Idilia: The Dark Kingdom - Part 1

II. Haunted Dreams

Dagda's dream. It was always the same – a blazing inferno consuming the prison of Zindan, the screams of the prisoners, a horrifying symphony. He'd been framed, tossed into this oppressive dungeon cell for a crime he hadn't committed, and now a burning hell was about to consume him for nothing. Every flicker of fire sent his mind reeling back to the searing heat, the desperate cries swallowed by the flames.

But one detail gnawed at him the most – the silence after the fire had devoured everything. He shouldn't be alive. He shouldn't be the sole survivor. Guilt, a suffocating cloak, settled upon his shoulders every morning. Why him? What debt did he owe for such a monstrous price?

A guttural cough rattled his chest, the damp air of Zindan made a constant reminder. It had been two years since the fateful night. He remembered it with a horrifying clarity – the rumble of an explosion tearing through the prison, the searing heat licking at his skin. He'd been one of the fortunate few, close enough to a hidden tunnel rumored amongst the prisoners to be used by corrupt guards for smuggling. The blast had propelled him through the narrow passage, the screams of his fellow inmates fading behind him.

He'd stumbled out into the cool desert night, battered and bruised, but alive. Exhaustion had claimed him then, and he'd collapsed beneath the skeletal branches of a lone tree, the twin moons of Idilia his only companions. When he awoke, the flames of Zindan still painted the night sky an angry red, a horrifying reminder of his ordeal.

Dragging himself to the window of his room at the tavern, his vision adjusted to the faint moonlight, a flicker of movement in the courtyard caught his eye. A pair of glowing red orbs, like embers in the darkness, stared back at him. A monstrous Star Wolf, its fur the color of the night sky, paced restlessly below. It let out a low, menacing growl, the sound vibrating up the cold stone and into his very core.

Dagda stumbled back, a primal fear gripping him. Was it a hallucination, another trick of his tormented mind? But the stench of damp fur and raw flesh confirmed its presence. Despair threatened to engulf him. Not only was he trapped within the walls of a Mental Dark Fortress, but something far more sinister roamed its being.

As he watched, the wolf tilted its head, a chilling, almost intelligent glint in its eyes. Then, with a speed that defied logic, it vanished into the shadows. Left alone in the echoing silence, Dagda wondered if he'd truly escaped the flames. Maybe his hell had only just begun.

His eyes widened suddenly, emitting a groan followed by a sigh. He stood up almost reflexively, wiping the sweat from his hot forehead. He noticed that he had a fever. He got up, approaching the small corner of the room where there was a pot with some water which he took with his hands, smearing it on his tired face.

Fine features adorned his nose, cheekbones, and chin along with a piercing gaze where two deep gray eyes resided. His lips tasted the water that fell from his face with some beard of only a few days and his black hair glowing even in the darkness of the small room that functioned temporarily to pass the night. He smeared water from the pot again, sitting on the lounge waiting for the next Dawn.