of the village now tainted by ash and death. My captors were mere silhouettes against the fading light, their faces obscured by the shadow of my own sorrow.

They brought me to a tall figure, a witch who stood like a statue carved from darkness itself. General Blackthorne, they called him, a name that was as sharp and foreboding as the edges of his jawline. His eyes, a piercing steel-gray, bore into mine with a chilling intensity that made the air around him seem to tremble. As he stood there, an aura of deep, pulsing red surrounded him, its threads of black twisting and turning like serpents in a storm. It was a color that spoke of cruelty, of a soul steeped in malevolence.

He reached out, his fingers grazing my cheek with a touch that was both icy and revolting. Lust shone in his eyes, a hunger for the power he believed he could possess through me. “Such beauty, even in your despair,” he mused, his voice a low rumble that seemed to echo from the depths of the earth.

“Welcome to your new reality, little Vila,” he continued, a twisted smile playing on his lips. “You’ll find that my collection is quite… diverse. Two of your sisters await us, eager to greet their new companion.”

His words washed over me, meaningless in the grand scheme of my heartache. I was a hollow vessel, devoid of the will to fight or the desire to speak. Yet, when he commanded me to say my name, my body betrayed me, complying with the authority that bound me. The voice that emerged was so lifeless, so devoid of the essence that was me, that for a moment, I didn’t recognize it as my own.

“Ali,” I said, the word falling from my lips in a monotone whisper.

Blackthorne chuckled, the sound a cruel taunt that resonated with the darkness of his aura. “Ah, Ali, your pain is like sweet music to my ears,” he sneered, circling me like a vulture waiting to feast on carrion. “But the symphony has only just begun. Your suffering will be exquisite, and I shall revel in every note.”

I stood there feeling nothing but the gaping void where my heart once beat. My mind was a tumultuous sea, but on the surface, I was as calm and still as the eye of a storm. I instinctively cataloged every detail of my surroundings, every line on Blackthorne’s face, every inflection in his voice. It was a futile attempt to maintain some semblance of control, to hold onto the remnants of who I once was, but the pain of Nate’s loss was a force so powerful that nothing else could touch me.

General Blackthorne leaned in, his breath foul against my skin. “Oh, the things we will do together, my dear Ali. You will dance for me, you will fight for me, and you will sing for me. Your powers will be mine to wield.”

His hand trailed down my arm, his fingers leaving a trail of revulsion in their wake. I did not flinch, nor did I pull away. The numbness that had taken root in my soul was a fortress, impenetrable even by the likes of him.

“And when I grow tired of you,” he whispered, his lips dangerously close to my ear, “I will strip the skin from your flesh and set you free. But not until you have served your purpose.”

I remained silent, my gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the general’s shoulder.

Blackthorne stepped back, a look of annoyance flickering across his face at my lack of reaction. He was a man used to instilling fear, to breaking the wills of those he captured. But he would not break me—not because I was strong, but because there was nothing left to break. My spirit had already shattered into a thousand pieces, scattered across the blood-soaked ground where Nate had breathed his last.

The general turned on his heel, dismissing me with a wave of his hand. “Take her away,” he ordered, his voice resonating with unquestionable authority. “Secure her with the others. We leave at dawn for my estate.”

The morning light was a mockery, a cruel jest that painted the world in hues of gold and azure while my soul remained steeped in the darkest shades of grief. The guards’ hands were rough on my arms, their fingers digging into my flesh as they manhandled me through the maze of corridors that led to the surface. I did not resist. What was the point?

The air outside was crisp, tinged with the promise of more snow. It should have been invigorating, a reminder of the life that pulsed through the veins of the earth. Instead, it felt like another chain around my neck, a reminder of the freedom that had been stripped from me. The journey to General Blackthorne’s estate was a blur of motion and disorientation. We traveled by foot, by car, and at one point, by a method that left my stomach churning and my head pounding—teleportation, a jarring manipulation of magic that tore through the fabric of reality with all the subtlety of an axe.

I emerged from the teleportation spell, dizzy and disoriented, the landscape around me unfamiliar and foreboding. The mountains rose majestically in the distance, their summits concealed by an enigmatic mist. The estate itself was a sprawling monstrosity of stone and shadow, its architecture a testament to the cruel majesty of a bygone era. The castle stood tall and imposing, its turrets reaching towards the sky, as if yearning to touch the heavens.

As we got closer, a heavy atmosphere enveloped me, making me feel suffocated. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, a perfume of melancholy that suited my mood perfectly. The impressive gates of the castle swung open, emitting a eerie creak, and welcomed us inside. What lay before us was a complex network of stone and darkness, stretching deep beneath the earth—the dreaded dungeon.

As I was led to my cell, I took note of everything—the worn stone floors, the flickering torches that cast long, dancing shadows, the echo of hushed whispers that seemed to slither through the corridors like serpents. The guards spoke in hushed tones, their words laced with cruelty and contempt.

“Look at her,” one of them sneered. “Thinks she’s too good for the likes of us.”

“She won’t be so high and mighty once the general’s done with her,” another chimed in, his laughter a grating sound that scraped against my raw nerves.

I said nothing. I didn’t really care.