WE BECOME THOUGHTLESS

one | the mindrenderer

start a war // klergy and valerie broussard

Alistair could hear the sharp muttering coming from the man on his knees, his hair shaking with his breath; save me, he said, save me.

The stale air was humid against the press of hot breath and the room's poor insulation. The crowd of bowed heads was concerningly quiet, and if it weren't for the man and his prayers, it would've been almost completely silent. Alistair was almost grateful for it. He didn't know how long he could last in the silence.

Save me, he heard again. A prayer with no god to go to.

He felt a cold lump gather in his throat and bit down on his tongue. Like there will be anything left to save after this, he thought privately. His fingertips were already warm and ready for release.

When his commander turned, the hilt of his sword flashed and caught on dim lamplight. Ajax peered across the group of huddled Welish prisoners. "And you'll be able to get through them all in one night? You're a bit... young."

Alistair squared his shoulders and reared his chin forward. His face was hidden beneath a cover of darkness, cast by the hood of his coat, but it did nothing to conceal the flash of cool anger in his eyes. He made sure the commander could see it. "I'll try, sir."

Commander Ajax visibly stilled, and his eyes glanced down at the mindrenderer's readied hands. There was a moment of deliberate silence before he nodded. "Good, make sure that you do, then."

The group of Welish prisoners had their wrists bound behind their backs and their knees pressed into the mud-caked floorboards. Every head was turned towards the ground, every set of eyes hidden under a dark sheet of long Welish hair. Alistair felt the guilt set in even before he began working his hands and bottling their minds, a cold settling in the base of his stomach. He gulped.

It had only been a day since the raid, and the Chrysos military was already setting him to work with cleansing their newest batch of captured advena. He got not a moment's rest, not when there were lives to ruin, or minds to steal.

"Let's begin now," Alistair said flatly, and lifted his hands to flex his thin fingers. The bone shifted from beneath the skin.

Two soldiers posted on either side of the door leapt forward, wrangling at the arms of the muttering man and tossing him forward. His legs slipped out from under him, and his chest hit the breath-wet floor, eyes clenched shut from where his hair split to reveal his face. His prayers went on and on, as if he hoped to conjure some great saviour from nothing.

"Save me," he continued desperately. "Miracles, save me."

The soldiers hoisted him up onto his knees and his head lolled forward, the energy sucked from his tight shoulders. Alistair felt his stomach turn – he didn't want to hurt this man, he didn't want to hurt anyone, but his hands were hot and heavy and his orders were set.

Kneeling forward, sitting on his haunches, Alistair peered forward at the man. "You want to be saved?" He asked softly, tenderly. "I know this is probably not what you mean, but I think I can help. I can clear your mind."

He waited and watched as the man glanced up through a veil of dark hair, his eyes half-lidded. He sucked in a long breath, mustered up enough strength to lift his tired head, and glared darkly at him. The circles below his eyes looked like bruises against his brown skin, and Alistair wouldn't have been surprised if they were.

The man wasn't old, but he wasn't young either. There were creases in the corners of his eyes that might've bunched up against a smile once-upon-a-time, before Chrysos' invasion of Weles, the clash of its steel on Welish people.