Protector

a rude interruption

I had kept up hope that Jaron, Darius, and our mother and father were all living well and had moved past my disappearance these past long years. So when Vargan came to me about four years after my capture with the news that my older brother and parents had been murdered, that flickering spark of hope burnt out like a flame in a rainstorm.

Murdered.

My family.

He didn't say anything about Jaron, though.

Perhaps he was still safe.

The week or so after that dreadful news was delivered had felt even more empty than the many before. The hope that Jaron might still be alive was all that kept me going.

So I continued to hold on for two years more.

That's when everything changed.

———————————————————

The day started off like all the others. My meal was delivered in the morning along with an unusually large group of guards. A girl named Imogen and a man named Mott had been my cellmates for some number of days now, but neither had been in the room much as they kept getting taken to Vargan for questioning. We didn't talk much, but even so I didn't tell them my name.
An unnecessary moving piece, I had decided years earlier. Better people don't know who I am.
So that afternoon when such a large number of armed, grim guards entered our shared cell, I knew what was coming for us.
After interrogating them with the basic questions, they turned to me.
They asked the same, brain-numbing questions, and I stayed silent as usual. This silence, as expected, earned me a slap to the face hard enough to make me see stars. One more punch to my stomach and a threat of lashes next time. These visits usually ended with me being shoved unceremoniously to the ground, where I typically decided to stay and take the opportunity for a nap. In this particular prison however, the ground was made up mainly of mud. After that cheerful little interaction, they took Imogen and Mott away, saying that since they wouldn't talk, they would make them.

The rest of the day was left to my imagination. And boy did I have one. With little else to do for six years, I had gotten good at escaping in my head.
Until my delightful reverie was rudely interrupted by an abrupt fight outside.

(Sorry the chapters are so short, but it's a short story and I'm terrible at developing plot🫡)