Barracks (War of Hearts)

29- Altruism

The frigid air clings to my skin, and despite the chill, sweat beads form on my forehead. I crouch behind a crumbling stone wall, my breaths shallow and rapid. The room ahead is dimly lit, shadows dancing as the men enter. They shove the young boy forward, his eyes wide with fear. I try to make sense of it all—why would they treat him this way?

All this brutality for a simple theft. But even if he did steal, why bother with such ferocity when their coffers overflow with wealth?

I wait, heart pounding, as Aldaire's voice reverberates through the chamber. "Where are the stones?"

I inch down the narrow staircase, following the echo. The soldiers are everywhere—four stationed in the hallway, the rest clustered around Aldaire inside. A sudden blow to his jaw and his knees threaten to buckle. For a breathless moment, I expect them to call me out, but silence hangs heavy.

"Where are the stones?" Aldaire repeats, his voice a low growl.

The boy's pitiful moan tugs at my heart. "I don't know. I've been framed, I swear."

"Your highness," one of the soldiers interjects, "what if he speaks the truth?"

Aldaire's eyes blaze. "These stones are perilous beyond measure. Weapons of our kind. If they leave this kingdom, chaos will follow. I'll raze that mine to find the thief, even if it means bloodshed. Remember your friend? The one who betrayed you?"

"I'd never take a life," he protests. "When I woke, he lay dead in our tent."

Aldaire leans in, menace dripping from his words. "And who do you serve? Sauron?"

The barracks hum with tension, an invisible war waged within its stone walls. Heretics, hungry for the emperor's throne, plot and scheme, their whispers echoing like ghosts. But beyond these treacherous halls, another conflict brews—a border war, orchestrated by none other than Sauron himself. His dark forces probe for vulnerabilities, seeking a chink in the armor of the realm.

And then there are the stones—the enigmatic artifacts that defy reason. Are they mere baubles, or do they hold secrets that could unravel kingdoms? I stand at the threshold, torn between curiosity and fear. The boy's anguished screams pierce the air, a symphony of suffering. I close my eyes, hoping to block out the gruesome images, but they seep through, staining my mind.

Aldaire, the relentless interrogator, toys with his prey. "We'll repeat this dance until you spill your secrets."

The boy's defiance is a fragile flame. "You'll end me regardless, won't you?"

Hatred simmers within me—a forgotten ember reignited. Vampires, once dismissed, now haunt my thoughts. I clamp my trembling hands over my mouth, stifling any sound. My fingers graze the rough stone wall, dislodging a pebble that clatters to the floor. Silence descends once more, and I know my time is running out.

I close my eyes, surrendering to the inevitable. Scenarios whirl in my mind, each more harrowing than the last. Panic consumes me, leaving my soul threadbare. In this hidden battle, survival hangs by a fragile thread, and I wonder if I'll emerge whole—or shattered beyond repair.

The chill of Xavier's touch jolts me awake. Blinking, I realize I'm no longer confined within the oppressive room; instead, I'm cradled in his unyielding arms. His finger presses against my lips, silencing any protest. Sound evaporates, leaving only the echo of our breaths. I study him—the sharp angles of his face, the dangerous allure of his lips mere inches away.

"What are you doing here?" His whisper is laced with concern, not anger. "You shouldn't be."

I glance away, aware of the gravity of our situation. "Why is he here?" I refer to the boy.