Vikter & the Dark Spire

CHAPTER SIX: SAGE'S STORY

"How many did we make it out with?" the silver-haired man asked his troop of men as they stood in a snowy clearing about a fifteen minutes' run from the Spire.

Vikter collapsed to the ground, exhausted. Despite being overjoyed at escaping the Spire, he was feeling absolutely miserable. His lungs, unaccustomed to any kind of physical exertion, burned from running for so long in such cold air. His ragged clothes did nothing to warm his body, so even though the running had helped to warm him, he still shook with cold.

"Just this one," the elf said scornfully as he flicked his head down toward Vikter.

"And how many did we lose?" the silver-haired man asked, emotionless.

"Three," the elf replied.

The silver-haired man's jaw tightened and Vikter could tell he was angry. "Who was it?" he asked.

"Flynn, Doscow, and Ernst," the elf reported almost mechanically.

The silver-haired man looked down at the snow, and all the other men followed suit. As Vikter watched the men honor their fallen comrades, he looked from one to the next, studying their features. They were all strong-looking men, armored and armed with weapons of all sorts. Some of them had painted their faces blue and others red. Some of them wore helmets and some were bare-headed.

But all of them were deadly. They had faced impossible odds in the Spire, and yet, they overcame, escaping with all but three of their men.

When the men looked up, Vikter was astonished to see that one of them—a dark-haired man with with even darker eyes—bore the same brand on his forehead. He had been a prisoner, too, then.

"What is your name, son?" came the silver-haired man's voice, breaking Vikter from his musing.

"My name?" he asked, automatically. It had been a while since someone had asked his name. Even Gunther hadn't called him by his name. "I'm Vikter." he said.

The silver-haired man said something in reply, but Vikter didn't hear it. He stared into the snow that blanketed the ground before him.

"Vik," Jak had said so many years ago. "you know if something happens to you, I'll come help you, right?"

And he had. He had come for Vikter whether he knew he had or not. But Vikter had abandoned him—left him in that vile place. He couldn't do that. He wouldn't.

"We need to go back there!" Vikter said, rising from the snow and interrupting the silver-haired man. "My brother is still in there. We have to get him out. We can't just leave him behind."

The old man's green eyes flashed as he stared into Vikter's eyes. "Airyn," he said without taking his gaze from Vikter. "Did you speak with the brother as well?"

"I did," came the elf's snappy voice. "He was unresponsive."

"I am sorry, young Vikter," he said. "But unless one chooses to leave that place, we are powerless to bring them out."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Vikter scoffed, turning to the elf. "You could have dragged him out, but you didn't! You asked him your stupid question and then you left him!"

"Vikter," the silver-haired man said calmly. "There is much you don't understand."

"Yeah?" Vikter spat, now angry with everyone in the circle of men. "You're telling me! I've been in that place for years! It's awful in there. You've got no idea. How do you think it feels to lose your brother to a place like that just when you've finally gotten out yourself? You have no idea what I'm going through, so yeah, there's probably a lot I don't understand!"