Chapter 7

The bread was still in my hand when I woke, cold and stale, its edges rough against my palm. It was real. Solid. A stark reminder of something I hadn’t considered in what felt like an eternity: survival.

I stared at the meager offering, its weight echoing the stranger’s words in my mind. “There will be a time when you’ll have to make a choice—live or die.” The choice should have been obvious. Most people fought to live, clinging desperately to the thread of life. But me? I didn’t know if I wanted to live.

The bread seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment. Finally, I let it slip from my grasp. It bounced once on the cold floor before rolling away, disappearing into the shadows—much like my hope, lost in this abyss of despair. I turned my back to where it had fallen, curling into myself. The cold stone pressed against my cheek, oddly comforting in its unyielding nature. It was easier to embrace the emptiness, to let it consume me entirely.

Silence wrapped around me, thick and oppressive, broken only by the occasional drip of water or distant clank of metal. Each sound felt like a needle, pricking at the edges of my consciousness, threatening to pull me back to a reality I’d rather forget.

Who could possibly need me? I was powerless. I had nothing left to give.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor, different from the usual heavy tread of the guards—lighter, faster. I tensed instinctively, my body preparing for the familiar routine of pain and forced healing. But these footsteps paused just outside my cell, and the air seemed to shift, charged with an unfamiliar energy.

“Ali.” The voice was a whisper, barely audible, yet it sparked a flicker of recognition within me.

I didn’t turn, but my heart skipped a beat. It was him. The man from before. His unexpected presence was unsettling, disrupting the numbing rhythm of my captivity. Why had he returned?

I could feel his gaze upon me, an invisible thread connecting us despite the walls that confined me. “Don’t give up,” he urged, his voice low and urgent.

My throat tightened, the words echoing in the silence, but no sound emerged. I was bound by the command still clinging to my essence, my voice trapped inside me like a bird in a cage. The silence stretched out, suffocating. Still, he didn’t leave.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” he said, his conviction unwavering. “But I need you to fight.”

I stared at the stone wall ahead, grappling with a swell of emotions that felt alien after so long in emotional stasis. I willed myself not to hope, knowing how dangerous it could be. Hope could shatter me in ways that even the guards’ cruelty couldn’t match.

He didn’t wait for my acknowledgment. The moment passed, and he was gone, his footsteps fading into the oppressive silence of the dungeon. I closed my eyes again, trying to will away the impact of his visit, but it was too late; his words had already sunk into my bones, a persistent ache that refused to be ignored.

Time lost all meaning after that. Days bled into nights, marked only by the relentless rhythm of the dungeon and the ebb and flow of my own suffering. The guards came and went, dragging me out as they always did, forcing my essence to heal wounds I couldn’t bring myself to care about.

Each healing session was a fresh nightmare. The soldiers I was forced to heal weren’t grateful; they were cruel, their eyes filled with contempt and disgust. They saw me as nothing more than a tool, a lesser being to be used and discarded.

“Hurry up, whore,” one spat as I laid my hands on his wounded arm. The hatred in his voice made me flinch, but I couldn’t stop. The command that bound me forced my power to flow, knitting his flesh back together even as he glared at me with undisguised loathing.

Another soldier laughed as he watched, his voice grating on my nerves. “Look at her, trembling like a leaf. Pathetic creature.” His words cut deep, but I couldn’t defend myself, couldn’t even speak to refute their cruel taunts.

The guards were no better. They pushed and prodded me from cell to healing room and back again, their rough hands leaving bruises that never had time to heal before new ones replaced them. Their laughter echoed in the corridors as they made bets on how long I’d last, how many soldiers I could heal before collapsing.

“Ten gold says she doesn’t make it through the week,” one guard sneered as he shoved me back into my cell after a particularly grueling session.

“Nah, these vila types are tough,” his companion replied, eyeing me with a mixture of disgust and grudging respect. “She’ll last, but she’ll wish she hadn’t.”

Their words barely registered anymore. I had become numb to their cruelty, their taunts blending into the background noise of my existence. Each session drained me further, physically and emotionally, until I felt like nothing more than a shriveled husk.

I drifted through the motions, barely aware of my surroundings, trapped in an endless cycle where pain and healing intertwined until they became indistinguishable. The faces of those I healed blurred together, their contempt and disgust a constant reminder of my place in this hellish world.

And yet, beneath it all, his words remained lodged in my thoughts, a persistent whisper that refused to let me sink into complete oblivion. Fight. The very idea seemed absurd. What was left in me to fight with? What was left to fight for?

I couldn’t fight—not in this place, not under the iron grip of the general and his minions. The command that silenced me was more than just a gag; it was a chain around my very essence, binding me to a fate I couldn’t escape.

But maybe… maybe there was something worth fighting for, buried deep beneath the layers of despair and resignation. A tiny ember of defiance, stubbornly clinging to life in the ashes of my former self.

Maybe.

As I grappled with this, the atmosphere in the dungeon subtly shifted. There was a new tension in the air, a sense of anticipation that even my numbed senses couldn’t ignore. When the guards returned, their movements were sharper, more purposeful. This wasn’t just another routine visit; something was changing.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I felt a flicker of curiosity.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I felt a flicker of curiosity.

The guards were different—on edge. Their usual indifference had vanished, replaced by something sharper, more urgent. They didn’t shove me as hard, didn’t mutter their cruel taunts. Instead, they exchanged quick glances as they pulled me from my cell, their grip tighter but more controlled, like they were bracing for something.

I expected to be dragged to the familiar torture chamber, to repeat the cycle of healing and suffering, but we turned in the opposite direction. My pulse quickened, confusion swirling through the fog of my mind. Where were they taking me?

We passed rows of cells, the dim torchlight flickering against the damp stone walls. The atmosphere felt heavier, the tension thickening with every step. My breath came shallow, and for the first time in a long while, I felt a stirring of something that wasn’t dread. It was curiosity—a dangerous emotion, but impossible to ignore.

We stopped outside a door I had never seen before. It was solid, imposing, marked by deep scratches across the wood. The guard closest to me opened it, and I was pushed inside without ceremony.

The room was far different from the dungeon’s cold, stone halls. It was warmer, though the air was still thick with unspoken menace. My gaze flicked up, and there, seated behind an ornate wooden desk, was the general. His eyes gleamed with a mixture of amusement and something darker.

But it wasn’t just him.

Two other Vilas were standing across the room.

The first Vila, a woman with sharp, bird-like features, stood rigidly at attention, her eyes gleaming with eagerness. There was a strange sort of energy about her, as if she was waiting for something, wanting to please. Her gaze darted between the general and me, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. She wanted to be here.

The second Vila couldn’t have been more different. Leaning casually against the wall, she looked utterly unimpressed, her arms crossed over her chest as she regarded the situation with clear annoyance. Her dark eyes narrowed when they met mine, but there was no malice there—just impatience.

My stomach twisted, a wave of unease settling over me. Why were we here? What did the general want with the three of us?

“Ah, good,” the general said smoothly, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “Now that we’re all here, we can begin.”