Night Triumphant

CHAPTER TWO: THE GIRL WHO WASN'T

Light. 

Too much light. It pierced the shadowed corners of her mind like a thousand burning needles. Her eyes clamped shut, but the brightness seared through her lids.

A roar filled her ears, a relentless wave of noise crashing over her. Voices, laughter, the clatter of...something hard and fast. It was all a jumbled mess, a language her broken mind couldn't comprehend.

The world tilted sickeningly. Her knees buckled, but a strong grip – harsh, almost painful – kept her upright. Nausea churned in her empty stomach, a bitter wave rising in her throat.

She retched, the sound echoing too loudly in the sudden stillness. Her body convulsed, but nothing came up, only the acidic burn of hunger. Then, the ground rushed up to meet her.

"Easy, easy..."  A rumble of a voice, deep and familiar, cut through the haze. The same strong hands prevented her head from striking the stone.

Darkness threatened to swallow her whole... a welcome escape. But the voices, those relentless whispers, pulled her back.

"...Rhys?"  Joy and surprise mingled in the tone, a woman's voice, sweet as birdsong.

"Who is that?" A deeper note, laced with a hint of menace.

"Back off, Cassian..."  That rumble again, a note of warning threaded through it.

The girl would not be a broken toy again. Yet, her body was a traitor, so weak, so useless. How could she fight when she couldn't even stand, couldn't grasp the words swirling around her?

A face swam into focus – strong jawline, sharp angles sculpted with an artist's precision. He was undeniably beautiful, like a vengeful angel carved in shadow and moonlight. Those violet eyes—they seemed strangely familiar, and they burned with concern. It was him...the one who'd entered into her broken mind, the one who saved her from...from what?

He was speaking, words she barely registered over the pounding of her own heart. Was he a protector...or merely a different sort of captor? A sob clawed its way up her throat.

"Please..." she tried to form the word, but her throat was dust.

Memories flashed, unbidden and cruel. A woman's laughter, a shrieking demand for something she couldn't provide. Instruments, cool and sharp, violating her flesh. And hands...hands everywhere...

She gasped, air suddenly a precious commodity her lungs refused to grasp. The man was shoved aside. Another figure, a woman, knelt beside her.  Golden hair cascaded over her shoulders, and warmth radiated from her touch – a stark contrast to those other, violating hands.

"You're safe now. Everything is going to be alright. We're not going to hurt you."

The words seeped through the chaos, slow and soothing. The girl's gaze locked with the woman's, her words penetrating the panic.

Distantly, she registered movement. The man was surrounded by two others, tall and powerful. Embraces, laughter... was this his word? His people? Her mind couldn't grasp the concept.

But hope, a fragile, flickering thing, dared to bloom in the ravaged wasteland of her heart.

As if sensing the shift, the woman with the golden hair spoke softly, "I'm Mor. What's your name?"

A blank void echoed in her mind where her name should be. Before tears could spill, the shadowed man stepped forward. "It's useless, Mor. She doesn't...doesn't remember much. Amarantha kept her prisoner all these years Under the Mountain, too."

Amarantha - a dark shadow from the shattered fragments of her memory, sent a fresh jolt of terror through her. A whimper escaped her lips. Mor's brown eyes swirled with pity, and shame flooded the nameless girl.