The chains sagged off the walls allowing movement, but not enough to where he could do anything. Lucian glanced around the dark, humid room. The stones were dark grey, almost black now from decay, and moss seeped out certain corners. The prison itself was small, allowing only a few inside with him, but that meant less air to breathe when it was closed. It felt like he was suffocating alone.

How long has it been?

Was it hours? Minutes? Days? Months? He could not tell, but time was nothing but a concept now. It flowed slower. From the moment he was dragged by the river through the streets of Kinghaven, all the way to the Royal Castle, his body felt anxious. Not because of what he thought would happen, but for something else he could not yet discern.

“Who sent you?!”

“What was their purpose?!”

“Do you have any conspirators here in Kinghaven?!”

These, among many more, were thrown at him while they had the torture meister, Marcus work his tools on him. It started out with thin cuts to his body, which were painful, but he healed very quickly. In the room with the torture meister were the second prince, Joseph, and a truthsayer. Prince Joseph was a tall man, with a rounded face, but sharp eyes. He was beardless, but one could tell his old age just from afar.

Every time he would not answer, the tool changed. Following the small cuts by the knife was a molten ring that was dug into his skin. Lucian yelped in pain, mind often going blank until they stopped and asked him those questions again. When the prince saw that the wounds were healing, he changed the angle of his interrogation. Rather than asking, he gave an answer.

“You boarded here from that filthy place,” he said. “No verifications of who you were, or what your true identity was beforehand.”

Lucian looked at him, blank-faced.

“Meister, have you seen healing like this ever?” the prince questioned the torture meister.

The meister paused to think, and replied, “No my prince, none.”

“Except …”

“Except what?” the prince asked, knowing the answer.

“Except the demons from that island.”

----------------------------------------

They had already decided who he was. What he worked for. Though he did not speak, Lucian could see that the prince was fully convinced. He had every reason to be. From where he came, to how his body reacted. Perhaps this is for the best. Perhaps if the kingdom fights the nosferatus, some good may come out of his demise. Just perhaps.

The truthsayer would often tell him that his soul was in damnation every time he refused to speak the truth. The only way to be saved was to let go of the dark deeds he had done.

No solace could be found for the prince, nor those that followed after him, from the close friends of the slain prince, to his own father. The king, whom Lucian had never asked about, nor even knew his name, was perhaps the strangest one that had come to visit him.

The king was dressed in a nightly robe. It must have been around midnight, otherwise there would have been more noise around the cell. He came alone, with no guard at his side. He was not an imposing figure, an old man with a white beard, and wrinkly face. His head was bald, and hands frail. Hunched over, he came close to Lucian and touched his shoulders.

Lucian stared at the old king, whose eyes seemed devoid of any light.

“None is here with me,” he said. “You will tell me the truth.”

Lucian did not budge, nor speak. Be it the king, the prince, or anyone else, it was something he had to keep with him. This was his payback for Abenor. The debt he owed would be paid off. In the cell, bound to chains, and tortured endlessly for someone he barely knew, but decided she was to be his sister, and Abenor, his “father”, seemed silly now. He realized how emotionally damaged he was that he tried to find family where he could.

The king’s voice changed and became deeper but in a softer manner. His lightless eyes gleamed green and repeated the question.

Lucian remained silent, much to the king’s surprise. He observed Lucian and sighed.

“You look young, much younger than any of my sons,” he said, pacing around the small room with his eyes closed. “I bear no ill will towards you, as I am certain you are just a pawn thrown out, but as a grieving father, would you do me the courtesy of saying something?”

No answer.

The king sighed and softly spoke for the final time. “He wasn’t like us you know. Perhaps his goodness could not be contained in this world, but make no mistake. They will suffer. All of them. And you, who carried out their will, shall also feel the breath of death. I do not know why you have chosen this path, but the only path it leads to is hell.”

With that, he left, leaving Lucian by himself. He did not want to be here. To be accused and be innocent of it was a different pain altogether, but a pain he chose to bear. Thus, whatever comes would be his choosing.

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Tears streamed down his cheeks profusely. Being alone, with no guards to watch, or no one to hear him let him release everything he was holding in. When all the water left his body, and his mouth parched for water, he stopped.

It must have been a few days later when three guards came in, and slapped Lucian awake. They were whispering something amongst themselves and finally unchained Lucian. He had no energy to even move. The blade’s invigorating power was gone. Just like the blade.

He was dragged through the dark hallways of the dungeons, up the stairs.

On both sides of the halls of the throne room were men and women dressed exquisitely. Nobility no doubt. The king sat on a golden throne in the center. It was not magnificent, but rather quite humble. He gave Lucian the same lightless look. Murmurs from the people on the side spread as Lucian was thrown into the middle, in front of the king.

“That’s who killed the prince? This wretch?”

“He looks pathetic.”

The whispers making its way around the audience all were heard by Lucian. He simply looked at the king, who sat there.

With a tap of his fingers, he signaled for quiet.

The murmurs ceased, replaced by an oppressive silence that weighed down on everyone present. Lucian lay on the cold, hard floor, his body too weak to move. The chains had left deep red marks on his wrists and ankles; ones that did not heal. He slowly lifted his head, his vision blurry, and locked eyes with the king. The old monarch’s expression was inscrutable, his eyes as empty and cold as they had been in the cell.

The king rose slowly from his throne. He held up a hand, and the room fell even quieter, if that was possible. His voice, when he spoke, was steady and commanding.

"Killer" he began, his tone devoid of any warmth or sympathy. "You stand before me here, a coward. You and the demons that hired you are charged with conspiring against the Crown. The evidence against you is damning, yet you have chosen silence over defense. Is there anything you wish to say before judgment is passed?"

Lucian struggled to push himself up onto his knees, his muscles trembling with the effort. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. His throat was parched, his voice stolen by days of crying. He wanted to tell them the truth, to explain that he was not a killer, that he had no part in the prince's death, but the words wouldn’t come. That voice inside his head that urged him to take the fall seemed to hold him back from anything.

The king waited, his face impassive, then nodded once. "Very well. Your silence speaks volumes."

Prince Joseph stepped forward, his sharp eyes fixed on Lucian with a mixture of hatred and curiosity. "Father, if I may?" he asked, his voice cold and clipped.

The king nodded, allowing his son to take the floor. Joseph looked down at Lucian, his expression one of contempt. "You had your chance to speak, and you chose not to. You even killed my brother’s own men!”

He turned to the gathered nobility, his voice rising to ensure everyone could hear. "He is sentenced to death for his crimes against the Crown! We will hang him and take his head and raise it for all those to see what happens when you wage war with us!"

Shouts of approval rippled through the crowd, but the king raised his hand once more, silencing them. "The execution will be carried out at dawn. Until then, he will remain in the dungeon. Guards, take him away."

The guards moved to comply, lifting Lucian's limp body off the floor and dragging him back toward the dungeon. As they moved through the corridors, the sound of the king's final words echoed in Lucian's mind, mingling with the jeers and whispers of the nobles. He was thrown back into his cell, the door slamming shut behind him with a finality that seemed to seal his fate.

Hours passed, each one blending into the next in the darkness of the cell. Lucian's mind drifted, his thoughts incoherent and muddled. Images of his life before all this flashed before his eyes: Abenor's kind face, the warmth of the sun on the island, the laughter of the people he had come to think of as family. How had it all come to this? He had wanted to protect them, to find a place where he belonged, but now he was alone, condemned to die for a crime he didn't commit.

As dawn approached, the door to his cell creaked open. A figure stood silhouetted in the dim light. It gruffed and dragged him out. This time, the stairs were endless, curving, spiraling all around.

At last, they were there.

The ledge.

A grand open hall facing the sky.

On it, there was an elevated ledge. A wooden pillar with a noose stood facing him. All the nobles and the loyalty stood to the farthest left side.

The executioner, as Lucian could now tell from his masked face that resembled a thief, stood him on the ledge while he held his hand.

Lucian was a tad dizzy when he looked down. They were very high up. The wind was blowing calmly, but he could still feel the cold brush his bare skin. Another man by the nobles rung a stationary bell with a hammerlike weapon, causing it to ring very loudly three times.

From his vantage point, near the ledge, Lucian could see people. He could barely make them out individually, but hordes of them, like ants, gathered to watch him.

They were announcing to the crowd the charges, and some speech or whatnot. Lucian cared not. His ears rang, and time slowed. Down in the masses, he saw a commotion. Screams and yells reached even the heights of his deathbed.

Lucian laughed. It was Aric no doubt, from his attire, and Mortis near him.

Drunk fool, he thought, watching guards tackle him while Aric shouted at the King, and the announcer.

Up ahead, by the clouds of dawn, he could see distant birds flying. Were they doves, or maybe eagles?

Ahh, who cares?

Lucian closed his eyes slowly as the executioner was finally attaching the rope to his neck.

…

…

…

“You’re pathetic,” a voice said from up above.

It was a feminine voice, and Lucian and the executioner both glanced above.

A hooded figure, holding a book in her hands sat on a circular stone that lay on the walls of the castle above them.

“Who are you!?” the executioner commanded as the king and the nobles all walked close to the ledge and shifted their attention to her. “Get down this instant!”

“Oh brother,” the voice groaned. “Or what mister, you’re gonna snap me in two, or do you wanna something more? Are you a pervert mister?”

Lucian was left baffled, as was the rest of the party that accompanied him up there.

“Do you want to die?” she asked Lucian.

Lucian’s parched lips were unable to move and speak, but he wanted to say no. He did not know who she was, but he looked at her. His eyes widened, and he spoke, “no” with pupils.

Beneath the shadow of the hood, he could see a grin appear on her.

“Shira!” she cried loudly. “Now!”