The jungle’s oppressive heat clung to Aeryn as she stumbled through the dense undergrowth, her heart hammering in her chest. Every step away from the clearing felt like betrayal, but she knew she couldn’t save them if she were captured too. The mercenaries would be searching for her, but she’d already planned her next move.
After hours of running, she emerged from the dungeon onto a beaten path leading to a small village tucked away from the major city they had been before. The buildings were simple but sturdy, and the faint glow of lanterns in the windows gave the place an air of quiet safety. Aeryn donned her cloak pulling her hood low, hiding her face as she made her way to the inn at the village’s edge. It was a modest establishment, its wooden sign creaking faintly in the breeze. She slipped inside, paying the innkeeper with a handful of coins before retreating to a room on the upper floor.
The moment the door clicked shut, Aeryn let out a shaky breath and sank to her knees. The room was small but clean, its single window offering a view of the jungle beyond. She couldn’t afford to waste time. Reaching into her satchel, she retrieved a vial of her own blood, a grim smile tugging at her lips.
“Let’s see if this works,” she murmured, uncorking the vial and pouring the crimson liquid into a shallow bowl. She placed both hands over the bowl, the air began to hum with magic. Aeryn began to chant in an ancient language long forgotten, the blood swirling and rising into the air. It coalesced into a humanoid shape, features sharpening into an uncanny replica of her father.
The blood clone’s eyes opened, glowing faintly as they locked onto her. “Aeryn,” it said, its voice an eerie mimicry of the original. “To what do I owe this intrusion?”
Aeryn went drop to a knee and bowed in accordance with their custom, “I need information,” Aeryn said, her tone clipped. “and... your help.”
The clone tilted its head, a smirk playing across its lips. “You summoned me for help? How desperate you must be.”
Aeryn’s jaw tightened. “The slavers took my friends, Lorelai and Thrax. They’re using rune-bound collars. I need your help to get them back before something worse happens to them.”
The clone regarded her for a long moment before speaking. “Rune-bound collars are not easily broken. You’ll need someone with considerable magical expertise… someone like me.” Its smirk widened. “And what will you offer in return?”
“I’ve evolved into a Lord with a unique bloodline ability father, I'll agree to the arranged marriage and become the leader of the tenth family,” Aeryn said, her voice steady despite the weight of the words. “In other words, I'll come home.”
The clone’s expression darkened, amusement fading into something colder. “You're still too weak to officially lead a family, but very well. I’ll assist you, but know this: when the time comes, you will not refuse me. Go to where you're friends are being held captive, I will meet you there tonight.”
Aeryn nodded, dismissing the clone with a wave of her hand. The blood dissolved, pooling back into the bowl. She wiped her brow, anxiety settling in, but there was no time to rest. From her satchel, she drew a small, rune-inscribed blade and pressed it to her palm. Blood welled up, and she began to chant.
“Bloody Baby, find them,” she whispered, her voice tinged with desperation. The blood flowed from her palm, forming into two small, pulsating shapes that began to coalesce together. Once assembled it resembled a miniature figure in likeness of herself. The anklets she’d placed on Lorelai and Thrax allowed her to track them, the bloody baby glowing faintly as it oriented themselves. It floated to the window, pointing in the direction of the clearing where her friends were held.
Aeryn clenched her fists. “Hold on, you two. I’m coming.”
Under the cover of darkness, she slipped out of the inn, following the Bloody Baby construct as it weaved through the forest. The closer she got to the clearing, the more her anger simmered. She couldn’t take the slavers head-on, not yet, but she could make their lives difficult.
The hideout was a ramshackle fortress hidden deep in the woods, its perimeter guarded by pairs of mercenaries. Aeryn hid in the shadows, watching their movements, waiting for the opportune moment. When a lone slaver ventured away from the group, she struck. Her blood magic was swift and merciless, draining them of life before they could raise an alarm. She disposed of the body silently, leaving no trace of her presence. This became her strategy; picking off lone slavers one by one, whittling down their numbers while staying undetected. Each kill was precise, calculated, and merciless. She left no room for error, her resolve steeling with every success.
As the night wore on, the moon climbed high into the sky, its pale light casting eerie shadows over the hideout. Aeryn crept closer, her eyes narrowing as she saw movement within the camp. Lorelai was dragged out into the open, her body stripped bare, the slavers parading her around like a trophy. Their laughter was cruel, their eyes filled with malice as they mocked her.
Thrax was forced to perform menial labor, his draconic strength exploited to move heavy supplies. His roars of frustration were met with jeers, the slavers careful not to leave marks on either of them to maintain their value. The sight made Aeryn’s blood boil, her hands trembling with suppressed rage.
She wanted to act, to storm the camp and free them then and there, but she knew it would be suicide. Instead, she focused on her plan, knowing her father would arrive soon.
The air grew heavy as midnight approached, a familiar, oppressing chill signaling her father’s presence. Shadows deepened unnaturally, and the hideout fell eerily silent. Aeryn watched as her father rose from the ground in the center of clearing, his presence commanding immediate attention. The slavers froze, their weapons trembling in their hands as they faced the intruder.
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Her father cast a glance in her direction, his expression unreadable. Then he turned his focus to the slavers, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. “You’ve taken something that does not belong to you. Release them, or face the consequences.”
Aeryn’s breath caught as she watched, the weight of her father’s power filling the clearing. She knew the battle was far from over, but for the first time, she felt a glimmer of hope. Together, they had the ability to save her friends.
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Lorelai’s head swam, the oppressive weight of the collar pressing down on her mind and body like an iron vice. She felt a surge of relief when the blood mist obscured Aeryn’s retreat, but that relief was fleeting as the slavers closed in, their cruel laughter echoing through the clearing.
“You’re not going anywhere,” one of them sneered, yanking on the chain attached to her collar. Pain erupted at the base of her skull, like molten fire surging through her veins. She gritted her teeth, refusing to cry out as her body jerked involuntarily toward the source of the pull.
Nearby, Thrax let out a guttural growl, his own collar sparking with energy as he fought against the commands. “Don’t give in,” he rumbled, his voice strained. “They’re… trying to break us.”
Lorelai met his eyes, her vision blurred by tears of pain. “I know,” she whispered hoarsely. “But this… this is worse than I imagined.”
“Move!” another slaver barked, snapping the chain attached to Thrax’s collar. The draconic warrior roared in defiance, his muscles tensing as he resisted the command. The runes on the collar flared ominously, sending a fresh wave of agony through his body. He staggered, his fingers digging into the dirt to keep himself upright.
“You’re only hurting yourselves,” the leader said, their tone mocking. “These collars can… persuade even the strongest wills. Keep resisting if you want. I’m sure the damage will be… entertaining.”
“Lorelai,” Thrax muttered, his voice low and urgent as the slavers turned their attention elsewhere. “If we keep resisting like this, they’ll fry our minds. I—I can feel it.”
She nodded weakly, her breathing ragged. “We… we have to choose our battles,” she said, her voice trembling with barely suppressed rage. “I will not let them break us.”
The slavers were merciless, their cruelty calculated. Lorelai felt each moment of her captivity stretch into eternity, every second a reminder of how powerless she was under the weight of the rune-bound collar. It wasn’t just the physical pain; it was the violation of her autonomy, the way the collar forced her to obey commands against her will. When she resisted, the punishment was swift, a searing jolt that lanced through her body, leaving her gasping and trembling.
She had tried to stand her ground, to defy their orders. When they commanded her to kneel before them, she locked her knees and refused. The pain that followed was so intense she thought her skull would split. Her vision blurred as the collar tightened, the runes glowing angrily.
"You're only making this harder on yourself," one of the slavers taunted, his voice dripping with mockery. "Just obey, little rabbit. It'll hurt less."
Lorelai spat at his feet, defiance flashing in her eyes despite the tears streaking her cheeks. "I’d rather die."
The slaver smirked and tugged her chain, sending another wave of agony through her. She bit her lip until it bled, refusing to scream.
The slavers’ cruelty escalated as the night wore on and were particularly cruel to Lorelai, passing her between them like some twisted prize. They were careful to not bruise her skin, wary of damaging their "merchandise," but each of them touched her, and their taunts and lecherous gazes were wounds of their own. They paraded her around the camp, forcing her to strip under the pretense of "inspecting the goods." Lorelai stood in the middle of their jeering circle, her fists clenched at her sides, her body trembling with rage and humiliation.
"Such a pretty little thing," one of them drawled, circling her like a predator. "Bet the buyers will pay top coin for you."
Lorelai’s humiliation burned brighter than the pain as they forced her to strip, jeering and leering as they paraded her naked form through the camp. She refused to look at them, her gaze fixed on the ground, her jaw clenched in silent defiance. Every step was a battle to keep her composure, to hold onto the scraps of dignity they sought to strip away.
Thrax, who was forced to watch her suffering, was no less tormented. Thrax’s torment was physical but equally dehumanizing. Though the slavers had not laid a hand on him directly, their cruelty took a different form. They exploited his draconic pride, forcing him to perform degrading tasks that belittled him. They made him haul heavy supplies like a beast of burden, chaining his arms behind his back to strip him of any semblance of strength or dignity. When he faltered under the weight, they jabbed him with the blunt ends of their weapons, laughing as he stumbled. Each task they assigned him was designed to break him, to strip him of the pride that defined him.
“You’re supposed to be some mighty dragon-kin,” one sneered, leaning in close to sneer at him. “Where’s all that fire and fury now? All I see is a whipped dog.”
Thrax growled low in his throat, his golden eyes blazing with suppressed rage. “You’d do well to watch your tongue,” he rumbled, his voice a dangerous promise. Even as he spoke, he knew he was powerless. The collar ensured that any true act of rebellion would end in unbearable pain.
When they were finally left alone in the dim confines of their makeshift holding area, Lorelai crawled closer to Thrax, her voice barely audible. "Thrax… I know how much worse this can get for us, I don't know if I'll survive more of this."
He looked at her, his golden eyes filled with a quiet determination. "You can take as much as you have to," he said firmly. "We both can. Aeryn will come back for us. I know it."
Lorelai nodded, drawing strength from his words. She reached for his hand, her touch light but grounding. "I just… I feel so… powerless, I've been pushing myself so hard because Ive been powerless before and never wanted to return to that miserable feeling."
Thrax’s gaze softened, and he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "We may be chained, but they haven’t won. As long as we hold on, as long as we keep fighting in whatever ways we can, they haven’t broken us."
The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken fears. Finally, Lorelai whispered, "Thank you, Thrax. For being here. For… not letting me face this alone."
His lips quirked into a faint smile. "We’re in this together," he said simply. "No matter what."
Though the night was long and the slavers’ torment unrelenting, that bond between them, of shared pain and unyielding resolve, was enough to keep them going. For now, it was their only shield against the darkness. As they shared their moment, a commotion brought their attention to the camp yard.
Shadows bubbled from the floor, the slavers were gathering weapons prepping for the unknown that was to come. From the depths of the bubbling shadows rose an imposing figure, tall and adorned with lean muscle. The man's posture exuded royalty: impossibly straight posture, nose turned upward so that he looked down on the slavers as if they were lower than ants. He had long black hair, his menacing eyes visible to all, glowing crimson. This man was dangerous, the air was palpable with malice. Lorelai could feel the man's aura, he was the single most powerful person she had ever ran into and if he was on their side she knew Thrax and her were doomed.