A suffocating silence pressed down on me within the confines of my assigned quarters. Unlike the cramped solitary confinement cage I knew all too well, this was a spacious tent furnished with a simple cot and rough cloth rugs. A pitiful upgrade, considering I was a prisoner. Again. I groaned. Still, a yearning for Grandma gnawed at me. How was she holding up? Had they taken her to get seen by a doctor yet?

The worry etched on Lyanna's face mirrored my own. Was this the effect of the mind link? The small fairy, no larger than my fist, flitted restlessly around the tent. She circled the tent, looking paler with each pass. Through the connection, I felt a surge of Lyanna's struggle and fatigue. As vivid as how my stomach felt fuller when Spiderzilla devoured that giant moth. Abruptly, the fairy stopped. Her wings drooped, and with a defeated sigh, she dove headfirst into the pillow.

Captivity had clipped Lyanna’s wings, both literally and figuratively. Extracting information from her was a pain – a mix of coaxing and deciphering muffled words from when her face was burrowed in the pillow. Those weren't jars; they were cages, denying the fairies even the most basic freedom of movement. How long had they been trapped here, their magic choked, their wings clipped not just by captivity, but by the despair the captivity creates? Apparently, the longer they were confined, the more their colors leached away, leaving them pale as ghosts.

Lyanna’s only link to Steel, our town, came through whispers gleaned from a network that pulsed between captive fairies, a communication web as intricate as any human phone system. It was a power only fairies had. Elves and humans only had the capability to communicate with one, so they had to choose one with the best chance of connection.

That connection, however, offered little comfort in the face of my empty stomach. I stared at the deflated pouch on the table, the meager offering of dried fruits and nuts long consumed. Aubrie, the unexpectedly gentle giant guard, must have sensed our despair. Before they ushered us inside, she had left this small pouch to complement the flatbread and water soup. It wasn't much, barely enough to sustain a sparrow, but in the face of captivity, it felt like a lifeline. The food was gone, but the feeling lingered – Aubrie cared.

Lyanna, perhaps sensing my flicker of hope through our bond, perked up. It was a small source of comfort, but it set the wheels in motion. She then offered a glimmer of hope of her own. Orcs, apparently, couldn't wield Malvao weapons – the power within the metal was too heavy for them, like a different force of gravity acted upon them. Yet, weapons were vanishing from the tunnels, a mystery as if the very dungeon itself was conspiring against them.

Exhaustion, both physical and emotional, finally claimed me, and I drifted off into a restless sleep.

Morning light, filtered through the translucent fabric of the tent, roused me from my slumber. Lyanna was still asleep. Throwing back the flaps, I was met with the stern gazes of two young guards. One was sporting a green muscular right arm that made him look lopsided. The other, his face etched with a permanent scowl, kept his arms crossed, his entire posture radiating an air of disapproval. Each held a slender staff crossed before them, barring my exit.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"Where can I find Raine or Will?" I demanded, frustration already bubbling under my skin. "I need to know what's happening."

Their expressions remained stoic. One of the guards, his brow furrowed in what seemed like concentration rather than thought, finally spoke. "The bosses are in the tunnels," he mumbled, his voice thick and lacking in inflection. "They go fight Orcs every day."

Disappointment washed over me. Every day? But Raine had seemed so eager to explain the deal they'd struck. Just then, a flash of movement caught my eye. A figure, cloaked in midnight blue, materialized beside me with a rustle of fabric. Before I could react, she was inside the tent through a small, expertly cut seam. It was Miss Thief!

Her eyes were clouded with worry. “I’m Simone,” she stammered, her voice barely audible as she scratched the back of her head. “I… I’m sorry about before. I didn’t mean any harm. The dagger—it was just a moment of desperation. Please, don’t call the guards.”

Simone’s eyes pleaded with me, and for a moment, I hesitated. What secrets did she carry? And why did her vulnerability tug at my heart?

Simone winced, clutching her side. “You see, my sister… she overused the Malvaos power. It’s a double-edged sword, that purple fruit. Grants you incredible strength, but if you push it too far, it starts leeching your own life force. I… I have a secret power. No one can know. Can you promise me that you can keep a secret?”

I nodded, intrigued. “Go on.”

Simone hesitated, her eyes darting around the dimly lit tent. “I… saw that you had two Malvao weapons. Even though you kept the dagger hidden, I can still detect Malvao weapons. No one’s been able to handle two before.”

My mind raced. Simone’s revelation held more weight than I’d anticipated. What secrets did she harbor, and how could her unique ability change everything?

She sank onto my cot, her breath shallow. She pointed at the general area where I had hidden my backpack, right underneath her. "The gem in the hilt, it's… it's like a safety valve. It absorbs back some of the excess Malvaos energy, keeps the wielder from burning out completely. But without it…" She trailed off, her face contorted in pain. "The elves took it, saying it was too dangerous. But they don't understand. It's the only thing that was keeping my sister from succumbing to the purpling Malvaos' curse!"

“That dagger was originally my sister’s. But after the staff and more weapons from the same lot were causing problems, they took them all shipped out for repair. Then they gave her a less compatible weapon and watched her suffer seizures.”

"She’s been trippin’. Messed with the Malvaos’ mojo way past her limits. That purple fruit? It’s like a gnarly gift, gives you mega power, but if you overdo it, it’s a total wipeout. Now, Drea, she's getting wiped out by purpanosis."

Simone explained, her voice trembling. "The Purp, it steals your life force bit by bit, leaving only a frail shell behind. The gem in the dagger… it acts like a filter. Absorbs some of the excess Malvaos energy, keeps the user from crashing entirely. But the elves… they took it, saying it was too dangerous. They don't understand, Saya! It's the only thing keeping Drea alive!"

Pushing aside the flap, Aubrie entered. Simone, eyes red-rimmed, jumped in surprise.

"Aubrie!" she stammered, nervously clutching her hands.