Igniting A Flame {Kingdoms #1}

Thirty-Three

The clatter of metal chains fell against the cobble flooring and stone chair, a solid throne set to restrain its victim. Lukas's pendulous body helplessly dragged across the surface—bits of clothing snagging on jagged stone and tearing—before a set of powerful hands forced him down into a chair where chains now pinioned his limbs. The navy blue cloaked figure drifted into the dark corners of the room—which was far from Lukas's original cell—whilst his acolytes scuttled through the void-like space.

Lukas's head dangled to his side, heavy with mental exhaustion. The trenchant words of Yevvi permanently swarming his mind, pounding through it like a raging ocean during a nasty storm. Selfish. Ignorant. Pathetic. That tether heaving within his mind stirred. On one end, the self-loathing child, on the other, a king burning with passion and determination. Selfish. Ignorant. Pathetic. The two fates battled for dominance, furiously prodding and forcing back the other. It felt as if his very mind strayed into emptiness, the calm vibrations of nothing so enticing.

Lukas sluggishly tilted his head forwards, observing the mystic shackles containing his hands. A red pulsating coat of gelid ice, the aura thick with malice. Something cursed stirred within it, no doubt an object straight from the depths of Elasta's malevolent realm. What threatening power these captors hold to own such a lethal object and reject the immense force of Arvin's mist, he did not know nor entertained the thought any further as shudders lined his spine.

A single lantern drooped from the low ceiling, tentatively swaying. The faded flame flickered within the glass walls of its prison, a perfect depiction of Lukas's own power and mind. A trapped flame awaiting a flurrying ignition. But the more air slithering from the seams, the dimmer the light becomes until one day it snuffs. A faint voice rumbled within the depths of his mind, begging Lukas to unleash his subdued power and release a surge of unrelenting blaze upon his captors. Instead, he lifted his chin to the trio of cloaked figures, his once thriving golden eyes desolate and dull.

"You should just kill me and get it over with since my heritage is such a threat to your, clearly, flourishing kingdom." He almost spat out the words, a grim smile tugging on his lips at the tantalizing thought of a complete and empty death.

The assumed leader of the trio twisted, his coat dancing. The thick mask like an otherworldly being emerging from the darkness of its own realm. Finally, though muffled, he spoke. "Now why would I want to do that?" he chuckled, a manic purr despite the cover restraining his speech.

Lukas shifted, thrown off by the unsuspected answer. "Then, what do you want?"

He sucked his teeth, tilting his head slightly no doubt savouring the helpless victim chained to the stone throne. "Your blood. Your essence. Your magic. Things like that." Lukas tensed, suddenly fearing a fate worse than death. Torture. They couldn't possibly think that such a cruel method could amount to anything. He gulped, reminiscing of the stories where soldiers were taken into enemy camps and broken like a mere slab of flesh. Dehumanized. What was so valuable with his blood?

"Why?" Lukas whispered, that bleak trance snapping with the surge of fear rippling through his veins.

"Have you heard the stories of the ancient bloodlines?" Lukas pursed his lips, refusing to engage in whatever cruel tricks his captor held. "Some blessed souls hold blood lined with the powers of gods. Lur's future revealing wind, Syn's realm travelling. But of course you already knew about Syn, right?" Lukas could feel the grin hidden behind his mask.

As if awaiting the perfect moment, a warm breeze drifted into the confined room. The air flowed in through the left corner, a distant light glimmering in the ripple of darkness indicating an exit. Lukas edged forward, longing to dash through the invisible door.