We all whipped our heads around, startled by the abrupt intrusion. Standing in the doorway, framed by the dying light of the setting sun, was a cloaked figure shrouded in black leather. My breath hitched in my throat. The figure was tall and lean, a silhouette that vaguely resembled Caleb. But reason scoffed at the notion. Caleb was still weak, confined to his bed.

Just as quickly, the figure lifted its hood, revealing a head of onyx black hair and a face etched with weariness – Erin. The rogue who had stormed out of the quarters over a week ago after a heated argument with Caleb.

A wave of surprise washed over me, tinged with a touch of annoyance. "Erin?" I blurted, my voice barely above a whisper. "What are you doing here?"

The corners of her lips twitched upwards in a sardonic smile. "Saving your asses, apparently," she replied, her voice rough and edged with exhaustion. Her gaze swept over the room, taking in the tense postures and wary expressions around the table. "Looks like I missed quite the party."

Marcus, however, wasn't so easily swayed. His gaze remained wary. "We thought you were gone for good, Erin."

Erin's smile faltered for a brief moment, a flicker of something akin to regret crossing her features. "Plans changed," she muttered, her gaze darting towards Marcus for a fleeting moment.

Marcus, his brow furrowed in concern, spoke before anything else could happen. "There's a lot to unpack, Erin. Caleb was attacked. On a mission." He shot a pointed look at her, his voice laced with a hint of accusation. "We almost lost him."

Erin's stoic expression remained unchanged. A flicker of something – defiance, perhaps, or maybe a well-guarded vulnerability – danced in her eyes. She met Marcus' gaze head-on, the accusation hanging heavy between them.

"I know," she finally replied, her voice a low rumble. "That's why I'm here."

The simple statement hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. Finn, forever oblivious to tension, tilted his head in confusion.

"Who do you think dragged him all the way back to Isaac?" Erin added. The question hung in the air, a rhetorical barb dipped in despair.

A flicker of something akin to fear crossed Erin's features, a stark contrast to her usual stoicism. "He was barely clinging to life when I found him," she rasped, her voice tight with emotion. "There's no way he could have made it back here on his own."

Marcus’ face fell. "You knew?!" he roared, his voice a guttural growl that echoed in the confined space. "You knew Caleb was hurt, maybe even dying, and you waltzed back out of here like nothing happened?"

His face contorted in fury, veins pulsing in his temples. "Days you were gone, Erin! Days we were here, worried sick, wondering if he'd even pull through, and you..." His voice trailed off, choked with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

Erin flinched at his outburst, but her gaze held firm. "It wasn't that simple, Marcus," she retorted, her voice laced with a quiet defiance that only fueled his anger further. "There were things I had to do, things I couldn't explain then."

"Explain now, then!" Marcus bellowed, taking a menacing step forward. "Explain how you could just abandon us, abandon him, knowing he was barely clinging to life!"

Erin, however, remained silent. Her stormy eyes met his with a steely resolve. The silence stretched, thick with tension that crackled in the air.

Suddenly, Marcus, fueled by a cocktail of worry and betrayal, lunged towards her, fists clenched.

But Erin was faster. With a practiced twist of her body, she slipped past his clumsy lunge, her own hand darting out to grab his wrist with a lightning-fast motion. A gasp escaped Marcus' lips as Erin applied a pressure point with practiced ease, momentarily disarming him.

She didn't attack further, using only enough force to disarm him. They stood there, chest heaving, locked in a tense standoff. The rest of us, mere observers moments ago, scrambled back against the wall, our eyes wide with shock.

Marcus stumbled back, bewildered, his face contorted in a mixture of pain and fury. Erin, however, remained poised, her stance firm, a single dagger glinting in her hand, the tip barely an inch from his throat.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be, Marcus," she said, her voice low and dangerous, a stark contrast to the tremor that had betrayed her earlier. "There's more to this story than you know."

Just as the tension threatened to snap, a small voice cut through the air. Finn, bless his naive optimism, stepped forward, his voice trembling but firm, pleading with Erin not to hurt Marcus. His words, spoken with such genuine concern, seemed to break the spell.

Sensing the shift, I stepped forward as well, placing a calming hand on Marcus' arm. The tension in the room remained thick, but a flicker of understanding seemed to spark in Marcus' eyes as he met Finn's sincere gaze.

Erin, her movements sharp and controlled moments ago, seemed to deflate. The fight seemed to drain out of her, replaced by a deep weariness that settled over her features like a shroud.

"There's a lot to explain," she finally said, her voice hoarse. "But fighting won't solve anything. For now, at least, we need a truce."

Marcus' muscles tensed beneath my touch. It was a language we both understood – a mixture of simmering anger and the grudging acceptance of a temporary ceasefire. He met Erin's gaze, a silent battle of wills playing out before finally conceding.

"Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "Truce. You should go see Caleb in the infirmary. He might not be… himself right now, but he'll want to know you're back."

The flicker of raw emotion that crossed Erin's face was unreadable. Gratitude, perhaps? Or maybe a flicker of shame? Without another word, she turned and slipped out of the room, leaving behind a heavy silence.

The next day stretched before me like a vast, empty canvas. Sunlight streamed through the high library windows, casting rectangles of warmth on the worn floorboards. But the usual comforting scent of aged paper and leather was overshadowed by a heavy silence that permeated the entire castle. No raised voices, no clatter of training in the courtyard – just a tense quietude that gnawed at my nerves.

The events of the previous night replayed in my mind like a relentless film reel. Erin's unexpected arrival, the news of Caleb's attack, the raw desperation in her voice – it was all a maelstrom of emotions I was still struggling to process.

Marcus, had retreated to his usual duties, his face an unreadable mask. Finn, his youthful optimism dimmed by the weight of the situation, tinkered away in his workshop, the rhythmic hammering the only sound to break the oppressive silence.

I sought refuge in the library, hoping to lose myself in the familiar comfort of stories and forgotten lore. But even the fantastical tales on the shelves couldn't hold my attention. My gaze kept drifting to the heavy oak door, my mind churning with unanswered questions. What exactly happened to Caleb on that mission? Why did Erin leave, and what secrets did she bring back with her?

As the hours crawled by, a sliver of unease grew into a full-blown worry. This wasn't just about mistrusting Erin – it was about the very foundation of our rebellion. Could we truly fight a war when doubt and suspicion festered within our ranks?

A sudden clatter from the hallway startled me. I looked up, my heart leaping into my throat, before relaxing as I saw Kass emerge from the corridor, a basket of firewood balanced on her arm. Her normally bright smile was absent, replaced by a worried frown.

"Still no word?" she asked softly, her voice barely a whisper.

I shook my head, the weight of the unspoken question hanging heavy between us. We both knew what the other was thinking – had Erin revealed her story yet? Was there any hope of reconciliation?

"I'm going to check on the infirmary," Kass said, her voice resolute. "Maybe Isaac has some news."

With a nod, I watched her disappear down the hall, a flicker of hope igniting within me.

Settling back into my chair, I forced myself to focus on the book in front of me. But the words blurred on the page, my thoughts constantly drifting back to the silent tension that gripped the rebel quarters. The day stretched on, punctuated only by the creak of floorboards and the distant echo of chopping wood. As the afternoon sun began to cast long shadows across the library floor, a sense of despair threatened to engulf me.

Just then, the heavy oak door creaked open, and a familiar figure stepped into the room. Erin. Her face was etched with exhaustion, but a flicker of determination burned in her eyes. She looked around the library, her gaze finally settling on me.

"We need to talk," Erin said, her voice strained. The weight of her words settled in the quiet library like a stone dropped into a still pond. I closed the book with a soft thud, the sound echoing in the tense silence. My gaze locked with Erin's, searching for any hint of what this conversation might hold.

"We do," I finally replied, my voice barely above a whisper. "But where do we even begin?"

A flicker of pain crossed her features, a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability beneath the usual fiery exterior. "With the truth," she said, her voice hoarse. "With what happened on Caleb's mission, and why I left."

My jaw clenched. Truth? What truth? The truth of her cowardice, of abandoning Caleb when he needed her most? The truth of how she'd left us patching his wounds back together while she gallivanted off somewhere, guilt-free?

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Sure, there was a part of me, a tiny, traitorous part, that craved the truth. The truth about what had happened between them, about the unspoken tension I'd witnessed. But mostly, there was a burning anger, a resentment that had festered for weeks. Erin had left us both dangling, Caleb with a near-fatal injury and me with a tangled mess of emotions.

And now, after all this time, she waltzed back in here, expecting me to swallow her explanations whole? As if the apology she hadn't even offered could erase the hours of worry, the nights spent tending to Caleb while he raved incoherently, his face pale and drawn.

The image of Caleb, weak and vulnerable, flashed in my mind, and a fresh wave of anger washed over me.

"Why now, Erin?" I spat, my voice tight with barely controlled fury. "Why come crawling back now, when the damage is already done?" The question hung heavy in the air, a challenge, a silent dare for her to justify her actions, to explain the gaping hole she'd left in our fragile sense of security. Part of me hoped she wouldn't answer, that she'd simply slink away, leaving me with the bitter satisfaction of her unspoken shame. But another, more curious part, yearned to hear her side of the story, even if it meant reopening old wounds.

"It's bigger than just Caleb's attack," she said, taking a hesitant step closer. "He stumbled onto something on that mission, something the enemy wouldn't want us to know. Something that could change everything."

My heart hammered against my ribs. The cryptic warnings, the desperation in her voice – it all pointed to a revelation far greater than a simple mission gone wrong. "What is it?" I pressed, leaning forward in my chair.

Erin hesitated, her gaze darting nervously towards the door. "Not here," she whispered. "The walls may have ears, even in this castle. We need a secure place to talk."

I knew she was right. The library, with its towering bookshelves and hidden nooks, wasn't exactly the most secure location for a conversation of this magnitude. "The abandoned watchtower?" I suggested, remembering a deserted structure on the highest point of the castle grounds.

The air grew cooler as we climbed up the spiral staircase, the wind whipping at my cloak. Finally, we reached the crumbling stone structure, its windows like empty eyes staring out across the darkening landscape.

Erin stood by a broken window, her hair whipping around her face in the wind. Her silhouette was stark against the fading light. As I approached, she turned, her expression grim.

"Okay, let’s talk. What the hell, Erin?" I spat, my voice tight. "You dropped him off here, half dead, and then just… vanish?"

She met my gaze coldly. "Someone had to finish the job."

My head snapped back. "The job?"

A flicker of emotion crossed her face, a dark echo of what could have been a smile. "They left him for dead, Kira. You think I was just going to let them walk away?"

I stared at her, a leaden weight settling in my chest. This wasn't the cold, calculating Erin I knew. There was a flicker of… protectiveness? But it vanished as quickly as it came.

"And Caleb?" Her voice was softer this time. "I knew Isaac and Elyse could handle him. He's survived worse."

There it was again. The unwavering confidence in Caleb's resilience, in Isaac and Elyse's abilities. It surprised me. Erin wasn't known for trusting easily.

Erin quickly changed the subject. "There's a reason the King is so powerful," she said, her voice barely audible over the wind. "A reason he's managed to cling to the throne for so long, despite countless coups."

My heart hammered in my chest. "The King is using his prisoners as a shield. But that’s just a legend, Erin."

Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Tell me, Kira," she said, her gaze intent. "What do you know about the men who have vanished without a trace?"

A cold dread settled in my stomach, a counterpoint to the evening chill. Whispers about the King's bottomless dungeons were a constant undercurrent in the villages, a place where dissenters vanished without a trace. I swallowed hard, trying to recall anything specific.

"There are rumors," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "Stories of men abducted by the King’s guard, their families left with nothing but unanswered questions. But no one knows where these prisoners truly are. Some say the dungeons are beneath the Black Keep, others believe them scattered in hidden locations throughout the kingdom."

Erin scoffed, a single sharp bark that echoed in the deserted watchtower. "Scattered? No. They're all right there, under our very noses."

My head snapped up, disbelief etched on my face. "Beneath the Black Keep? But that's… impossible! There's no word of an entrance, no signs…" My voice trailed off as Erin cut me short, a glint of grim satisfaction in her eyes.

"There is now," she said, her voice low and urgent. "Caleb found it. On his mission. That's why they attacked him. They knew he stumbled on their dark secret."

Shock coiled in my gut, a viper awakening from a slumber. Caleb's "mission" near the northern border, a tale we'd all believed without question, was a lie. A bitter truth Erin's words unveiled. He hadn't been scouting for enemy forces; he'd been scouting the very castle.

"What?" My voice rasped, a whisper lost in the vast emptiness of the watchtower. "The northern border? That was a lie?"

Erin nodded, her gaze resolute. "A necessary one, it seems. He found something, Kira. Something the King desperately wanted hidden."

"What were you even doing out by the damn castle in the first place?"

Erin uncrossed her arms. "Scouting the walls. I do it all the time."

Her nonchalant response did little to quell my suspicion. "Scouting? You never mentioned scouting anything."

A muscle ticked in her jaw. "There's a lot I don't mention, Kira. Doesn't mean it doesn't get done."

There was a truth to her words, a reminder of the secrets Erin kept close to her chest. But the timing of it all, her being near the castle right when Caleb was attacked… it felt too coincidental.

A cold sweat prickled my skin despite the evening chill. "But why?" I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. "Why keep them there, under the castle? Wouldn't it be safer, more secretive to have them hidden away somewhere else?"

Erin's lips curled into a humorless smile, devoid of its usual spark. "Safety isn't the King's primary concern, Kira," she explained. "It's control. Having the prisoners beneath his own roof allows him constant access. He can drain their life force at will, keep them weak and compliant."

My blood ran cold. Erin's next words hit me like a physical blow.

"It doesn't stop at one prisoner at a time. The King, he… he feeds off a hundred at once."

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. A hundred prisoners? My mind reeled, trying to grasp the horrifying reality. One captive, constantly drained, was a monstrous act. But a hundred? A constant stream of unfortunate souls sacrificed to keep the King… alive? Immortal?

The implications were staggering. It wasn't just that the King was difficult to kill, it meant he was practically immortal. As long as there were prisoners left to drain, he wouldn't die. A shiver wracked my body. The King wasn't just a tyrant, he was a parasite, clinging to life by sucking the very essence from his unfortunate victims.

Erin's words painted a picture so grotesque it turned my stomach. A hundred desperate souls, their life force slowly stolen away, acting as a human shield for the King. I imagined their vacant eyes, their hollowed cheeks, a constant reminder to all who dared to oppose him.

The King's cruelty had always been a chilling undercurrent, but this revelation painted him as a monster beyond anything I'd ever imagined. And the worst part? We had been completely oblivious. The rebellion had patrolled the walls, fighting unseen enemies, while beneath our very feet, a horrific truth lay hidden.

The dungeons weren't just a place of confinement, they were a living battery for the King's immortality. The closer the prisoners, the easier it was for him to fuel his dark power.

"But surely," I pressed, searching for a shred of hope, "there must be some way to sever the bond, to break the ritual."

The despair that had threatened to consume me moments ago began to recede, replaced by a cold, steely resolve. The King's twisted immortality was a horrifying revelation, but giving up wasn't an option. We had a fight on our hands, and we had to find a way to win.

"There has to be a way to break the bond," I repeated, my voice echoing in the deserted watchtower. "These rumors, these legends about soul binding… surely there's a way to reverse it."

Erin's expression remained grim, but a flicker of hope danced in her eyes. "Perhaps," she conceded. "The knowledge might be out there, buried in some dusty tome within the castle library. Tell me, Kira, what have you gleaned from your studies? Have you encountered any mention of soul binding rituals in your countless books?"

"There are… whispers," I admitted, my voice gaining a touch of confidence. "Scattered references in forgotten texts, mostly warnings about the dangers of tampering with the soul. One such text mentioned a ritual used by lovers in a bygone era, a way to tether their souls together for eternity." A shiver ran down my spine. "But the King," I continued, my voice dropping to a hushed whisper, "perverted this ritual for his own dark purposes."

Erin nodded curtly. "He bound himself to the prisoners, leeching their life force to fuel his immortality. But the details…" she trailed off, her frustration evident. "The specifics of the ritual, the methods of breaking it – those are lost to time."

"Not entirely," I countered, a spark of hope igniting within me. "The whispers might be fragmented, but there has to be something. A weakness in the bond, a specific ingredient, a forgotten chant – anything that could give us a lead."

"You're right," Erin said, a newfound determination hardening her features. "We need to scour the library, every dusty book, every cryptic scroll. There has to be a way to disrupt the connection, to sever the bond between the King and his prisoners."

I felt a surge of energy course through me. The library, once a place of quiet contemplation, now held the potential to be our greatest weapon. "And the prisoners," I added, a new thought forming in my mind. "What if they hold the key as well? Perhaps by weakening the bond from their end, disrupting it from within the dungeons…"

The idea was risky, desperate even, but the alternative – letting the King remain immortal – was unthinkable. Erin's eyes widened, a flicker of something akin to a dangerous glint appearing in her gaze.

"It's a long shot," she admitted, "but one we can't afford to ignore. We need to access the dungeons, speak with the prisoners. They might be the key to unraveling the King's dark magic, and to ending his reign of terror once and for all."

The weight of the revelation settled on us both, a heavy cloak against the whipping night wind. We were on the precipice of something momentous, a discovery that could change the tides of the rebellion. Yet, a nagging question lingered in my mind.

"Erin," I began, my voice hesitant, "why tell me all this? Why not share this information with the others, with Finn and Marcus?"

Erin's gaze darted towards the distant castle, her expression unreadable for a moment. "There are reasons," she said finally, her voice low and laced with a hint of caution. "This knowledge is dangerous, Kira. The King's reach extends far and wide, even within our own ranks. We can't be sure who we can trust."

A sliver of fear snaked its way down my spine. The possibility of a traitor within our midst had always been a lurking suspicion, but to hear it voiced so openly sent chills down my spine. "But surely the others have a right to know," I pressed, torn between understanding her caution and the need for transparency. "How can we fight this enemy effectively if we're keeping secrets from each other?"

Erin sighed, a weary sound that seemed to carry the weight of countless burdens. "You're right," she conceded, her fiery spirit momentarily dimmed. "Transparency is vital. But there's more to it than that. This… this ritual, it changes things. It throws everything we thought we knew about the King into question."

"How so?"

"The rebellion has always believed the King's power stemmed from brute force, a vast army, and a ruthless cunning," Erin explained. "We've planned our strategies around those assumptions. But with this confirmed knowledge of his immortality… it changes the game entirely."

The implications sank in, heavy and undeniable. Fighting a mortal enemy was one thing, but battling a tyrant who couldn't be killed? It was a daunting prospect, one that could crush the morale of even the most seasoned rebel.