"Aahh!"
A bolt of pain ripped through Zen's spine like lightning. He jolted awake with a sharp gasp, like a man dragged from drowning in black waters. The cold struck next, biting and bitter, crawling into his bones. The floor beneath him was cracked stone, damp with age and layered in dust and patches of dried moss. Overhead, a dying torch flickered weakly, its flame little more than a shiver of orange clinging to the dark.
His chest rose and fell in uneven heaves. His hands trembled.
The pain was still there. Not just in his body, but deeper. Lingering in the memory of being torn apart. He remembered that thing. The way it looked at him. The way it swallowed him without even moving. The moment his soul came undone, scattered into glowing fragments. He had been disintegrated, stripped to nothing.
What happened?
He turned his head stiffly. To the left, rusted iron bars rose like teeth, warped and twisted by time. A thick scent of rot and rust clung to the air, sharp and acrid, like old blood on steel.
His fingers twitched. The stone beneath him was real. The air was cold. The pain was dull but persistent. Was this… afterlife?
"Where… am I?" he whispered, more to himself than anything. His voice came out rough. Hollow. Like a borrowed thing.
"He's awake," a girl's voice said from the gloom and quiet, but filled with curious hope.
Zen turned his head slowly.
In the hazy light, several figures emerged.
"I thought Soul Devourers were supposed to be strong," scoffed one of them. "He looks like he's been chewed and spat out."
Zen heard it. The voice. The words. He understood them.
But he didn't know how.
The language wasn't his. He was certain of that. Yet the meaning slid into his mind like a thought he had always known. Each word carried weight, like something remembered from a forgotten dream.
What's happening?
He blinked, still trying to piece the world together.
Across the cell, crouched near the wall like a beast waiting to strike, was the speaker. His posture was tight, ready. His hair was wild and silver, tangled with dirt. Pointed ears twitched at every distant noise. His robe hung in tatters, stained with blood and torn at the sleeves, revealing lean, fur-covered arms. Behind him, a thick wolf tail swayed with lazy precision.
Zen met his gaze.
Amber eyes locked onto him with sharp focus. There was no kindness there. No curiosity.
Only challenge.
"Don't tease him, Ceaser," came another voice, calm and gentle, as though trying to soothe the very air. "He just arrived yesterday. You know what it's like… how much he's suffered."
The one who had spoken was seated close to him, her presence quiet yet unmistakable. Elli, tall and composed, looked more spirit than flesh. Her silver hair flowed like liquid light, catching the dim torch glow as it framed a face too serene for this place. Her skin carried a faint, ethereal glow, and the antlers rising from her head were smooth and crystalline, as though shaped by intention rather than nature. Her blue eyes, clear and calm, held a depth that seemed to pierce the silence itself. Even here, in this cold prison, she looked untouched, peaceful, beautiful, and utterly otherworldly. She met Zen's gaze, her voice soft but certain. "You're safe. For now."
Ceaser muttered, "You're always too soft. We can't afford to trust him so easily. He is a Soul Devourer. We don't know what that thing is capable of or when it might lose control. Soul Devourers don't have intelligence. They are just beasts. We should kill it before it kills us."
A rough voice, like grinding stone, responded, "If Elli had not healed you, you would not even be standing, let alone talking." It was Emith.
Zen looked toward the corner, and his breath caught.
A massive figure hunched there, his form slouched to fit within the cell's cramped space. His body looked like a statue shattered and rebuilt chunks of stone fused with dark metal and deep glowing cracks. His eyes, dull orange like cooling magma, stared shyly. Emith, the earth spirit. He was quiet, but when he spoke, his words echoed.
"Shut up, Emith. No one asked you," Ceaser snapped with a scowl.
Emith shrank back like a child scolded by a parent.
From above, a flicker of light descended and spun between them.
"Don't bully Emith now," said a sharp, confident voice.
A small figure landed in front of Ceaser, floating just an inch off the ground. Her fiery hair was matted with soot, and her wings shimmered like cracked glass glowing with embers. Her prison robes were scorched and patched together, smoke curling off her shoulders. Izora, the fire Spirit. Despite her size, her presence crackled with heat and pride.
Ceaser bared his teeth in a grin. "Do you want to fight, Izora?"
"Bring it on, mutt," she snapped, fire dancing on her fingertips.
"Enough!" Elli stood between them like a sudden wall of calm. "Now, now. Stop it, both of you. You're scaring him."
The tension melted.
Izora backed off with a smirk. Ceaser growled low but turned away, arms crossed.
Zen's thoughts raced. Soul devourer? What does that even mean? Are they going to kill me?