Captured Sky

Loud and constant crashes echoed throughout the passage. Pressing his eye to a narrow gap in the stone wall, Havoc watched the Temptress. Her pointed nails, – claws to scalp – the Abomination thrashed about on the arena floor. Her long and ivory tail whipped the boundaries of her enclosure each time she bundled near. By chance alone did she neglect to crush the dazed and unconscious thralls remaining on the battlefield.

Annalise… He thought, feeling an all too familiar chill spreading across his back. Shaking his head, he could not keep his thoughts from slipping from his lips.

‘How much are you capable of?’ He whispered.

A tug of his sleeve pulled him from his thoughts. He turned to see the Selenarian’s eyes, wide and pleading.

‘Can’t we just escape?’ She whispered. ‘While she’s distracted, I mean,’ she said, averting her eyes from Havoc’s frown.

Escape was possible, but only the way he had arrived. He had posed a similar question to Annalise. The White Temptress, though now a monster, had not always been such. Within her psychic projection, he had borne witness to her fall from grace.

Nursed by the serenity of The Fair Lady’s Teapot, he had found his resolve to do so, but he did not want to kill the Abomination. He would not show mercy, yet he felt pity for the Temptress even now.

If it were possible, he would have preferred to liberate the captives and slip by unseen. However, the Dungeon carried expectations for Inheritors; never were they as heavy as within a Dungeon Cell. The path forward would open, but only with the White Temptress dead. Even so, that was not the reason for his frown…

‘What about the others?’ Havoc asked. Slowly the Selenarian raised her head. Her lightless eyes locked into his. Her hands balled into fists and breathing became heavy. Her mouth opened then closed then opened again until finally she spoke.

‘Not one of them is worth saving.’ Her voice was like steel; cold and tempered. Havoc could not have expected it… She was innocent… She looked so innocent.

This is the Dungeon and she’s an Inheritor. What exactly have I experienced to be so naïve that I’d believe even one of them has a heart? Turning his back on the Selenarian, he started forward.

‘You don’t understand,’ her voice was sharp as the Selenarian tugged Havoc’s cloak from behind.

‘I needed rest and I’ve rested. There’s no telling how long the Temptress will be occupied. You’re safe here. I’m heading back down,’ Havoc was not even sure why he was disappointed. He did not know the girl, nor did he know the others. In his heart, he knew his desire to save them was for his own benefit. They had nothing to do with it. He could not draw reason from the well of dismay. There was no justification, but he could not deny his own feelings. He was disappointed.

‘Don’t be so naïve,’ he reminded himself in a whisper. With closed eyes, he shook his head before running ahead in a crouch, leaving the girl behind.

***

‘You don’t understand,’ the girl whispered. Kneeling at the tunnel’s end above the battlefield, she watched as the boy continued his battle with the Temptress. Blade and claw clashed, echoing his mighty struggle.

The once cramped passage was too empty alone. To her, the boy was her safe place. More fortified and comforting than the hidden place within from where he had enticed her out. It was because of him that she could see a future. A future where her choices were hers.

Hope was maddening.

He had heard her cry to be saved and he had saved her. Without hesitation, he ran to her aid. He protected her from the malice of the Temptress and carried her in his arms to safety. Her heart fluttered at the memory.

For the first time in a long time, she was shown kindness. It was no cloying display of magnanimity to rouse the insincere, sickly praise of his peers. There was no wetting of the lips as he fed her scraps robbed from the bowl of a hound all the while unwrapping her with his eyes. He had done the impossible and had done so for her. She did not even know his name; she did not need to. He did not need to say a word, she could see he too knew despair. In him she felt a kindred flame. Like a spark from the same inferno; whatever they could have been before life’s ravishes had been burned up. But while she had drifted to a fade, he landed on dry and set alight. Heat in the cold and lasting night; from the moment she saw him, she yearned to gather his warmth. Perhaps in time, she too would reignite.

But now…

‘You don’t understand. How could you understand?’ She murmured, her voice wavering with longing. Adrift in the ocean of her mind, barely did she register the battle raging below. The battle in her heart was a fight too engaging.

He had given her a taste of freedom, only to turn his favour towards the ones who had kept her enslaved.

He wouldn’t even listen, she thought as she blinked tears from her eyes.

It had been a long time since she last dreamt of rescue. Wine staining the frill of her dress, all glasses had shattered when her first mistress had slapped her to the ground. Naereah has waited for a gallant prince to take her by the hand, lift her from disgrace, and keep her by his side. Even as her palm was placed on glass, she waited. And when heeled foot pressed down to her screams and the crunch of Lucia’s cruelty, she still waited.

He never came.

No one would save her.

But he did…

Her knuckles whitened as they ground against the stone, teeth clenched against a pain smeared onto the ground. She lifted her trembling, bleeding hand, and with a pulse of Harmony a warmth flowed through her arm and the self-inflicted wounds healed shut. As to the laceration cutting her heart, she could only continue to grit her teeth.

I’m just a fool, she scolded, wiping the tears from her eyes. I know him as well as he knows me. Not at all. There’s no reason to feel this way…

She breathed in and out, steadying her breaths and crept closer to the edge of the tunnel’s lip. I’ve dreamt of a prince for so long, how could I not cling to the fantasy of the nearest toad? Her heart twisted in her chest. With her knuckles pressing on her ribcage, she could feel its tortured rhythm.

Collar tight in her fist, she watched from above as the boy flipped backwards over the crushing whip of the Temptress’ tail, held himself up by his fist, and returned to a stand with fluid motion.

‘Stop it!’ She whispered sharply. At the top of her lungs, she would not be heard over the shrikes, grunts and crashing of the waging conflict, but even now she would not dare draw the Temptress’ eyes towards her. ‘Stop it.’ She said again, her heart thumping as the boy stabbed the ground with his spear, its blade rising up from below to spill foul blood across the mossy field. ‘Stop it!’ She whispered louder, shaking her head from left to right. ‘I don’t even know his name!’

So deprived was she of herself, so long had she been hidden away, to feel anything at all was to feel it completely. She was still blinking in the light of her rebirth. Everything was fresh and overwhelming. Deep down, she knew that. Her emotions were raw and unsteady; her heart was a vessel too quick to fill. She knew that. But between the mind and matters of the heart was a chasm wide. Therein, she had fallen.

Returning her attention to the fighting below did nothing to distract from the heights and sways of her unsteady feelings. Like a storybook hero, fearless in the presence of enemies. The boy danced the field of battle. Each disembowelling cut of the Temptress’ claws was countered. Every flattening swing of her tail was narrowly, yet seemingly effortlessly, avoided.

She seemed so invincible to me… But to the boy, it was like a game. Round and round they went. The Temptress doing all she could was unable to catch up. She had two thralls remaining when their battle recommenced. A gallant unarmed blow to the face was all that was needed to reduce that count to one.

Aaron… The thought was given substance by the growl of her throat, and her sentiments tilted once more. Her lips tightened; her nose creased. Her eyes narrowed to a point. Blurred was the sight of all but the thrall.

She hated him. She hated the appetite he never kept from his leer. Wetted lips, eager to tuck in. Her skin would crawl at his gaze. At his touch, fear could only keep her meal down while his company remained. He was her lady’s fiancé, Naereah belonged to the both of them. Her smile was painted; her eyes unmoving. She made for him the perfect doll. He would brush her hair. She would dream of elsewhere.

Anywhere.

The boy using the blunt end of his mighty spear to spare her chief tormentor left an acrid taste on Naereah’s tongue.

Swatted from the air, Aaron bounced on the mossy surface of the lair. The audible gasp of his impact gave Naereah hope that at least some of his bones had broken. The thought tugged her lips towards her eyes. Aaron deserved much worse, but it was at least small part of the justice owed...

More than I thought I would live to see.

Laid out on his back, Aaron’s black leathery wings had twisted. A broken devil, splayed across the Temptress’ lair.

If only this moment could last forever, soft and wistful was Naereah’s sigh.

Aaron raised an arm. His contorted wings twitched beneath him. His back lifted and he sat. It was an unnatural movement; as though a puppet pulled by string. There was no will behind his resilience other than his mistress’. From seated, he moved to a knee. He began to stand but could not. Before reaching full height, a satisfying sound reached Naereah’s pointed ears. The spear pole of her waited-for prince cracked across Aaron’s face. Like a marionette cut from his strings, he collapsed.

Only the Temptress remained.

Fury personified, the Temptress launched herself towards the boy. Her Claws lashing out, he could not retreat fast enough to avoid her mark across his chest. Their fight was too far for the odour of conflict to reach her, even still Naereah feel the scent of iron filling her nostrils.

‘No!’ She cried, reaching the very end of the tunnel, bracing herself to jump. Her legs crouched and tense, her hand gripping the ledge. Adrenaline coursed through her as she readied to jump.

Do it! she screamed inside her mind. Her grip tightened as the Temptress continued her assault; a shrill and cruel laughter lifting up to the tunnel, taunting her resolve.

She pushed herself back. Leaning against the cold stone wall, she held her knees between her arms. Forward and backwards, she rocked. Incoherent sounds, she muttered.

‘I can’t…’ Her hands flattened the pointed tubes of her ears. She could barely hear the boy’s agonised cries. But she could still hear them…

The Temptress was too terrible to resist. Her hero would fall and there was nothing she could do. She kept telling herself there was nothing she could do.

She was an Inheritor, true. But her Remnants were not for offence. What fool would trust a slave with a sword? Her Anchor, The Bandaged Heart, could heal. But not fast enough; not well enough…

I’m useless.

A despairing whimper carried her thoughts. As a Servant of the first step, the only other Remnant she possessed was The Hungry Chest. It was a large brown coffer etched with runes. Its use was none other than storage, and always at a price. To retrieve an item, the chest would destroy another within it deemed to be of equal value.

Under the threat of the whip, Naereah was forbidden from its use without Lucia’s assent. Lucia never failed to remind her that both she and what was in the chest was her property. But the chest held infinitely more value.

But… It could not compare to the boy who had saved her.

Consequences be damned! I’ll take the whip!

She released her legs and summoned the chest. From one side to the other, it filled the passageway. There were Remnants inside but there was no time to replace her link. And with poor Harmonic purity, there was little guarantee another Remnant would accept her. It did not matter. Remnants were not the only weapons of Harmony...

‘Give me a Fragment of fire.’ She said, the grip of one hand held tight against the shaking of the other. With a heavy clank, the brass catch of the coffer released and the lid lifted open. An impenetrable red haze filled the container. None could see within. The mist poured out. It gathered on the ground and dissipated. When it had drifted to nothing, a thin, rectangular slate was left behind. It was like a fossilised bookmark, as though it would crumble in the hand. Naereah gripped it with strength. She had seen it used many times before. In their panicked dash to escape the horrors of the forest beneath the cave, Lucia had not been sparing in their use. It would not break until needed.

At the edge staring down, she gulped her fear. There was no more time for that. On the left of the Temptress’ killing grounds, backed into the rightmost edge of the battlefield, the boy held his spear pointed up.

He hasn’t given up, she marvelled. She could not fully decipher her mix of emotions. A swell of admiration was within that concoction. His cloak in ruins and drenched in blood… Still he was fighting. A bitter note tainted the pot. While Lucia lived, she would be her slave. Doubt lingered near the top. Resolve was an effective emulsifier, but to unify such diverse and heightened feelings completely, it was not capable.

As if already victorious, the Temptress slithered slowly towards the boy huffing and puffing. Her arms held high and open, a familiar cue; her demand to be praised. Her ivory scales cracked and oozing, the Temptress had never looked so lowly. Her self-aggrandisement could not hide that from Naereah. The fraud emboldened her. She would see the Temptress fall into the pit from which she was forced to dangle.

No turning back, she determined as she leapt. The wind whipped her hair. Her fall was steep but the groan of her landing was lost to her shout. She did not linger, but ran to the left, struggling to keep from slipping on the bloodied moss. The Fragment held between two fingers began to glow. She could feel her Harmony flee from her spiritual core into the stone.

Her Harmony was lacking purity, it took nearly everything to power the Fragment. The world lost its focus and her head began to ache, but she did not stop.

The Temptress turned to her and her blood froze solid in her veins. She wanted to cry. She wanted to drop to the ground, knees tucked tight and wait for a saviour never to arrive. How could he? He was already here. And…

He needs my help!

She fell as she knew she would. But not before launching the Fragment towards the Temptress. A crack of stone. A screech of a serpent. A ball of raging, incinerating fire burned forward. Its heat washed over Naereah in her backward decent. Sweat stung her eyes as she thumped the ground. She did not see what happened next, but she heard it. A scream so loud as to shatter the domed heavens arose from the Temptress.

"You treacherous bitch!" Was the psychic wail carried by the Temptress’ cries. The slick of sharp piercing flesh followed. The scream became a whimper. The whimper faded to silence.

Her arms cried in protest as Naereah pushed herself to sit. The world was swimming, but she had to see.

The boy, her hero, his spear buried deep. It protruded from the ground, piercing between the breasts of the Temptress.

Naereah could hear laughter. Frenzied and manic, it was her own.

‘She’s dead!’ She croaked as loud as she could. Her arms gave out; she fell backwards. Couched on the mossy bedding, Naereah closed her eyes and welcomed her dreams.