The Mad Ҡìղց

Shadows of the Past

The chill in the air was unrelenting, seeping into Zhan's bones as he lay awake, staring at the ceiling of his chambers. Three weeks had passed since the Silent Brothers vanished from his court, their cryptic rituals and eerie whispers a fading memory to most. But for Zhan, the echoes of their presence reverberated every night in his dreams. Or rather, his nightmares. They weren't just any nightmares—they were vivid, grotesque reminders of his past sins. Every life he had taken, every betrayal, every drop of blood shed in his name came back to him, relentless in its pursuit.

Zhan turned his head toward the window, watching as the faint light of dawn crept across the horizon. Wang stirred beside him in his sleep, his breathing soft and dragged. Meng did everything to take care of him. Despite the turmoil brewing in the kingdom after Cheng's murder. But Zhan knew better than to share his burdens with her. Meng had her own ghosts to chase. The investigation into her husband's death consumed her every waking moment, and Zhan couldn't bring himself to add to her grief.

Instead, he bore the weight of his nightmares alone. Night after night, no amount of alcohol could dull the horrors. His mind was a battlefield, each dream another skirmish in an endless war against himself. His body had begun to reflect the toll. He was pale and gaunt, his eyes sunken and hollow.

The worst part was that it started, when Hase, one of the Silent Brothers, had leaned in and whispered something into his ear before they left. Whatever words the maniac had spoken, Zhan couldn't remember. It was like a wisp of smoke, there one moment and gone the next. But he knew it had triggered something deep within him.

Something he couldn't escape.

He had to find a solution. He had to stop these nightmares before they consumed him completely.

That was when he thought of Duan Dan.

Zhan hadn't visited her since she was imprisoned. The once-powerful witch, who had nearly destroyed him in her quest for vengeance, was now a forgotten relic, locked away in the darkest corner of the dungeons. But if anyone knew about curses or dark magic, it would be her. She had spent decades steeped in the arcane, weaving spells and conjuring hexes. Perhaps, just perhaps, she could help him.

Zhan made his decision quickly. Rising from the bed, he dressed in silence, careful not to wake Wang. His body ached with fatigue, but his mind was clear. This was his only option. He left the chambers, moving through the silent halls of the castle, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridors as the first light of morning filtered through the windows.

The dungeons were cold and damp, the stone walls slick with moisture. The guards straightened as Zhan approached, their expressions a mixture of surprise and unease. No one came down here unless they had to. Not even Zhan.

"Unlock the prison," Zhan instructed his voice firm despite the weariness that clung to him like a second skin.

The guard hesitated. "Your Majesty... it's not safe to be alone with her. Duan Dan is dangerous."

Zhan shot him a sharp look, one that brooked no argument. "Open the gate."

The guard swallowed hard and nodded, fumbling with the keys before unlocking the heavy iron door. The sound of metal grinding against metal echoed through the dungeon as the gate swung open, revealing the dark cell within.

Duan Dan was seated in the far corner, her back against the wall, her wrists, neck, and ankles bound by thick iron chains that glowed faintly with magic. She looked up as Zhan stepped inside, her eyes dull and tired, her once-vibrant features now hollowed by age and the year spent in captivity. She had once been a figure of immense power, feared and respected by all who knew her. But now, she was little more than a broken, forgotten woman, trapped in a cage she could not escape.