Phos awoke to complete darkness.

He lay kneeling on a cold stone surface, both of his arms bound by metal chains to a similarly freezing wall. His vision was covered not by cloth but by something harder—he couldn’t make out what it was.

Did such a dungeon exist in the Anima Mundi?? Phos kept his head down and pretended to be asleep, listening for any sounds or movements.

He heard none.

When he experimentally tugged against the chains binding him, a piercing feeling extended from his chest to his arm, as if someone had traced a line using a knife. He bit his tongue, hard, to keep himself from screaming in pain and fright.

Was this the work of the hooded stalker? Did he try to murder him, tortured and possibly alone in a strange cold dungeon?

Well, he wasn’t dead. Yet.

Phos focused as much as he could on the pain, thinking that if he repeated the word in his mind, he’d get more used to it. Then, he thought about all of the people he could have offended—which, after he wondered for a while, he decided was no one.

To him, his only flaw was how much he spaced out, lost himself in daydreams.

Did daydreaming count as a crime???

Lost in thought for the umpteenth time, Phos didn’t notice the light footsteps stopping before him or reaching out to remove his blindfold. He jumped back in surprise, and his eyes met those of…???

A tall man with long silver hair. His white dress shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, exposed his strong muscles as well as various small scars. Phos found this appearance very familiar, and managed to connect it to Nymph’s description of a certain Lord of Metal.

“Kass?”

The man’s eyes widened.

“How do you know me?” He threw the blindfold of copper to the side.

“Nymph told me. ” Phos stated matter-of-factly, curious about how Kass would react. “Are you the one who tried to kill me in the alleyway?”

The Lord of Metal simply brought a hand to the chain fastening Phos’s wrists to the wall and pulled hard.

“Ugh–” Phos felt light-headed, his heartbeat pulsating through the injury and dying his pure white pyjamas a startling red.

“You should forget her; she won’t see you anymore.” Kass had a monotonous voice.

Phos heard it laced with a hint of bitterness.

Black swirls swam in his vision, turning into pastel patches of white, then circling to become a grey tunnel. Even the small light from the crack near the top of the dungeon brought a different type of torture. A sweet, fishy, iron-like liquid filled his throat, travelling up and overflowing from his lips.

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

So this is how I die.

As fate would have it, just before Kass had the opportunity to tear Phos apart, he heard the sound of a whistle. He froze for a second, then looked up and around, before finally standing from Phos’s imprisoned state and storming away.

The whistle abruptly stopped when Kass shut the door.

All was silent once again.

Phos felt his ribs ache. He looked down, watching the gigantic scar across his chest flex with every miniscule movement from his arm. Blood oozed from the wound as well, dripping over the dried blood on his pyjamas to the floor.

He shut his eyes, wishing he had the blindfold.

Another sound from the whistle called him back to attention. This time, it seemed closer—right before him. Phos tentatively peeked open one eye.

A face greeted him; one who had a blindfold over his eyes and two symmetrical moles under each of them. The man wore a black cloak, his hair and clothes completely veiled.

“Y-y-y-” Phos stammered as the man stared intently at him. He shut up when his chest started seizing up from the injury and promptly passed out.

The Lord of Fire, Pyre, watched his prey with great interest. He pulled the whistle off his neck and hung it around Phos.

The unconscious Light Lord wouldn’t know this for a long time, but the whistle could be used to command Greater Lords to an extent.

When Phos didn’t open his eyes after a long while, Pyre patted his cheek to try to wake him up before tugging his bloodied scarf off, unbuttoning the last of his pyjamas so that he wouldn’t get an infection. Then, the Lord of Fire crouched beside him.

For minutes.

Minutes turned to hours.

Is he dead?

Pyre glanced up at Phos.

He gently raised the Light Lord’s chin up, slightly opening his mouth, then brought his finger to the man’s lips, checking for breathing.

Phos pulled his head away, mumbling something in his sleeping state.

Pyre brought his ear close to his face.

So when Phos blinked open his hazy eyes in the dungeon for a second time and saw the handsome profile of the blindfolded man from earlier, he startled and drew backwards, then forwards again after the pain from his carving set in. He looked down and nearly passed away in shock.

Why was his shirt unbuttoned?!?

It already had a very low cleavage, which Phos turned into a fashion with his scarf, but when did it come completely undone?

Phos stared in horror at the man before him, who had crouched back down and carefully watched him back.

“You…”

“Are you—”

They opened their mouths in unison. Phos’s stare grew incredulous, but he stayed quiet to let Pyre speak first.

Pyre simply stared back.

“What…”

“Are you alive?”

They spoke together again, but this time Pyre finished his question.

Phos noticed that he had a surprisingly light voice, albeit deeper than he expected. But the question this man asked….

It took strenuous effort for Phos not to feel like he was retching blood every time he opened his mouth, so he took a moment to breathe before responding.

“No, I’m dead. What do you think?” His gaze turned into a deadpan.

“Oh. Then I’ll leave now.” Pyre stood up, brushed off the dirt on his hood, then pulled his black hood back.

“...”

Whether this man was joking or truly stupid, Phos couldn’t tell. But he had a powerful urge to break out of his chains to beat him up.

In his confusion, he barely registered that Pyre had wispy blue hair like flames, tipped with a frosty white at the end and giving off a very translucent feel. Pyre took off his blindfold, revealing beautiful white irises, and turned to leave.

When he locked eyes with Phos, the Light Lord snapped back to his senses.

“You!!” A fountain of blood gushed from his scarlet lips.