As a Cursed elf, one born with no magic, Edwyr has been forced to live among humans for over ten years. He doesn't mind his job of defending the town that he now lives in from beast attacks, and he gets along with most of the humans well enough, but...
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Feyrith was trying to stay hopeful, but it was hard to think positively when he was trapped in a situation he had no way to get out of. His previous attempts at escaping had left his wrists cut up and sore, and the cuffs binding his wrists now reminded him of his wounds every time he moved. But when he didn't, there was still an ever-present, dull ache in his skin simply from the metal touching it, which he couldn't avoid because, for his 'difficult attitude', the man imprisoning him had decided to chain his hands up above his head, forcing Feyrith to stand.
In a way, he appreciated that he wasn't being actively tortured, but after several hours, his legs ached more than they ever had in his life. He almost felt ungrateful for not appreciating that he'd been sitting before, which was ridiculous. But the worst part about this was that if he didn't manage to escape soon, he would give in and help these bandits.
That was about the most humiliating thing he could think of, but unfortunately, it might well be his reality soon. Feyrith squeezed his eyes closed, taking in a deep breath through his nose to calm down and keep his stoic composure, but it wasn't helping much. At least no one was in the room with him.
But just as he thought that the sound of footsteps reached his ears, the door swinging open soon after. Surprisingly, however, it wasn't the man he had been expecting, but rather the younger one. Was he the man's nephew? Feyrith almost shook his head then, feeling exasperated with himself for caring about this. These people were holding him prisoner—there was no space for trying to be respectful.
"Look," the man said, running his hand through his neck-length brown hair as he walked up to Feyrith. He seemed a little uncomfortable with the situation, but Feyrith was going to assume it was nothing but an act and a change of tactics. "I like this situation about as much as you do."
Feyrith stared at him blankly, almost overwhelmed with the very human urge to roll his eyes. He'd never wanted to do that before, but he was too exhausted to feel worried about it.
"Uncle says he knows exactly what he is doing, but...." He paused and then continued with a lowered voice. "I doubt it."
Feyrith narrowed his eyes. He already had a good idea of where this was going to go, but he obviously couldn't say anything to stop the man, so all he could do was stand there and listen.
"I would free you, assuming you won't tell your fellow elves to come and kill us for this," the man said, sighing. "But I can't. Not without you doing what Uncle wants."
Feyrith looked to the side, avoiding the man's gaze. He had no interest in this conversation. The only thing he could add was that the elves would never come here for revenge. They would see this as Feyrith's failing, not the bandits'.
The man sighed again, walking off to the corner. "All right. Then you force my hand."
Despite his better judgment, Feyrith looked up at him, only for his heart to seize when he saw the man pick up his staff. He swallowed thickly, watching him studying it, unable to even blink.
