“As Demis fell, the world held its breath, as if witnessing the setting of a long-cherished sun. Little did they know that this was not twilight’s end but the first light of a blood-red dawn.”

  – Master Gavril, Annals of the Two Cities

  Lithas was surrounded by darkness. The cell—her cell—was small and grimy, with a faint, musty smell lingering in the air. If she strained her eyes, she could just about make out the vague shapes of her hard, uncomfortable cot and a small, barred window, too high above to reach. It had been years since she could not simply get up and leave. Didn’t like it then, she thought bitterly. Certainly don’t like it now.

  A few days—or had it been a whole week?—had passed since the battle. Since Lithas had been thrown into the cold, uninviting confines of this cell. If she was being honest with herself, she had lost count of the days. Her only indicators of the passing of time were the periodic scraps of food that were shoved below the door and those fleeting moments of sunlight that managed to seep through the narrow window above.

  The fine, elegant clothes she had worn beneath her hastily donned armor were gone, replaced with a tattered, grimy tunic. The guards were only too happy to let her strip down to her undergarments—and would have happily continued, had Grave not issued extremely clear orders. Lithas was not to be harmed—not too much anyway. She was still valuable, in the same way a piece of jewelry was valuable. A bargaining chip with Sariz. A helpless hostage. The thought turned her stomach.

  So the guards had treated her roughly, but nothing more. A small mercy. One that she begrudgingly accepted.

  Now she sat, cross-legged. Her long, auburn hair—once a source of pride—hung loose and matted around her shoulders. Lithas ak’Var sat and waited, for whatever it was that happened next. Of course, she could have melted the bars of her prison any day, barely breaking a sweat. But her retinue, her companions, could not. The Lorathans knew that. They had made sure that she understood that.

  Her captors came and went, faces blurring into one and the same cruel sneer in Lithas’ mind. They provided her with the bare minimum. Enough to keep her alive but not enough to quell Lithas’ gnawing hunger, or the chill that seeped into her bones.

  She pulled her knees closer to her chest, wrapped her arms around herself in a futile attempt to ward off the cold. The coarse fabric of her new old clothes rubbed against her raw skin. Wincing, her fingers traced the wound in her side. She had almost forgotten about that.

  Belatedly, like a slap to the forehead, it occurred to her that she could do at least something with her powers. It was frightening to her how quickly captivity robbed her of her quick with. Gently, sparingly, Lithas infused herself with warmth. Much better. Almost comfortable. Almost. As desirable as warmth was in her damp prison, she had to force herself to use her powers sparingly, especially in her weakened state.

  The soldiers had made her situation clear to Lithas. As long as she behaved, her followers were safe. They even treated Kellen’s arm, supposedly, keeping him alive. For now.

  She had no idea where Kael or Avila were being kept, or any of the other survivors, but she believed—had to believe—that they were also alive. At least until it was decided which role Lithas would play in the coming weeks and months. But that was far in the future. For now, Lithas had to take life one day at a time.

  She drew her knees tightly to her chest, breath misting in the cell’s chill air, trying to conserve her strength. The mighty Elevated of Sariz, reduced to a rat in the cellar. A bitter smile curved her lips.

  Her best guess was that it was currently late at night. Every now and then, Lithas caught hushed whispers from her guards, faint, yet distinct in the enveloping silence. Two soldiers stood posted just beyond her cell, dust-steel pauldrons occasionally reflecting the dim light. Loratha obviously did not entirely rely on her love for her retinue to keep her captive. The lowered voices of the guards carried an undercurrent of anticipation that stood out starkly for Lithas, especially against the generally bleak nature of her surroundings. Their torches cast elongated shadows on the stone floor, flickering wildly as they talked.

  “He’s finally here,” one of the guards said, voice a mere breath against the stifling hush down in the catacombs. “Just disembarked today, Cole claims.”

  The other guard snorted. “Yeah, heard the chatter. Wonder what he’ll do now.”

  “Sands know,” the first guard replied and a sense of awe crept into his voice. “You know, I’ve heard stories... If even half of them are true...”

  Silhouetted against the wan glow, Lithas listened. Her eyes narrowed at their cryptic exchange. He… Grave? No, he had been here from the start. Was there someone new? Someone coming from Loratha itself, it seemed.

  “Yeah, heard ‘em too.” The second guard’s laugh echoed harshly off the stone. “About how he played the council like a lute. Those rich bastards had it coming, if you ask me.”

  The first guard shivered. A mere rustle of fabric and armor, but Lithas noticed. “Cole says he’s dangerous. Says he’d take Grave over him any day. You think there’s something to that?”

  “Cole can go eat dung, for all I care. I’ve heard this idiot has been seen naked in some stable. Pants down, no woman in sight.” The soldier spat noisily before continuing. “But he’s not entirely wrong. Seen him from a distance once. More than dangerous if you ask me,” he murmured with a thread of what seemed like fearful respect woven into his words. “Cunning, for sure. Ruthless. He’s got the eyes of a predator. Makes my skin crawl, just thinking about it.”

  The first guard swallowed, a quiet, nervous sound. “Guess we’ll see soon enough, won’t we?”

  Lithas curled her fingers into her palm, nails digging into the roughened skin. As the guards retreated on a patrol, their hushed voices faded into the darkness. Leaving her alone with her thoughts, each more unsettling than the last. With nothing to do except brooding, she finally surrendered to a fitful sleep.

  She woke, she sat, she paced, she slept.

  One day blurred into the next until time seemed like an abstract concept, a cruel joke played on her by the universe. Through it all, Lithas just sat in her cell, mind reeling, circling the same thoughts like a hawk flying over a barren field.

  Suddenly, piercing the monotony of days and nights, a voice she had not heard in a while—had barely remembered in the first place—echoed through the stone-cold silence.

  “Lithas ak’Var. Lithas Goldweaver. Protector of Sariz. What a pleasure.”

  Her name rang out through the cell, a taunt in the suffocating silence. It felt so long since she had heard anyone speak her full name, it sounded almost foreign to her ears.

  Lithas’ eyes snapped open, adjusting to the dim light that seeped into her cell. A figure stood beyond the bars, cloaked in shadows.

  “Lithas,” the voice repeated, an undeniable thread of mockery woven into those syllables. “Here’s someone I wouldn’t have expected to meet in Demis. Under such circumstances, no less.”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Imran Delos. Councilman of Loratha. For a moment—ever so briefly—she was back in Sariz, amidst those searingly hot back-alley squares, where she had first encountered this man. What surely could only have been a few weeks ago now felt like a distant past.

  Cold fury unfurled within Lithas, replacing her initial shock. She remembered his smug face in Sariz, remembered his arrogance when he bought her wares. Remembered all the dead in the streets during the battle, the dust-steel soldiers that shrugged off the assault from Demis’ Elevated. He had used her. Manipulated her. What was it the guard had said again? Played her like a lute.

  “You,” she hissed. Her voice echoed ominously in the silent cell. “You orchestrated all of this, didn’t you? All this destruction—these deaths—just to please the great Imran Delos.”

  The rest of Imran’s face remained impassive as a cruel smile played at the corners of his lips. He regarded her fury with cold amusement. He seemed to relish her helplessness, thriving on her anger. The man disgusted Lithas.

  Finally, Imran shrugged, a nonchalant gesture that only served to fan the flames of her rage. “Well, well. All part of the grand game of power, my dear,” Imran said, voice dripping with condescension. “And right now, it seems like I’m holding all the winning cards.”

  Lithas’ grip tightened on the rough, worn bars of her cell. She could feel her power pulse—just below the surface—eager to erupt and incinerate everything in its path. Starting with that repulsive man who stood before her, smirking at her predicament.

  “You were insufferable before, but now I see you for what you really are,” she spat. Her words bounced off the stone walls, imbued with a rage that threatened to consume her. “A vulture, circling over the carcass of a vibrant city. A beautiful city. A great city. Not that you could ever understand that.”

  “A vulture?” Imran chuckled. The sound only fueled Lithas’ anger. “Hardly, my dear. Merely a pragmatist. When an opportunity arises, you have to seize it.”

  His words hung in the cold, stale air between them, eliciting a disbelieving grunt from Lithas. “What about the people then, Delos? The ones who lie dead—the thousands who’ve lost everything? Are they mere collateral damage in your power play?”

  Imran Delos simply shrugged again. He seemed to do that a lot. Charm, eloquence, and nonchalance. Lithas could see how those traits would be effective weapons in a council chamber. Yet now they formed a stark contrast to the chaos and despair that surrounded them. No sane person would behave like that.

  Imran looked at her, lost in thought for a heartbeat, before he continued. “‘To forge the sword, the iron must endure the flame.’ Didn’t your own Seeress say that?”

  It was her turn to laugh now. A bitter, hollow sound that was thrown back by the walls of her dank cell. Lithas was somewhat shaken to hear it come from her own mouth. “You might have won this round, Delos. But this game is far from over.”

  “I’m afraid you’re quite mistaken,” Imran smiled. “It is over. We won, simple as that. I won. Cerax is dead, Demis has fallen, the Isles are under our control.”

  “What about the Belt?” Lithas scoffed and kept her searing gaze fixed on the councilman. “Do you really think the Tetrarchy will just allow you to expand your power like that? To kill their valuable Elevated?”

  “The Tetrarchy? Those old men half a world away?” Imran’s smile did not even so much as falter. “They’re as brittle as their parchments. They haven’t intervened in a major way on the continent for over a century. Don’t kid yourself, Lithas. Elevated or not, they don’t care about you. Their only concerns are tariffs and preventing the rise of another god-king. I plan to meddle with neither… for now.”

  Lithas bristled at his words and her fists clenched involuntarily at her sides.

  “But let’s not spoil this delightful reunion with such petty squabbles,” he continued casually. As if they were discussing the weather and not the fate of nations. “Would you fancy a little walk, my dear? I hear even the ruins of Demis are quite a sight to behold. Especially compared to your… humble abode.”

  Not even waiting for her protest, Imran gestured to one of the guards behind him. A set of keys jingled, and her cell door swung open with a screeching protest from rusty hinges. Lithas hesitated for a moment, the open door seeming like a mirage after the endless days of solitude.

  Then she steeled herself and walked out of her cell, each step measured and cautious. Stepped and stepped, until she was not only out of her cell but ascended the stairs and walked out of the whole compound. Never stopping once.

  Sunlight greeted her.

  Blinding sunlight, both merciful and merciless. Lithas had to shut her eyes almost completely to withstand the onslaught. Blinking frantically against the welling tears, she stumbled forward. Her pair of guards in dust-steel armor stayed directly behind, nudging her onward. Lithas’ eyes, watering as they were, quickly left the smugly grinning councilman at her side and took in her surroundings as they began their walk through the bleeding heart of the defeated city.

  Slowly, they walked through rubble-strewn streets, the acrid scent of smoke and charred wood still hanging heavy in the air, even after what must have been many days. The once thriving city she had known only so briefly now seemed a ghost of its former self, its grandeur reduced to debris and dust. Here and there Lithas spotted Demisians, ringed by Lorathan soldiers, clearing rubble or tearing down burned husks of buildings.

  “I’ve been meaning to discuss the future.” Imran Delos, seemingly unfazed by the destruction around him, turned to Lithas. “Loratha’s future, to be precise. And, possibly, yours.”

  Again, he did not wait for her response. Not that Lithas felt anything like responding to his delusions. As they threaded their way through the desolate landscape of Demis, Imran Delos continued his monologue, eyes directed not at the surrounding rubble but at something in the distance, likely only present within his twisted mind.

  “Demis will no longer be an autonomous city-state. With a Lorathan governor overseeing the city, we’ll effectively rule the Bay of Sariz. Nothing personal against Sariz itself, but it’s not worth much as an economic hub if it can’t get goods beyond the Bay. The Isles of Dust will, of course, also fall under our governance,” Imran continued, his gaze now lingering on the remnants of a once-majestic tower, crumbled to nothing more than a pile of stones. “Loratha will assume control of it all, ensuring stability and prosperity for its people.”

  Lithas scoffed. The sound was almost swallowed by the ash-filled air.

  Unfazed by her biting sarcasm, Imran continued, his voice carrying a note of undeniable certainty. “After this, our influence will span nearly the entire width of the continent, Lithas. Peace will flourish under Lorathan rule.”

  That was it. She could not hold back any longer. Lithas openly sneered at his words, her eyes glinting with disdain. “Peace? Is this what you call peace?” She gestured to the decimated city around them, the dead mercifully removed during her incarceration. “The peace of a graveyard, perhaps.”

  Imran’s face remained impassive as he observed the ruined city, again seemingly unperturbed by her rage. “Peace, Lithas, isn’t the absence of destruction,” he said, voice steady. “It’s the absence of fear, of uncertainty. It’s stability. Unity brings strength, stability brings prosperity, and control ensures both. Isn’t that a worthy goal? Do you really think a farmer cares who rules over him, as long as he has food to put on his table?”

  For a moment, they stood in silence, the only sounds being the distant crackling of dying fires and the soft crunch of debris beneath their boots. Then, Imran turned to her, a calculated glint in his eyes.

  “We need Sariz, Lithas. If we have Sariz, we have the continent. Tibara or Limrod won’t be able to do anything on their own. The Seeress, specifically. I want her to officially acknowledge our new possessions. As one of her Elevated, you have her ear. I want you to return to Sariz and convince her.”

  “And if I refuse?” she asked, quiet but defiant. Sounding more certain than she felt.

  His gaze met hers, piercing and cold. Imran continued his slow walk, lean silhouette dark against the smoky ruins. “Should you refuse—or fail—we’ll have to find... other means of persuasion. And trust me, Lithas, those will be far less pleasant.”

  “But if you comply,” he continued, switching to a casual tone, as if they were discussing what was for dinner, “things may... work out better for your friends. They’re in the dungeons, you know? Right here, under your feet. You want them to be safe, don’t you?”

  Lithas’ mouth was dry now, mind racing. His words were a dagger to her heart, twisting with every syllable. “Bastard,” she hissed, barely more than a whisper. “You think the Seeress will just roll over and let you take the continent?” she asked defiantly. “You underestimate her.”

  Imran just smiled. The gesture was devoid of any warmth. “We’ll see.” The councilman gestured to her guards and they quickly turned her around.

  As they returned to her makeshift prison, Lithas was tossed back into her cell, the clang of the bars slamming shut ringing in her ears. The soldiers chuckled to themselves as they took up their positions again. Cruel laughter echoed off familiar walls.

  Imran’s silhouette lingered in the doorway. Cold, calculating eyes studying her from the dim light. “Admiral Vespera will arrive soon from the Islands with the rest of the fleet,” he finally spoke, a chilling whisper in the stifling silence. “Then we sail. From Loratha, you’ll be escorted to Sariz. I expect you to be cooperative.”

  With a final glance—a heady mix of promises and warnings—he turned and disappeared into the smoke-ridden darkness, leaving Lithas alone with her swirling thoughts.