'Now what the hell is going on here!'
Rhys was dumbfounded as Silas and Goro knelt before him.
For a long, awkward moment, the only sounds were the distant clatter of chains and the faint drip of water somewhere in the prison's stonework. Things were moving a bit too quick for comfort.
…But.
This was actually a good thing; Rhys realized. Locals of this wildly unfamiliar territory were pledging allegiance to him.
He had no idea why, but it was clear they believed something about him that he didn't understand. His mark still burned against his skin, a constant reminder that whatever power he was tied to, it wasn't something he could control — or even explain.
After thinking up a way forward, Rhys finally came to a resolution. He would fake it. He wasn't at all confident in that resolution but what option was there? The idea of being a helpless tourist, being dragged to and fro like chaff in the wind did not sit well in his spirit. That's basically what he was, but he didn't have to let people know that. Especially strangers.
"No," Rhys said flatly, shifting against the cold wall behind him.
Silas opened his mouth to protest before Rhys quickly cut him off.
"It doesn't matter what you think I am, or rather what I used to be — it's a no."
Silas blinked, his head still bowed, but the corner of his mouth quivered upward in a thin smile.
"Ah, of course. You must think that we'll only hold you back on your noble quest."
'You think too highly of me, nobleman. That isn't the issue here. What I need is more information'
Goro remained silent, a solid, unmoving figure. His massive hands rested on his knees, but his head was still slightly lowered out of reverence.
Silas finally rose, dusting off his ragged coat.
"Forgive us, Master Rhys. We meant no offence. It's simply… unexpected to find an Eshe user here. To say the least"
There it was again. _Eshe user_.
Rhys had no clue what that meant — but if these two thought he was one, then going along with it might not be a bad idea.
He squared his shoulders, trying to look more confident than he felt.
"No…it's just that…I'm not exactly in the best of states," Rhys said, carefully choosing his words.
"My abilities… might've been sealed."
Silas arched his brow.
"Sealed, you say?"
Rhys put on a confused, disoriented expression on his face. It was damn near theatrical.
"Y—yeah,"
Rhys flailed his arm in the air, as if displaying his body and missing arm.
"I must have been involved in a great battle…and as you can tell, I was not the victor."
Goro let out a long, subdued groan while Silas grimaced.
"And my mind also appears to have been fragmented since I awoke. So my memory is… complicated."
That part wasn't a lie. Rhys had been severely off his game since he arrived in Haloway. It's like his mind has been constantly foggy. Being in unfamiliar territory definitely played a big part in that, but also, there was a whole day missing from his memory. Between the first day he arrived and waking up in the motel.
'Stay away from alcohol, kids!'
Silas exchanged a brief glance with Goro, then stepped closer — his voice lowering.
"I suspected as much. I noticed that your markings have no glow to them."
'Not that I get any of this, but that might have more to do with the fact that I haven't 'activated' them or something like that.'
Rhys' heart thudded painfully against his ribs. He didn't answer, hoping the silence would push Silas to fill in the gaps.
Thankfully, Silas took the bait:
"Eshe users," he began, "are a race of people — set apart from the rest, gifted. They drew their strength from Eshe itself — the force that encompasses all aspects of life and existence. Creation, destruction, time, death… all threads of the same tapestry."
Rhys listened attentively, trying his best to look stoic.
'Yes Silas, fill me in on the lore! So, this 'Eshe' isn't some god like I first thought.'
Silas' voice grew distant, his gaze far away, as if remembering a world long gone.
"The Eshe users were granted the authority to command certain aspects. Not only the elements — but the very fabric of reality. Some could summon fire as easily as some could slow a beating heart. They weren't merely mages — they were arbiters of existence."
The weight of those words hung in the air.
"Arbiters of existence," Rhys muttered under his breath, trying to grasp the scale of what Silas was saying.
Silas nodded solemnly.
"Yes. And for a time, they thrived under the Dark Lord's protection. Since the new Emperor feared Eshe users, he emerged as the most powerful of them all and became their guardian."
'The Dark Lord again. I should probably remember that name.'
Rhys kept his expression neutral, though his mind spun. He had no desire to dwell on that particular name.
From there, Rhys could piece together what happened based on what Silas already said before.
The Dark Lord disappeared. And with his absence, the world turned on the Eshe users. They were seen as a threat — a force too wild, too dangerous without someone to keep them in check.
"Let me guess," Rhys muttered.
"People started hunting them down."
"Correct." Silas' smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Many were killed. Others… well, those with stronger ties to Eshe found themselves on the run and in hiding."
He gestured to the prison walls.
"That's why I'm taken aback by your presence here. They would not usually imprison you. It's either death or pledging…"
Rhys' markings flared suddenly, the burn sharp enough to make him wince.
Silas caught the movement. Rhys said up whatever excuse came to his head:
"Maybe they didn't see the point, given the pathetic state I'm in."
What he really suspected was that, like a video game or something —not that he knew much about them — this was his starting point. Whatever his Trial entailed, it had something to do with this prison, or who is in this prison. Like the nobleman sat in front of him, maybe. He couldn't really be sure.
For a long time now, no one said anything. Rhys was too busy engaging with the unanswered questions plaguing his mental. Silas studied him with a reserved look on his face, still waiting for a definitive answer to his preposition. And Goro…well, it was just more of the same really.
The silence was broken by the sudden clanging of metal against metal.
"On your feet, you dogs!"
A guard — clad in dark, dented armour — appeared at the bars, banging a wooden club against the iron. His face was hidden beneath a grimy helmet, but his voice dripped with cruel amusement.
"Which one of you is the lucky bastard today?" the guard sneered, pulling a scroll from his belt. His eyes scanned the names, then stopped.
"Ah. You."
The cell door groaned open.
The guard pointed directly at Rhys. The whole checking for a name on the bit was just an act, really. He came down here with the express purpose of summoning Rhys.
"You're up."
Silas' jaw tensed, but he said nothing. Goro remained still, his massive hands flexing slightly.
Rhys' pulse thundered in his ears.
"Up for what?"
The guard's smile widened.
"You'll see."
Thick, iron cuffs were placed on Rhys' wrist and neck, agitating the bruises from the last time he was cuffed.
'Bastard! You're lucky I never accepted their offer. Otherwise, I would have told Goro here to mess you up!'
And just like that, rough hands grabbed him and yanked him from the cell. Both figures disappeared down the passageway, leaving Silas with an agitated expression on his face.
***
Tap. Tap. Tap.
He was led through a maze of stone corridors — damp, dark, and reeking of rust. Chains clinked softly in the distance, a constant reminder that this place was designed for suffering.
Throughout their whole mini-journey, the guard said nothing to Rhys. Instead, he turned to him from time to time, exuding an aura of dark amusement.
Finally, they stopped before a thick wooden door. The guard pounded twice, and the door creaked open.
The room beyond was vast — too vast for a prison chamber — with high ceilings lined with blackened torches. The air was heavy, stale, like something ancient was asleep beneath the stone.
At the far end of the room stood a cage large enough to hold something far bigger than a man. The iron bars had purple rune-linings and were twisted, as though whatever had been inside had tried — and nearly succeeded at breaking free. There were multiple such cages, spread out all over the walls of the room. Making Rhys feel like some kind of gladiator.
…And he was not particularly fond of the feeling.
Inside the cages, Rhys caught glimpses of something that made his breath stutter.
The creatures — if you could even call them that — were twisted masses of muscle, sinew, and teeth. Their limbs were long and uneven, as though someone had stitched together parts of different beasts, leaving them to rot before forcing life back into the abominations.
Caged directly in front of him, was one such monstrosity.
Claws scraped the stone floor with a rhythmic, maddening screech, each twitch of its misshapen fingers sending fine sparks against the damp ground.
Its skin was a patchwork of blackened flesh and raw sinew, with tendrils visibly wriggling about under its skin.
The moment the door swung open, its hollow eyes snapped to Rhys — unblinking, boiling and hungry.
The guard shoved Rhys forward.
"Survive," he said simply, his voice almost bored.
The sigil on the guards armour flared in tandem with the runes etched on the metal enclosures. The cage door groaned open.
Rhys' nose was instantly assaulted by the familiar acrid stench of scorched ash. This gave him flashbacks to the subway Reaper that sent a cold shiver down his spine.
The creature stepped forward — a slow, deliberate movement — and the click-clack of bone and claw echoed off the walls.
It was big. Really big.
Even hunched, it completely dwarfed Rhys — towering over him, its spine a jagged ridge pushing against the thin layer of burnt flesh. Strings of saliva hung from its crooked jaw, sizzling when they hit the stone floor.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
Was this it? Was the curtain finally being pulled back?
Rhys knew instinctively that if he failed here, he wouldn't wake up in a cell again. Or anywhere else for that matter.
…He simply wouldn't wake up at all.
'Not this shit again.'