The Chain (Thresh & OC FanFiction)

5. hunger

Working in the laboratory at the Sanctum was full of screams, groans, pleas, curses, growls, and whispers of the Mist. Especially on the lower levels, where the prisoners were confined, complaining and frenzy were the order of the day. Usually, this didn't bother Thresh, but today he ended his experiments early enough and locked himself in the upper chambers, where it was quieter and calmer, where he could just think.

In the corner of the large chamber stood a gramophone. The device was washed ashore by a storm several years ago, and it turned out that after drying it out and a few repairs, it still works perfectly. There were also many records in the chest where Thresh had found the gramophone. He listened to them all and knew the music by heart. It was restless, chaotic, alive, entirely different from the music he remembered from before the Shadow Isles were yet Shadow Isles.

The gramophone was playing one of the quieter notes now. Thresh sat in his chair, a green, accursed flame burning spontaneously in the crumbling fireplace. Night was beginning to fall, the already gloomy and cloudy sky became even gloomier and cloudy, and from the corners of the twisted islands came out cursed inhabitants.

Thresh saw it through the wide window, a stained-glass window that had more than half its glass missing. The rest flickered in the dim glow of the flames, telling the story of some great magical event, a battle with the Iron Revenant where he and his general were burned at the end of the duel. Both warriors were depicted as titans in dark, crude armor. Thresh knew, however, that the general wasn't that tall, and certainly wouldn't wear such a massive groin protector.

The Chain Warden stared at the sea beyond the Mist. The water was calm, quiet, which was actually unusual. Thresh narrowed his eyes and spotted Hecarim charging nowhere in the distance. The mad warrior led an army as crazy as he was. Thresh looked away from him after a moment – the sight of Hecarim was neither unusual nor interesting to him.

But at this point, he'd rather see Aylin. Disgusted with his desires and thoughts, he still denied himself this meeting, sitting in his Stronghold for three days, half of that time – alone in his chambers. But the more he punished himself for his dreams, the harder and more insistently they came back. They were like hunger, tormenting, unpleasant, and everlasting.

Finally, Thresh snorted and stood up, extending his hand. Instantly, the lantern standing on the cabinet nearby was in his hand, his fingers in a metal glove tightened on the handle of the object, and the souls inside churned in fear. Thresh paid no attention to them – they were afraid, and that was precisely what they were supposed to be. When they were no longer afraid of him, he painfully reminded them of who was the master and who had no rights.

By the time he left the Keep, darkness had enveloped the entire Isles. It was dark, and the Mist lifted and whispered madly. The Shadow Isles were never a pleasant place, but at night they became especially bad.

Thresh passed a dilapidated park, library, and archives. Finally, he was behind the Brotherhood and took a deep breath. It was night. Although it was always dark and gloomy in the Isles, the night was significantly different from the day. Thresh thought disgruntled that perhaps there was no point in coming here at night.

However, he quickly changed his mind when he noticed Aylin. She was sitting near a crumbling wall, on a small metal bench. Besides, it stood a lantern, casting a bright light all around. The woman was reading something from a huge old book. She looked focused, but Thresh noticed that she looked up from time to time and briefly swept the area beyond the wall with her gaze.

"Isn't it too late to read?" he asked, stepping closer.

Aylin immediately looked at him, beaming instantly like the sun suddenly emerging from behind the clouds. Thresh involuntarily smiled at this – he surprisingly liked the sight of the happy woman.

"You're back," she whispered, putting the volume down on the bench and walking over to the wall. "You've been gone so long."

"I had a lot of work," he confessed. "How's the escape from the Isles going?"

The woman sighed heavily. Thresh knew perfectly well that sailing out of the accursed harbor was unlikely – without proper protection, the brunette would not be able to even leave the Brotherhood grounds. Yorick was too weak to stand up to all the wraiths, and no one else had yet deigned to help the woman. Thresh sensed that it would therefore only be a matter of time before she was pulled out of the blessed water's range.

"So it doesn't," he added, smiling slightly.

"I don't even know where to start," she confessed. "Yorick says... he says it won't be easy."

"Nothing is ever easy," Thresh snorted.

To the right, something whined, a long, unpleasant call. Aylin glanced at it timidly, taking a half-step back into the Brotherhood garden. Thresh didn't move an inch, calmly trying to see the unseen in the Mist.

"They're just ghosts," he muttered after a moment. "Less conscious than I am."

"Sometimes... sometimes they come very close," Aylin admitted. "Especially when I was sitting here."

"Then don't sit here," Thresh snorted with a laugh. "You're alive. Barely but alive. They feel it perfectly. They are drawn to it like moths to a light."

"You... you don't act like that," she remarked in a low voice after a moment.

Thresh looked from the darkness of the Mist to the woman. She stared at him strangely longingly, with a sick trust that Thresh couldn't understand.

"Not everyone who lived here was cursed," he explained. "Most just died. The unlucky ones stayed. Strong-willed people retain more of themselves. The weaker ones are cursed wraiths without intelligence, feeling, or inhibitions of any kind. Just like them."

Aylin glanced timidly at the Mist again, but nothing else stirred or howled. Thresh thought it was probably because of himself – he was well known in the Isles, each of the ghosts and wraiths tried to steer clear of him. The Chain Warden was usually thoughtful and calm, but it didn't take long for another crazy idea to come into his head, and he would start hunting for more souls in the area.

"You said you knew why the curse fell on these Isles," Aylin remarked after a moment. "Will you tell me?"

"It's a long story," he remarked.

"I don't really complain about the lack of spare time now," she replied.

Thresh burst out laughing. Yes, this turn of events was very convenient for him, exactly what he had in mind when planning all this.

"Would you like to go for a walk?" he asked in a helpful tone.

The souls in the lantern swirled in warning, calling out to the woman not to trust the wraith. Aylin couldn't hear their mute cries, but Thresh gripped the grip tighter, effectively silencing the dead.

"On the island?" she asked uncertainly. "Yorick told me not to leave the Brotherhood. At least for now."

Thresh narrowed his eyes slightly. For now? What was this mad gravedigger planning? Thresh wasn't sure, and he didn't want to think about it either – if all went well, the woman would end up in one of his labs today.

"You'll be with me," Thresh remarked, extending his hand over the crumbling wall.

The Brotherhood earth, though still imbued with life-giving water, did not burn him like the presence of the liquid in the small flask Yorick always carried with him. Thresh assumed that he could even go quite deep into the complex without harming himself. But he never preferred to try it. The resources of books and scrolls might be valuable, but not enough to risk meeting Yorick and his small supply of blessed water.

Either way, stretching his hand beyond that imaginary boundary of the crumbling wall was no problem for the wraith. His outstretched mute hand, surrounded by a metal glove, was not inviting. The clawed fingers, the cold steel, and the magic of the accursed Isles that flashed between the bones were repulsive. Thresh, however, was a good actor and was able to use all the advantages of himself and the situation in which he found himself.

Perhaps that was why he watched, without any surprise, as the woman took his hand and slowly walked over the broken wall, trustingly abandoning herself to the embrace of a thousand years of evil.