Another puncture. Another searing hot poker was put against my fresh wounds; I had long since run dry of tears. My tongue…well, if you thought they had cut it up before, now I’m not sure if I could call it a tongue anymore. That sadistic torturer, whom I had learned was named Silas, was seriously angered by me not answering him. He still had me convinced it was just an excuse.

After eviscerating my tongue, Silas put the hood back on. Part of me clung to the hope that I could heal; nature’s essence within the brand was excellent at mending. However, the other part of me, the side slowly sinking into despair, wished for the torment to end. The room was beyond dark; it was suffocating. Or rather, it would be if I hadn’t already started to become used to the absence of light. Even as a fold, if the day were bright outside, it would be a lighter shade of black. But this? No, this was an abyss through and through.

The only light sources, apart from the glowing poker, were the flames Silas used to heat the metal instruments of torture. The man was ingenious in that respect, getting lighting and a way to inflict more incredible suffering on me. The kidnappers had claimed they needed to "confirm" something or extract information. However, Silas seemed to derive genuine pleasure from his dreadful work.

As a result, my mind was on the verge of breaking, let alone my body. I would shudder in my bindings, the chilling blend of fear and pain seeping into me each time the hot poker touched my flesh. A needle, knife, poker, or torture tool shouldn't ever be used on another person.

The air I was able to breathe in was thick with tension, a palpable malevolence that seeped into every fiber of mine. This air was tainted, not literally; the environment had stained it black.

Suddenly, the door was thrown open with a bang.

"Who dares disrupt!? He was almost mine, on the brink of breaking!” Silas bellowed.

“Who, you ask? Didn’t you order the guards to admit me, Silas?” A familiar voice filled the room, not as unhinged as Silas', but the latent power behind it sent a chill down my spine, akin to being doused in ice water amid this living nightmare.

For the first time, a trace of fear was in the voice of Silas. The man seemed deranged, laughing to himself at times as he inflicted pain upon me. Yet, his survival instinct still clung to him, and his tone soon turned respectful.

“Grand Mage Velexa, so it is you. My apologies, Grand Mage. Please, come in.”

"Good to see you know your place. Men, come do what you're trained for.”

Then, several gazes were felt on me again. Somehow, I could tell these mages had hidden their faces, their bodies shrouded in dark cloaks. Even from a short distance, you could feel the emanated air of cruelty coming from them. In no time, all but Velexa were around the table, clinically inspecting me. Silas’s voice was dripping with sadistic delight, taunting me as he wished. The other mages maintained a chilling silence.

Velexa, for her part, seemed to think this was all beneath her and abstained from doing anything but watch.

The mages accompanying Velexa didn't resort to tools like Silas; they imbued mana directly into their hands instead. The effects they induced in my body varied with each touch: sometimes intensifying my sensitivity, other times inflicting burning, freezing, poisoning, or other consequences of mana. All of this prepared me for something seeking to wear me down. Silas was hellbent on shattering my spirit. But I couldn’t let that happen. I had come too far; things would not end here.

While Silas continued to do as he pleased, the mages began to weave different spells. A faint feeling of something trying to extract from me was poking at my intuition. The spells they must have been using were some sort of information-gathering technique.

Agonizing pain coursed through my body, the sharp edges of torment carving themselves into my consciousness. With each passing moment, doubt clawed into my mind, sowing seeds of uncertainty. The relentless assault on my physical and mental fortitude threatened to unravel the fabric of my spirit and hope.

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Doing as I had done many times in my life, my thoughts turned inward. This time, they spiraled into a maelstrom of self-doubt. My past started to haunt me. My family did exile me at ten; I remember that. But I no longer remember why. The letter they had given me was still at that old run-down hovel I called home, yet the words were blurred. Another voice whispered to me about my inadequacy that I was unworthy. To give in, it would be easier, it said. My demons are coming out of me.

The questioning continued within: Could I withstand all this? What if this wasn’t just a one-time experience? Would it be day after day? Would I even be able to live, even if my will was not broken?

I could feel mages revel in my vulnerability, exploiting my deepest insecurities to undermine my resilience further. The words of their spells seared into my psyche, chipping away at the fragments of self-confidence. Doubt consumed me, threatening to extinguish the flickering ember of hope that burned within.

Don’t give in.

Mundara? Can she send thoughts like this now? I recalled her promising knowledge that could be my way out of this place, a means to strengthen myself. The citadel's auramancers must be looking for me even now. I did bear the Moth, after all, their precious world beast.

"The spells aren't fully effective; something's blocking us. This affront to the portals is still resisting.”

"Told you so," Silas spat. "He'd be broken by now if it weren't for your meddling."

Amidst the anguish, a spark of defiance flickered within my heart. I clung to the memories of my past struggles and the resilience I had shown in the face of adversity. Managing to live this long was not easy for me. The pain reminded me of my strength, a testament to determination.

I had a teacher now, the best this world could offer. My path was going to be better if I could overcome this. Pain now, for a reward later.

With each act of cruelty, my spirit hardened, and my resolve to get past this strengthened. They wanted to know if I was the one their “oracle” spoke of. And likely if Mundara had chosen me. The torture became a crucible, forging me into a fiercer, more committed version of myself. As doubt threatened to consume me, I clung to the fragments of hope, refusing to be defined by the agony inflicted upon me.

I could outlast this. Or I’d die trying at this point. My vow of silence had already been broken, so let’s replace it with a new vow. To rise to the top of these paths to power. Only if one had enough strength and wit could no one take your freedom from you. I’d do my best to ensure this would never happen again. I would reclaim my sense of self and emerge from this crucible of torture with a renewed sense of purpose.

As the torture continued, my determination burned brighter. With each agonizing moment, I drew upon the reservoirs of my inner strength, willing myself to endure. In the crucible of torment, I discovered the depths I never knew existed, forging a resolve that would not be shattered.

In some way, the pain began to subside after that. My attention once again turned to my fragments of aura. I intentionally kept the brand sealed up tight; of course, they knew the brand existed. And their spells could tell the brand somehow enhanced me. The remaining damage of the mana rituals was revealed to them as well. They confirmed I was from a line of mages. One of six families of Reverent even.

Then, Velexa came over. The mages all paused when she did this. Giving a moment of reprieve, although Silas, in his own world, continued to, as he referred to it, “play.”

Suddenly, the intensity of her gaze sharpened as though she was attempting to burn holes through the hood still covering my face and the blindfold beneath it.

“Branded by a transcendent elf? How lucky you are, Falond Conmor.” Her eyes continued all over my body; I could feel the icy gaze. She wanted to know something about me. I figured it was if Mundara had chosen me or something to do with the oracle. But was there something else I was missing?

Suddenly, the intensity of her gaze sharpened as though she was attempting to burn holes through the hood still covering my face and the blindfold beneath it.

Her voice slow and deliberate, she asked, “How did you escape the city of Ulis? You disgrace of the Conmor line. I owe your family a favor, so I agreed I’d keep watch over you, but the second an aura rat comes to town, you disappear. And you become one of them? Now, what can I tell them? Their son managed to become even more of a disgrace, an even greater failure. No wonder they renamed you.”

Dismay flooded my thoughts. A disgrace? A failure? For what? I knew they exiled me at an early age, but I still couldn’t remember why. It was being blocked. They could label me whatever they wanted. I refused to be broken. Even if it was just enduring, I knew there had to be a way out.

She waited for an answer, acting like I could even give one. What was with people doing that? You took my ability to talk and still want me to speak? As Hadrian would say, Idiots.

After what felt like an eternity...

“Continue.”

My newfound willpower was immediately put to the test again.