Chapter 5

The darkness felt heavier now, pressing down on me as I lay on the cold stone. I hadn’t been here long—just hours, maybe. Yet time felt strange, distorted in the prison’s stifling air. Every ticking second dragged like a lead weight, each moment an eternity circling in on itself. It hadn’t been enough time to adjust, not that anyone could ever truly adjust to a place like this, a place that swallowed hope and replaced it with despair.

The sound of boots on stone echoed down the corridor again, the same heavy, deliberate steps that had dragged me here earlier. I stayed where I was, flat against the floor, my body trembling—not in fear, but from an overwhelming sense of futility. It didn’t matter how long I had been here. Hours felt like days in a place like this, where every breath tasted of dread, and every flickering shadow threatened to swallow my very existence.

The cell door creaked open, a cruel reminder of reality. Hands grabbed me, yanking me to my feet with roughness that sent sharp pains radiating through my aching muscles. I stumbled, desperately trying to find my balance, but they dragged me forward like I was a lifeless doll, my body nothing more than a tool to facilitate their cruelty.

As the guards pulled me down the dark corridor, the scent of blood and burnt flesh hit me like a slap in the face, an olfactory assault that left my stomach in knots. I knew then where they were taking me, and dread coiled tighter in my chest. The torture chamber loomed ahead, its dim light flickering as though even the torches feared to illuminate the horrors happening within. My heart raced, beating a frantic rhythm of despair, while my insides turned at the stench of human suffering. But the guards showed no hesitation; they pushed me inside without a second thought, their grip unyielding.

There, the soldiers waited, lined up like vultures ready to pick at the carcass of my spirit. They looked battered and bloodied, their eyes cold and hungry, devoid of warmth or humanity. Their uniforms hung from their bodies like neglected rags, stained with the evidence of violence. As their eyes flicked over me, I felt exposed, like an animal in a trap, useful yet entirely expendable.

One captain stepped forward, his arm hanging uselessly at his side, bone jutting grotesquely from beneath torn flesh. His face twisted in pain marred by a look of disdain as he stared at me, as if I were supposed to understand my fate, as if this was a game to him. The silent understanding that had passed between us felt like a knife at my throat.

“Do it,” one of the guards barked from behind me, and the command hung in the air like a sinister shadow.

I lifted my head slowly, dread pooling in my stomach as I stared at the mangled arm before me, blood dripped unceremoniously onto the floor, pooling ominously at the captain’s feet. I hadn’t healed anyone in days—not since the man with the broken leg in my forest, but the urge to help bubbled just beneath the surface, sharp and inescapable.

I didn’t want to do it. But I didn’t have a choice.

My hand moved on its own, reaching for the captain’s arm, every inch closer feeling like a betrayal of my very essence. The moment my fingers touched his skin, the magic surged through me, unwanted but unstoppable. It coursed from my being, wrapping around his shattered bones and torn muscles, knitting them back together as if healing came without a price.

The captain hissed as his arm snapped back into place, the wound closing before my eyes. His gaze flicked to mine, satisfaction evident, as if my suffering was a mere entertainment to him. I was nothing more than a tool, a weapon to be wielded until the very last drop of life was drained from me.

I pulled my hand back, my heart heavy as the magic drained from my body, leaving me hollow, an empty vessel poised on the edge of despair. Each time I healed, it felt as though a piece of my soul slipped away, my essence unraveling thread by thread.

More soldiers pressed forward, each one presenting their injuries—broken bones, slashed flesh, grievous wounds that screamed of unbearable pain. I moved mechanically, my body responding even when my spirit screamed in defiance. With each touch, more dark magic flowed out of me, their pain becoming my own, festering within me like poison.

By the time I finished, my hands were shaking, my legs unsteady beneath me as the room swayed in a haze of torment. I forced myself to stay upright, knowing collapsing would simply invite worse punishment. The guards wouldn’t care if I fell; they would drag me back to the cell as they had before, waiting for the next time they needed my unwilling gift.

“Take her back,” one of the guards muttered, his voice saturated with disdain, like I was a particularly filthy thing too far gone to clean.

They grabbed me again, their hands bruising my skin, tearing away the last remnants of my very humanity as they dragged me toward the door. The flickering torchlight danced menacingly as shadows twisted and contorted around us, but I barely registered it. My mind fled this reality, retreating deeper into a world where pain couldn’t reach me, a world that existed only in dreams.

The cell door slammed shut behind me, a finality resonating through the stone walls, and in that moment, my fortress of solitude crumbled. I staggered to the floor, curling in on myself as the cold seeped into my bones like a long-lost friend. My body ached with the weight of grief and despair, every inch of me screaming for rest, but no comfort awaited me in the silence—only the echo of my broken spirit.

I closed my eyes, letting the darkness take me again, trying to escape the horror I had endured. The healing had drained me, pulled at something deep inside, a tether to life fraying with each act of restoration. But there was no use thinking about it. No use thinking about any of it.

Tomorrow they would bring me back. Tomorrow they would make me heal again.

And I would.

Because I had no choice.