The World Cannot Know

Chapter 49

Matthew Wild 

The days blurred into each other, a ceaseless cycle of pain and darkness. My body ached in places I didn't know could hurt, every inch of me a canvas for the brutality they'd inflicted. I was too weak to resist now, too broken to fight back. My clothes, what was left of them, hung in tattered shreds from my body, offering no protection from the cold stone beneath me.

I'd lost all sense of time—days could have passed, or maybe it was weeks. My world had shrunk to the confines of this cell, my existence reduced to a series of beatings and moments of agonizing solitude.

The guards had stopped talking to me. I wasn't worth their words anymore; I was just a thing to hurt, to break. And they had succeeded. My mind was slipping, sinking into a dark place where hope couldn't reach me. I wasn't sure how much more I could take.

It was during one of these moments, when I was drifting in and out of consciousness, that I heard it—a voice. It was faint at first, just a whisper, but in the silence of my cell, it was unmistakable.

"Hey... Can you hear me?"

I blinked, trying to clear my foggy vision. It took a moment to realize that the voice wasn't coming from inside my head, but from somewhere beyond the walls of my cell. I turned my head slowly, every movement sending jolts of pain through my body.

"Can you hear me?" the voice repeated, a little louder this time.

I swallowed, my throat dry and raw from disuse. It took a few tries before I could make any sound, my voice barely more than a rasp. "Yes... I hear you."

There was a pause, as if the person on the other side was surprised that I had responded. Then the voice came again, softer this time. "I thought they'd killed you."

"Not yet," I managed to say, though it felt like a lie. Part of me was already dead, and the rest of me was just waiting to catch up.

"What's your name?" the voice asked. It was a man's voice, rough but not unkind. There was a weariness in it that mirrored my own.

"Matthew," I whispered, the effort of speaking exhausting me. "Who... who are you?"

"Name's Willem," the man replied. "I've been in here a while. Long enough to know that when they take a prisoner to your cell, it usually means they're not planning on letting them out alive."

I closed my eyes, absorbing his words. There was a grim finality to them, but also a strange comfort. At least I wasn't alone anymore.

"What... what did they do to you?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"They beat me, just like you," Willem said, his voice heavy with bitterness. "But that was years ago. Now they just leave me here to rot. I guess they figure I'm not worth the effort anymore."

I tried to imagine what he must look like, this man in the cell next to mine. I pictured someone gaunt and hollow, with eyes that had seen too much. But there was strength in his voice, a resilience that I could barely comprehend.

"Why... why are you here?" I asked, hoping to keep the conversation going, to distract myself from the pain.

Willem hesitated before answering, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I was loyal to the wrong person. Trusted someone I shouldn't have. And now I'm paying the price."

I didn't need to ask who. In this kingdom, loyalty was a dangerous thing, especially if it was misplaced. I could understand that better than anyone.

We lapsed into silence, the only sound the distant drip of water somewhere in the depths of the dungeon. It was a companionable silence, though, the kind that didn't need to be filled with words. For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn't entirely alone.