Knights of the Nine - The Unborn Seed

Chapter 1: The Clink

Derek awoke, drenched in sweat, his cot sloped to the cold floor of his cell. He stared up to the edged roof, thinking blandly at the past. Reminiscent of his Ciri, his friends, his home in Borden, Quinlan, the elves back on Marakkana. But above all, the one thing that stood in place in his mind; Yennefer.

'What had happened to her?'

Derek briskly threw himself up to his cell door, it was a she elf - light green hair but blond eyebrows, thin long ears, jagged orange eyes (as was common with all elves), and perky breasts and tightened shoulders, like she was cautious.

'Yen,' Derek paused, blinking to see if he was loosing his mind. 'Yen... I don't know.'

'She is safe.'

'I don't know,' Derek quickly realized that her "question" was not. 'Is she?'

The naked elven woman nodded, she unlocked Derek's cell and sat at the edge of his cot. She sat quiet, staring into Derek's blue eyes. She nodded again.

'What is going on?' Derek asked as the elf took his hand and placed it to her thigh.

'Shhh,' The elf woman shushed Derek and her other hand was placed softly on his forehead. 'Dream, dream of the present, past, future. You'll know what to do, Derek.'

Derek was knocked out cold, dreams began flooding in. It was like he was awake for the coming of dreams, they all were not there and at once, they flooded like the basement of a Wintergale resident during spring. The dreams were of, as aforementioned, past, present, and future. The battles of the Darkness, the death of Sarah, Brandy, the traitorous Werebear. Dreams of Ciri and fellow Knight Coën drinking at the HQ, dreams of ruins and Coën's lifeless body. Dreams of war, nonhumans being strung up, murdered in the street, people cheering. Dreams of war, hatred war not power influenced war. Dreams of Quinlan and Ciri being captured, slaughtered in plain view of Derek, while he stay chained down, powerless. All dreams flooded in.

*

Derek awoke, the clinging and banging of the guard knocking his cell door woke him, his head ached and his stomach churned. Derek sat up, making the guard stop, and readied himself up.

Derek's clothes stank, his hair was long and greasy, his beard was untrimmed, messy, his body mass was slim.

The guard called Derek out of the cell, saying breakfast was cooked and ready. It was the usual slop they feed the inmates; carrots, mushrooms, eggs, hashbrowns, etc. Derek got his tray and sat down at one of the benches where a friend he had made sat.

He was an elf. His hair was cut short, likely due to all elves having to have their hair cut every second week, his body was slim (for an elf), his face had scares riddled along it. His eyes were orange, his nose was short, his lips were light red.

'Ah, Derek! How goes your morning?' The elf asked, politely covering his mouth while he chewed his mushrooms.

'As well as all the other mornings here,' Derek began to eat his portion of slop. 'How long's we been in here? Two years now? It's late August so almost three.'

'Almost four. You've lost track of time, can't blame you. Honestly surprised you haven't gone mad from this.' The elf said, turning to face Derek.

Derek looked at the elf in an insulted and confused expression. 'What are you getting at, Leo?'

'Nordlings often go mad spending a few days in the clink, the closing and tightness of the cells... scare them.'

'And elves get fleshed out an spit upon around here while I, a nordling, just get the "fuck off" look.' Derek countered.