As the others stride ahead, the captain purposefully forcing his comrade not to retreat towards me, I linger behind. Partly to maintain the distance, and partly due to the awe I find myself caught in.

Admittedly, the corridor is dark and musty, not a massive change from the interior of my cell, yet every little difference startles me. The sharp echo of my footsteps mingles with those of the Neyaibet soldiers ahead. I'm so used to hearing the sound from afar; it is a strange mix of familiar and utterly surreal.

In regular intervals, the captain glances back at me, as if to check I'm still following. It seems pointless, seeing as all that lays in the other direction is my cell at the end of an empty dead end, but his gaze seeks to pin me down and drag me after him. I can't help but wonder why.

I remember the brush of Oswin's touch, the surging reply of icy heat. My head drops. Why would anyone want to keep me around after seeing that?

My flame itches beneath my skin, reminding me of the worst detail of all. Even now, a faint voice pricks at the back of my mind, whispering that he deserved it. That he chose to come near, and to reach for me, to provide the perfect bridge for my power to cross. And his punishment was beautiful.

"Hey, kid!"

My attention snaps up. I realise with a jolt how far ahead the soldiers have strayed. The darkness almost obscures the captain, standing with his arms crossed at the far end of the corridor. The other seems to have vanished.

Quickening my step, I hurry to join him, though I halt a little more than an arm's length away. He examines me for a moment. I run my nail over my fingers, half-afraid that after all of this, he plans to leave me alone regardless.

But he only sighs and turns away. "We need to work on your sense of urgency. Now, come on."

For the first time, I notice the narrow steps he stands at the foot of. They are thin and wiry, and stretch vertically upwards. As he begins climbing, I creep nearer, peering along their length. The light that streams from above is bright enough to sear at my eyes, leaving me blinking away pale specs.

For several seconds, I stare downwards, listening to the captain's rhythmic steps and waiting for the sting to subside. It isn't fully gone by the time the creaking of the steps fades, but I give my eyes one last squeeze before reaching for the steps and tilting my head up. My vision has adjusted enough to make out his form above, and a wider room beyond, but the details are still blurry, and the very sight makes my head ache.

I shake my head with a hiss. I've lived in darkness so long that I am simply not made for the light. Hopefully the world isn't all this blinding.

I shift my focus to the steps. There is a vertical handle at the side, and I wrap my hand around it. The metal digs into the sole of my foot as I step up, but it takes my weight despite the resulting creak. At least, I hope so. The slight shudder I feel as I move up another step is rather disconcerting, but it could easily be my own trembling.

Aware of the captain watching my progress, I push myself not to linger, and move up the stairs at as swift a pace as I can muster. Every movement is too unsteady, the air at my back unfit to catch me should my grip slip away, but I can't stop to consider any of that.

By the time I swing myself away from the final step and stumble onto solid ground, I barely notice the harsh brightness anymore. I'm ashamed of the way my hands shake. Climbing a set of steps like these must hardly be an effort for people like these soldiers, yet for me, it is an achievement simply to reach the top.

Trying to calm the pounding in my heart, I peer into the hole the steps descend into. All I can see is the gloom.

"Trouble with the ladder?"

I look up, noticing the captain's gaze locked on me once again. He is only at the other side of the hole, close enough to touch.

"Ladder?" I echo. It must be a word I've heard before, but I hadn't matched it to these steep steps.

He releases a rough chuckle, one that scrapes at his throat like rock. "You've never seen a ladder, huh?"

I shrug helplessly.

"I suppose I can't say you're missing much."

He turns, backing away from the ladder, and I take the silence as an opportunity to survey the room we've emerged into. It is no wider than the corridor, but its walls have been splashed with a cream paint to hide the stone beneath. The ceiling is low and white-washed, reflecting the light of the lantern hanging from its centre with ease. No wonder it seemed so dazzling from below.

My gaze drifts downwards. I start to take in the interlocked planks of wood that make up the floor -- which, cracked as they are, seem a world away from the bare rock of my cell -- but any amazement flees when another detail catches my eye.

To my immediate right, only a step from where I stand, the floorboards are stained scarlet. Pools of deep red liquid slip into the cracks, but plenty of blood still remains, enough to form an ugly path. Reluctantly, I trace it back, though my throat burns at the sight of its source.

After what I did to Oswin, laying eyes on a dead body is hardly something new, but this is somehow far worse. A clear stab wound burrows deep into her chest, the waterfall that spreads her suffering, her armour shredded and cast aside. Her hair spills out, plastered against her neck and matted with blood. Instead of pooling black, her eyes are wide and glassy, staring unfocused up at the pale ceiling. It appears so plain and untouched in contrast to the horror before me.

This must be the result of the battle I heard. Another Oscensi life ripped away. I am frozen, not wanting to see and yet unable to tear my eyes away.

I don't even know who this soldier was. She might have been one of my visiting guards, but it is too difficult to know for certain. It doesn't matter. Her loss aches all the same, absent of a decisive reason.

"She fought well."

The voice is the captain's, unnervingly close behind. My shoulders tense, but I don't turn.

"I have to say, I do admire that about your Oscensi lot." I notice a slight change in his tone, a little more care leaking into his words. "They're undeniably brave."

I take a slow, shaky breath. From what I know of one soldier out there, I'm sure it rings true. But the sentiment doesn't chase away a second truth.

"You killed her," I whisper.

"I did what I had to."

"You killed her," I repeat, turning to face him. The change in his voice is not mirrored in his expression, for it is blank as ever. The emotion in his eyes is still shadowed by his helmet, too dark to make out.

I feel him examine me. I stare back, fighting the shake in my legs. The pause he leaves crawls uncomfortably across my skin.

I notice a flash of movement over his shoulder a moment before his fellow soldier pounces on the silence. "You don't have the right to accuse us of taking lives." She prowls forward. Her sword is sheathed again, but her hand taps suggestively at the hilt, and her glare is a weapon of its own.

I swallow. She is right, and she knows it.

Yet there is something different about this time. I shift my gaze back to the captain, hesitating over what to say, how to voice this discontent.

"I... I didn't have a choice," I say eventually. "You did."

The woman makes to reply. He holds up a hand, requesting silence, and she jerks back with a scowl.

He lets out a long sigh. "Kid, she was guarding your cell. If I hadn't killed her, you would still be down there, rotting away in the darkness. Would you prefer that?"

I bow my head. I don't know what I would have preferred, but if they had not come to rescue me, then two lives could have been saved. I am certainly not a worthy exchange for those lives.

"Maybe that would have been better," I murmur.

She frowns at me, surprise crossing her eyes. The captain is motionless.

When neither of them reply, I find myself continuing. "Why are you... helping me, anyway?" It is more directed at him than her.

Slowly, he reaches a hand up and pulls away his helmet, revealing dark hair that almost falls to his shoulders. For the first time, I can make out the startling green of his eyes.

When he doesn't speak immediately, the woman steps closer. "I have the same question, Captain."

His eyes flick briefly to her before settling on me, their stare alarmingly intense. "You're a prisoner of Oscensi. It's our duty," he says simply.

Almost automatically, I shake my head. The justification doesn't sit right, not when I can still feel the remnants of Oswin's life tangled in my flame. "Not necessarily." I pull away from his gaze, looking down. "You have no reason to give me freedom."

He barks a laugh. "I wouldn't use the term 'freedom' so loosely." Though I don't look up, I hear his sharp footsteps. "But, well... come on, kid, look at me."

I obey. He stands over the dead soldier, but his eyes lock to mine. "This is war," he says, spreading his hands. "I've killed people. Everyone has. Even Edita over there" -- he gestures to his comrade -- "noble as she pretends to be, is quick to use that sword. You just have... an alternative method."

"That's because you're from Neyaibet." It escapes me before I can think better of it.

Another dry laugh, but this one feels more bitter. "War works both ways, kid." He turns, stepping carefully over the scarlet stream. "Now, come. If you're grateful for my help, you'll follow me without asking any more questions."

Swallowing, I nod. I hang back as Edita stalks past, her hand clasping tighter around her hilt as she passes me, before edging towards the fallen soldier. As I pass, I avert my eyes to the ceiling, not wishing to view again the sight heavy in my heart.

I stumble, and a damp stickiness, faintly warm, sinks my heel. I clench my jaw, fist curling as flames beat at my skin.

Fixing my eyes on Edita directly ahead, I focus on the change in my surroundings. We pass through an arched doorway, and I study the carvings that decorate its curve, chipped as they are.

Then I look at the rest of the room, and my heart almost stops.

These walls are just as pale as those previous, and so every droplet of blood stands out starkly, as if their very colour screams their terrible presence. It is all too easy to make out the bodies beneath, and their stained weapons, lying forgotten amongst the wreckage. Death sits like lead in the air.

The captain's eyes find mine. His stare is pointed, commanding silence.

I take a breath, heavy with unspoken words, and he looks away. I'm not sure I want to ask anyway. All I can hope is that these deaths were not solely his doing.

We keep moving, winding silently from one room to the next, then climbing a staircase far more comfortable than the ladder. Our pace is finally what the captain wishes, for I cannot bring myself to linger anywhere, not even when we reach the upper floor. We move along a bright corridor, each room we pass grander than the last, yet I cannot focus on any of them. My eyes glaze over the sparkling multitude of lanterns, the long tables, the ornate window frames and the sunlight that stabs through the glass. Whenever I look too closely, all I can see is the blood that taints them, the whisper of a battle lost in their view.

Gradually, I begin to notice other soldiers, most of them wearing identical armour to the captain and Edita save a few chinks and scrapes, emerge from doorways. All of them salute the captain, some adding a called greeting, with a few even falling into step behind him. Without fail, their attention first snaps to him before drifting to me. Every one of their glances is the same: curiosity, confusion, perhaps even concern. But whenever any try to draw closer, a muttered order from the captain maintains their distance.

One soldier, a man with a bow slung over his shoulder, slides in beside Edita. I don't catch his question, but her answer finds me as if she had taken up one of the arrows he carries and let it fly towards my heart.

"He killed Oswin. Stay away."

His eyes widen, and he stumbles a few steps forward. I drop my gaze, fighting back yet another rising wave of flames.

We pass another room, and I make the mistake of peering into it in my will to escape the stares. A spark breaks free, slipping between my interlocked fingers, but it is not enough to carve away my dread.

In the doorway, a crowd of people huddle together, gazes wild and desperate. They too wear armour, but it is styled differently, the helmets more pointed and chest-plates striped with grubby white. It is similar to what my guards often wore, and identical to the dead woman, the one my captain left steeped in a river of scarlet at the top of the ladder.

They are of Oscensi, no doubt about it, yet they are captive in their own kingdom. Thick chains bind them together by the wrists, and as I watch, a soldier of Neyaibet's darker armour seals the final prisoner's binds with a harsh click.

The captured man glares, but his position is one of a caged animal, backed into a corner with nowhere to run. His eyes burn with the desire to defend, but he is weaponless, and the cloth tied around his arm is red from the leak of a wound beneath. Yet even amongst the pain he must feel, he yanks at his chains, his growl too low to make out but clearly sharpened with hate.

A warning stroke of a sword passes his cheek. He falls still.

I tear my gaze away, casting a brief glance at the captain returning my focus to the floorboards. He doesn't notice my discomfort this time, too far ahead and caught up in talking with his comrades, but the echo of his voice reaches me regardless. No more questions.

I return my focus to the floorboards. I am grateful for his help, and for that I owe him -- and by extension his kingdom -- my respectful silence. But I cannot bring myself to forgive Neyaibet for the horror that has taken place here: imprisonment, masacre, and ruin, all inflicted upon the Oscensi people. Whether they are truly my people or not, I can't help but think of them that way.

A sudden thought strikes me, sending me staggering to a stop. I whirl, frantically searching the faces of the captive people. My racing heart gradually calms as I do not find the hair like ribbons of sunshine, or the pale blue eyes I search for. She is not among them.

A Neyaibet soldier's stare finds me, forcing me to continue moving. I hurry to catch up to Edita, though I throw a second glance at the prisoners over my shoulder. No, she is definitely not there, for I would recognise her in a heartbeat. The faces are unfamiliar, the eyes passing blankly over me, and while their chains weigh on me I do feel the gust of light hope that thought brings.

In the next room, an armoured man holds a pair of miniature swords aloft, slowly lowering them over a limp, bloodstained body. My hope sinks. Her absence in one crowd still allows for the possibility that she accompanies the dead.

"Edita, Tyler, help with the prisoners."

The captain's voice, ringing over the clang of blades and muffled movement with ease. He had been talking before in low mutters, but now he speaks an order, and it carries well.

Both Edita and the man with the bow beside her respond to its call immediately, their heads snapping towards him. Immediately, Tyler salutes, offering only a quick, "Of course, Captain," before hurrying back down the corridor. He must have been talking with Edita, for he gives me a wide berth, and his gaze is wary. Yet she does not follow, instead advancing on the captain.

"Why?" she asks. "I thought I was accompanying you in your meeting with the general. I witnessed... him, after all."

A slight hush falls on the corridor, those closest to us peering over curiously. They must have guessed that I am being discussed, and they are all eager to know more. Save for Tyler, who I sense lingering just behind me. When I glance over at him, his hand drifts to his bow, as if he stands guard.

Perhaps he knew Oswin well. He must have done, for the length of his talk with Edita. He does not want any more of his friends to fall to the same fate.

I clench my fist, but that doesn't prevent the tendril of flame that emerges. Only Tyler is paying close enough attention to me to notice it. He stiffens, before reaching for an arrow, plucking it from his bag and twirling it between his fingers.

Part of my begs to tell him that my flame is not a threat, and I do not intend to use it. Yet I know that whatever my intentions, it can still cause harm, and so I say nothing. I merely hope something of comfort is conveyed as our eyes meet.

He looks away quickly, his focus returning to the captain. I realise with a jolt that the tangle of my thoughts has drowned out his response to Edita's defiance. Hurriedly, I follow Tyler's gaze, pushing down any excess fire.

"No," Edita snaps. Whatever the captain said, it must not have been what she wanted to hear. "I'm coming with you. I want my say on this."

The captain's expression is stony. "I know well of your opinions, Edita. There is no need for you to come."

"Do I need to remind you that he murdered my brother?"

The place really does fall quiet then. A collective flinch ripples through any soldiers gathered, whether they are Neyaibet or imprisoned Oscensi, and I join them. Her brother. No wonder her fury runs so deep.

"You do not," the captain says, his calm tone at odds with the icy tension. "I was also there."

"Then let me--"

"No." He takes a step towards her. His eyes seem to glow, their green harsh and bright, and they crumble her confident poise. "Your emotions are the very reason I need you to stay out of this." When she tries to protest again, he reaches for his sword, and she gulps wordlessly. "I am your captain, Edita. You obey my orders. Now go with Tyler, and do not speak of this again."

There is a pause. I expect her to fight back, but she only nods, her shoulders sagging. "Yes, Captain."

"And Edita," he adds as she backs away, "you can trust me."

"I know." She doesn't look as sure as she sounds, but she says nothing more. She doesn't even look at me as she passes. Her eyes are daggers, but they pierce the air ahead rather than me. Somehow, it is more unsettling.

"Kid, come here," the captain calls before I can collect my thoughts. I look at him, aware of how frightened I must appear. My hands tremble with fire unreleased.

I nod, my throat too dry to form words. He waits until I am closer, and then waves a hand towards a pair of wide doors. Their rims are laced with trails of white, dancing and twirling in wide loops as if loose in a playful breeze, and interspersed with speckled gold that dips and rises with the patterned carvings. He steps forward, closing his palm around what I assume to be the door's rounded handle.

It is strange how he says nothing to the others. He must be aware of the way they wait, the apprehension thickening the air. Either he is oblivious, or incredibly good at ignoring them. His shining green eyes rest only on me.

"Time for you to meet General Velez," he says, his lips quirking in what might be a smile.

Before anyone can say any more, the door gives way beneath his grip, and he is striding through. I wait a moment, glancing back at Edita. She has her back to me, but I see the sword in her hand, pointed at one of the prisoners. Beside her, Tyler tests the point of his arrow. His stare sits unwaveringly on me, just as every other eye in the corridor seems to.

A cold shiver embraces my spine. Feeling for the open door, I pull away, running from the chase of their fear.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

Fun fact: I'm trying to pick mostly english names for AToD, particularly old english names. It's just... the overall feel I guess xD It also gives me a more direct way to pick names, rather than me spending ages scrolling through baby name websites for a name with the precise right meaning. Instead I'm just slapping english names that vibe with me at my characters. And it's working just as well--

Extra fun fact: I never actually got to the point of this chapter. In my outline, it is the chapter when we meet General Velez, and the getting there was not even an event. But then our angsty boy decided to freak out over a ladder and dead people, so here we are.

This way is better, though, because we have a little more info on what is going on! Oscensi really got a hammering :/ I'm also having a lot of fun writing the captain -- he's certainly interesting, and one to keep an eye on. Why is he helping our boy? Probably out of the goodness of his heart, I'm sure. Just a nice guy :DD

Oh, also Edita and Oswin are... *coughs* were siblings, it seems. It fits. They had the right level of chaotic.

Anyway, I'll see you all next chapter! Time to meet that general. I'm excited--

- Pup