Shadow of the First Sin

Somewhere Southward...

As Valerian and his two companions pressed southward in search of their lost friends, the scene shifts to a distant castle, where two friends, if you could call them that, share the cold, unforgiving floor of a dimly lit cell.

“That idiot! It’s all his fault! He just had to kick that bloody skull into the rift!” Lyra fumed, straining against the iron shackles that bound her hands and feet.

“It’s no use. Have you tried using your magic to melt the iron?” Kaela asked, sitting beside her, equally restrained.

“Of course I tried! It was the first thing I did! But these chains—they somehow block the flow of my bloody magic!”

“Alright, enough with the ‘bloody’ this and ‘bloody’ that. You’re making me nervous,” Kaela muttered, her irritation growing.

“Good! You should be nervous!” Lyra shot back, her voice rising. “We’re trapped in some bloody unknown cell, in some unknown bloody world!”

As their bickering stretched into the night, the sound of quiet footsteps echoed through the dungeon. A man in white and green robes, with long, straight blond hair, approached their cell. The lantern he carried cast a soft glow, revealing the stark reality of their surroundings. Most of the cells were empty, while others held the starved forms of goldlings, their skeletal hands reaching through the bars in desperate pleas for food. The shackled skeletons of various creatures occupied the rest—some human, some goldlings, and some unrecognizable horrors.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” the man mused playfully as the lantern illuminated his pale face and cunning green eyes. “You mortals never give up, do you?”

The moment the light hit his face, recognition slammed into Lyra like a physical blow. She knew him—from the memories she shared with Valerian. It was Lucius, the Avian known as the king without a throne, the twisted figure who had experimented on Valerian when he was just a child. A man who tortured in the name of science.

Lyra’s breath quickened as the memories flooded her mind—images of a young Valerian, strapped face down on a cold table, Lucius looming over him. Leather straps bound the boy as Lucius dissected his back, indifferent to the child’s screams and pleas for mercy. “Be a good boy,” Lucius had whispered in Valerian’s ear, before continuing his cruel work until the child mercifully lost consciousness.

Rage boiled within Lyra. She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists so tightly that her nails dug into her palms, drawing blood. Tiny embers flickered at her fingertips, a reaction that didn’t go unnoticed by Lucius, who raised an intrigued eyebrow at the display.

“Oh, aren’t you a fascinating one?” Lucius mused, a delighted gleam in his eyes. “To produce even a faint spark while bound by Arcane Shackles? That’s no small feat! It means you possess an extraordinary reservoir of magical energy and a willpower to match. Most impressive indeed! You will come with me, human!” His tone was almost jubilant as he clapped his hands, instantly transporting himself behind the bars of their cell.

Without hesitation, he seized Lyra by the hair, yanking her roughly to her feet. “Off we go!” he chirped, snapping his fingers. Just as swiftly as he had entered, Lucius and Lyra vanished from the cell, reappearing outside of its confines.

“Release her!” Kaela screamed, struggling against her chains, which only dragged her back against the cold stone wall.

“It’ll be alright, Kaela,” Lyra called out, her voice steady, though the words were meant more for herself than for her companion. “Everything will be alright.”

But the truth was far more grim. Lyra was terrified of what awaited her at Lucius’s hands. The memories of Valerian’s agonizing screams haunted her every time she closed her eyes, and she knew all too well the horrors Lucius was capable of inflicting. If he could do such unspeakable things to a child, what fate awaited her—a mere mortal—in his twisted grasp?

As they moved through the dungeon, the pleas of the starved goldlings echoed off the brick walls, but Lyra’s mind shifted to a brighter place. She tried to push aside the mounting dread, focusing instead on the “what ifs” of her life. What if she had never been drawn to shiny things? What if she had chosen happiness over status? It was her pursuit of status that had ultimately reduced her to a slave, stripping away what little freedom she thought she had. What if she had never been a slave? Would she have lived a life of wealth, or would she have remained poor? Would her mother still be alive? What if she had fought harder for true freedom, instead of settling for the illusion of it? And what if she had never met Valerian? Would she still find herself shackled like this, or would she be imprisoned in a different cage, believing herself free at the academy?

The questions swirled in her mind, but one wishful thought lingered above the rest: What if the walls of this dungeon suddenly crumbled, and the moonlight revealed a silhouette in the sky—a hero with dark wings, come to rescue her? But as soon as the thought formed, a harsh reality settled in. This wasn’t a fairytale. She wasn’t a princess, and there was no hero soaring through the night to save her. With every step she took, hope slipped further away. No one was coming to her rescue.

Her steps grew slower, more uncertain, each one a reluctant acknowledgment of the harsh reality that she was alone in this dungeon. The isolation was nothing new, but the hope of a hero swooping in to save her still clung stubbornly to her heart. As she moved forward, her gaze lifted from the cold, unyielding stone beneath her feet to the towering walls that loomed around her. These walls were more than just physical barriers; they were the divide between captivity and freedom, between the life of a slave and the life she yearned for.

There was no knight in shining armor, no guardian with dark wings descending from the heavens to rescue her. She wasn’t some helpless damsel in distress, waiting for salvation. She was a fighter, and she knew now that the only strength she could count on was her own. Drawing in a deep breath, she straightened her posture and quickened her pace. Valerian had saved her once; now, it was her turn to save herself. She owed that much to herself. If she couldn’t fight for her newfound freedom, then she would never truly be free. This was one battle she had to fight on her own.