The Awakening of Darkness

Whispers in the Shadows

Lance, Ezarel, and Alistair arrived at the prison, escorted by the guards. Alistair, who had previously tried to sound composed and diplomatic, had now completely abandoned all caution. He attempted to fight back. Lance managed to control the situation well, but Alistair, who was no fool, aimed for the most innocuous among the duo—Ezarel.

Alistair delivered a powerful jab to the upper thigh of Ezarel with his leg. This caught everyone by surprise. No one expected a man as old as Alistair to deliver such an energetic blow.

Immediately, Ezarel fell to the ground, groaning loudly as he clutched his thigh. He rolled from side to side, trying in vain to stifle his screams and pain. Lance watched as tears streamed down the boy's face.

The guards quickly subdued Alistair, forcing him to his knees after striking the backs of his knees. They shackled Alistair's hands with cuffs while a runes master recited the incantation to activate the amulet present on the cuffs, sealing Alistair’s powers more continuously.

Alistair thrashed around as the runes master spoke the incantation, trying to break free, but in vain. When the incantation was completed, Alistair screamed as if he had received a massive shock from the maana coursing through his body. He fell to the floor, just as Ezarel had moments ago.

Ezarel was already being attended to. Lance found himself in a dilemma. He didn’t know whether to follow Alistair or go to the infirmary to check on Ezarel. On one hand, he wanted to be a good example of a leader to Ezarel. On the other, he also wanted to accompany the guards to see what would happen.

He decided to follow the guards. Ezarel could wait. Going to check on him would only worry him. As a leader, Lance needed to demonstrate unshakeability, competence, and to remain firm in the face of such situations. Showing concerns would only hinder everyone, and Lance didn't want that.

He followed the guards as they led Alistair through the prison corridors. Immediately, murmurs arose from the prisoners. Curiosity. Hope. Distrust. All of that hung in the air.

Lance observed the prisoners, murmuring amidst nervous laughter and suspicious glances. The scene was pathetic. These men, with their tired faces and broken souls, seemed to cling to any scrap of hope Alistair might offer. To him, it was clear that weakness was evident in every gesture.

All horrible criminals. The worst kind of murderers. Abusers. War criminals. Men who had tried against the peace of the people. Despicable insects. Worthy of disdain.

“Why are these fools deluding themselves?” he thought, a look of contempt forming on his face. They are so mired in their own misery that they can’t see the reality before them.

The murmurs intensified, but Lance couldn’t bring himself to care. The idea that these prisoners believed Alistair could be their savior was almost comical. He allowed himself a slight nod of disdain. These men were not worthy of compassion, he reflected, watching as they hung on every word from the ex-prisoner, as if their lives depended on it. A bunch of weaklings, resigned to despair, with no inkling of what was truly at stake.

As the group gathered, Lance felt a wave of aversion wash over him. These prisoners were nothing more than pieces on a board, despicable and insignificant. With a dismissive gesture, he turned away, determined not to let his emotions become entangled in that lamentable spectacle. The only thing those men truly deserved was oblivion, and he refused to waste his time on such inferior beings.

The cell door creaked, echoing like a distant lament. Alistair was shoved inside, falling to his knees on the cold ground. The metal chains binding his wrists clinked, and the cell, dark and damp, seemed to absorb any trace of hope.

Lance watched from a safe distance, arms crossed in a gesture that conveyed disdain. He assessed the scene, noting every movement of Alistair with a critical eye. “Weakness is a burden,” he thought, as the guards stepped back laughing, satisfied with the humiliation they inflicted.

“It could have been different,” Lance reflected, but not out of concern for Alistair.

Alistair struggled to rise, his determination still visible even amid his suffering. Lance raised an eyebrow, like a spectator at a show. “This futile struggle is pathetic,” he thought, “but he also realized it could be an advantage.” The more desperate Alistair became, the more he would reveal his true intentions, and for Lance, that was just another strategy game. Despair is stupidity. But let the fools reveal themselves.

As Alistair tried to regain his composure, Lance decided to walk away, maintaining a façade of indifference. He approached the guards, commenting on Alistair's “recklessness” and chuckling quietly. “Let him get lost in his own web of despair,” he reflected, allowing the situation to unfold according to his vision.

With one last glance at the cell, where Alistair struggled against his chains, Lance turned away, confident that nothing, absolutely nothing, was beyond his reach. He had complete faith in his abilities.

Later, in the infirmary, Lance discovered that Alistair's blow had caused Ezarel to suffer a mild muscle strain. The area was slightly swollen. He had difficulty moving and walking. They would spend at least one night in prison for him to recover before heading back. Ezarel would even say he could be carried to the boat, but the pain bothered him so much that a night of rest, without all the hassle of navigation, was a good idea.

Lance also agreed with this. A 17-year-old boy injured would hinder navigation. Moreover, he would have no one but himself to care for Ezarel, and consequently, no one to steer the boat. Spending the night there would be more advantageous for both.

They were hosted in a room reserved for the guards. A simple little room, reminiscent of the cells with its walls and floor but cozier. Ezarel, sitting on the bed to the left with his legs stretched out, felt bored. On the other side, Lance was writing something on a piece of paper at a table next to the bed, with a lamp beside him.

Ezarel observed him. He must be writing a letter to the headquarters, notifying that they would return later than expected.

Ezarel decided to go to sleep. The night would be long. Little did he know that the night would be long for everyone there...