Rane soaked in the water until his fingers wrinkled. He literally could not remember the last time he was allowed a bath, so he savoured it, taking the opportunity to clean all the dirt and grime that had gathered over years of slavery. With a deep sigh, he let himself sink deeper into the basin, letting the warm water envelop him and push everything else away in waves of pleasure and relaxation. Some of the heat even lingered in his chest, nourishing the magic in his soul with the new experience. “God…” Rane let his head hang back and just sat there until guilt started to surface. For the slave he’d failed to save, and for Elen. Then that guilt turned to anger, making him rise and reach over to grab the towel. There was little time to waste. He dried himself, wore his rags and let the warden escort him back to the cell.

Elen tilted her head to look at him the moment he walked inside. “I thought you l-left me,” she said under her breath. She stood up on the bed, holding the makeshift bandages against her stump. Her eyes were red and swollen, and her voice came out breathy. It was the sort of exhaustion that came with unceasing pain, he knew first hand.

“I’m sorry.” Rane sat beside her and stared between his feet. “I was looking for a way out.”

“And?” she asked, with a hint of hope in her voice.

Rane shook his head. “There’s nothing.”

Elen followed his gaze and looked down at the stone, face contorting with pain. “It d-doesn’t stop. It hasn’t. I feel like I’m going insane.”

“Be brave. And don’t let them see you like this.” Rane held her hand in his tightly. “Endure for one more day, and I’ll get us out. Then we’ll find someone who can help you.”

“Thank you.” Elen nodded. “Please be right. I’m scared of this place. Even in the mines, they wouldn’t do this to us.” She lowered her voice. “They wouldn’t.”

“I’ll try,” Rane said. “Try to rest for now, save up some strength.”

Rane stood and moved to the other end of the room. He sat cross legged and opened the book on his lap, turning to the page that detailed the spell once again. Even though he’d already succeeded a couple of times, he had to make sure he could complete the process consistently. He threw himself to the study, pulling the moisture in the air to form a sphere, then using his nora to freeze it. With each attempt, the shield got a bit wider and thicker as Rane familiarised himself with the spell.

Then he’d set the book aside and wait for his nora to return. Seeing Elen twist and turn on the bed, groaning from the pain helped his magic recover quicker. He held his hand open and watched as the faint silver mist entered his body from every pore, like small whirlpools that led to the ocean’s depths. His mind drifted to the world outside again –all the things he had forgotten– and he furrowed his brows. When had he seen the sea? He tried his best to remember, but it only served to grow his frustration.

Rane laid back on the ground instead, letting Elen have the bed. His legs felt heavy and his mind tired and spent. He needed sleep and he knew it, but to drift off after what he’d seen today was not easy. The hours passed and the rocky ceiling became a canvas for his mind to paint.

At first it was the ashfen woman he had found that graced its surface, serpents wrapped around her and crushing her body to pieces. The scene played over and over in his head, denying him rest. After that his mind chose to cling onto his dreams, on how his mother held him in her soft embrace. It lasted only a moment, a heartbeat, but he welcomed it. Her memory gave him a sense of belonging when nothing else could. It meant he existed for something other than torture and captivity.

Rane gasped out of his half asleep state as the door screeched open. The day of the test had arrived.

“Is his majesty ready?” Sydell bowed in mocking. “We have quite an entertaining challenge prepared.”

So there was more to the test than proving he could cast the spell after all. “I’m ready,” Rane replied.

“Then follow, if you’d please!” Sydell and a couple of guards guided him out of the room and through the dungeon, as Elen whispered a soft “Good luck.”

Rane’s eyelids felt puffy, and his legs heavy as he walked, but he did his best to stay vigilant. There was no telling when the next tribulation would start, if it hadn’t already.

Sydell led the group up a winding staircase, and the glow coming from the stone walls slowly gave way to a more vibrant, natural light. They reached the top of the staircase and the sudden burst of sunlight almost blinded him. He’d grown too accustomed to the gloominess of his cell. Through squinted eyes he saw the source of the sunlight, a gaping hole that led outside the dungeon.

Rane gradually got used to the sunlight. That’s when he saw what awaited him. A man almost twice his size, chained to the ground right in front of the exit and clad in metal plate that left only his head exposed. His body heaved whole with each breath, expression betraying a tempered anger. The two ashfen slaves that stood by his sides had their backs pressed against the wall, and another one was already laying lifeless by the exit.

“Kill me already, you cursed bastard,” the man said with a deep voice. “You’ve already denied me both pride and dignity. What more do you want?”

“Entertainment,” Sydell smiled and waved a hand towards the slaves. “Release him,” he ordered, and the slaves moved under their own Oath’s influence, kneeling by the knight’s feet to remove the first of his restraints.

“No!” The man cried out and turned to Rane. “Run! Hide somewhere I can’t see you!” He moved his legs frantically, trying to shave off the slave’s thin hands from touching him with little success. Rane had a hard time understanding what was going on.

“Nakte, my friend.” Sydell smirked and turned to the man. “Kill this boy.”

A black mist descended around the knight from above, dying his veins black. Rane mistook it for nora at first, but then he understood. Blood flowed from the Oathbrand on the man’s forehead.

Sydell pushed a sword in Rane’s palm and shoved him forward. “You two have fun.”

“Please don’t do this.” Rane’s voice broke as he looked at the chipped edge of the blade.

“Get away from me!” The knight screamed through darkened lips as the black magic tethered onto his body. The man’s muscles cracked and strained against its constraints, hard enough for the steel shackles to draw blood. He understood the purpose of the test now. The Oath magic would only stop if Rane died, or if the knight was either dead or unconscious.

Rane turned around to see the ashfen slaves, faces frozen in silent horror as they removed the chains that bound the knight’s wrists. He had less than a second. With a deep breath, he drew all his nora and drove it to his free palm, forming a sphere of misty gray. There was no use in running if it meant he’d fail the test. He’d stop the man without killing him. The slaves regained control of their bodies, ducking out of the way as Nakte burst free.

“I’m gonna kill you, you fool! Get away!” He bellowed and charged, each thunderous step cracking the stone below.

Rane let him pick up speed. Nora crackled in his hands, urging him to give it form, to move, to strike. The knight swung his fist and Rane ducked to the side, blow whizzing overhead. Fire exploded from his fingertips, the force of the spell blasting him back and crushing against Nakte’s chestplate.

“Well done!” Sydell yelled from the side.

Nakte screamed as he righted himself. Half of his face had been caught in the blast, but the Oath magic didn’t allow him a second’s rest. It swirled around him, forcing his legs into a charge. “I told you to run!” he screamed, face still smoking.

“Run where?” Rane roared back, lifting his sword. He’d never wielded a weapon like this before and it felt heavy in his wavering hands.

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“Away from me!” Nakte slammed the blade with a swing of the gauntlet and Rane felt both his hands go numb from the force behind the strike. The knight delivered a backhand right after that knocked the sword out of his grip. Rane distanced himself, stumbling towards Sydell and the wardens.

“You should have listened.” Nakte bent down to pick up the weapon, blood spilling from his mouth as he fought against the Oath’s influence.

“Oh, looks like he’s mad now!” Sydell said, tapping Rane’s back. Rane ignored everything else and focused on gathering his nora. His heart beat wildly in his chest as the gray mist formed.

Nakte turned his head and his hands trembled inside the dark mist that bound him, forcing him to lift his blade. Fighting against his Oath for so long had taken its toll, and it showed. His steps felt slower now as he approached, laboured, but the weight of the armor behind each one pushed him forward.

Rane took a deep breath and faced the incoming onslaught of darkness and metal. Nakte bit his lip and coughed up blood in an attempt to stop, but it was useless. His momentum only grew, pushed forth by his weight and the Oath’s magic. Rane didn’t budge. He stayed still right in front of Sydell until the man’s plate reached him, the heat of his previous spell still lingering on the metal. It was risky, but it was the only way to win. All the pain and torment he had suffered flashed through his head. Nakte raised the sword over his shoulder and closed his eyes. Perfect.

Nora spread from Rane’s hands in an instant, coalescing into ice over his head. The sword slammed against it with a resounding clang and for a moment, Rane felt hope. Then Nakte’s crushed into him and sent him tumbling across the room. The impact turned the world into a blur. Everything hurt. It took him some moments to realise what had happened. His head was spinning and his breath caught in his chest. But it shouldn’t matter. Rane blinked a couple of times to clear his vision. Nakte’s body seemed frozen in place mere inches away from Sydell. Dark smoke burst from his feet and towards the ceiling, like a giant bonfire that enveloped him.

Sydell looked up at the man with a smile. “You tried to use him to kill me,” he said. “Smart.” The mist slowly settled down. Nakte turned around with a sullen expression.

“No…” Rane shook his head in disbelief. How could it be? Forcing someone into obedience was one thing, but what he’d just seen… The way Nakte stopped broke the laws of nature itself.

“This is the power of an Oath,” Sydell said.

Nakte moved closer, a mangled effigy of death and burnt flesh. He bled from shut eyelids, but his body didn’t pause. Time felt frozen as he raised the weapon.

Rane rolled to the side. The sword slammed into the ground where he just lay, spraying bits of broken stone into the air. Nakte freed the blade with a burst of darkness. He clenched his fist around the hilt and thrust down. Rane rolled again, firing a burst of flame. The blade left a deep mark in the ground then swung sideways, cutting into his arm. Rane clenched his teeth hard. Behind his tears, the blur that was Nakte raised his gauntlet.

Rane tried to crawl away but he was too slow, too wounded. The strike crushed his stomach against the ground and something inside him cracked. The hit had scrambled his insides, he could feel it. His legs kicked out when he tried to move them, so he just sat where he was, drawing short, raspy breaths, body numb from the pain. He felt so light headed and the ringing in his ears barely let him think. Either way, he couldn’t fight. Not with an injury like this. He simply closed his eyes and waited. Death was easier this way. Blood rose to his mouth and he coughed it out. Moments passed, empty. The pain wouldn’t go away. He thought it’d stop when he died. Rane looked up and fought to clear his vision.

Nakte lay hunched over the sword with his head lowered, hands limp by his sides. Blood flowed down the gaps in his armour, from his chin to his knees. The man had died in defiance. They’d only exchanged a few words, but Nakte gave his life to save Rane’s.

A smile slowly crept onto Rane’s mouth. He was cursed after all. Cursed to only bring suffering to himself and everyone he met. Perhaps that was his purpose. Rane used the remainder of his strength to turn around. He rested his back on a pile of rocks and sat slumped, chin against his chest. Sydell walked into view. Rane looked up at the man and hot blood pooled in the corners of his eyes, like fiery tears.

“I’m so proud of you.” Sydell knelt next to him and wiped the blood away. “You’ve finally taken a life all by yourself.” His knee pressed down on Rane’s stomach and woke the numbed pain. “And just like that, you’re ready.” Sydell stood and motioned to the guards. “Take him to Leylin.”

“No!” Rane grabbed his robe with what little strength he had. “You promised! You promised me, you bastard!”

Sydell simply smiled. “Promises are the most blatant lies.” He pushed Rane away, into the hands of the guards.

Rane tried to resist, but even being carried hurt. The guards pulled him away from the sunlight and back down the winding staircase into the dim light of the dungeon. He could see the black veins spreading down their arms as they moved, heads locked forward. There was no getting through to them. He gave up and settled to being dragged around like a piece of meat, drifting in and out of consciousness.

Being hauled onto a bed jolted him awake. His head was spinning and his vision was blurry, yet he didn’t hurt. A pressure formed over his stomach, where the gauntlet had hit. Someone was talking, but the words never reached his ears. Whispers came for him instead. Noises no living thing could ever make, contorted with pain, anger and hatred. He had no idea how much time he spent trying to listen. Trying to understand.

Then they grew distant. Faded slowly. Something else was coming into focus. A throbbing pain. A headache. Rane opened his eyes to the same damned cell he had spent months in. All the wounds from the battle had vanished, but the sickening feeling in his stomach persisted. He was back at the beginning. His eyes locked onto a crack on the wall and he laughed. He had blood on his hands. He’d killed, and this cursed life was his punishment.

“Why?” He screamed at the crack with all his might. Some part of him imagined his voice reaching outside. Maybe the wind could carry it. Someone would come get him out. Someone–

The realisation struck him and he forced himself to stop. He was going insane. The voices in his head were right. He couldn’t go on like this. Tonight he’d free himself, or he would die trying. He knew what the first step was, but he never had the will to go through with it. Rather than fear, it was the promise to his mother that always held him back.

Tonight, he simply chose to ignore her voice, shut it out of his mind. Instead he focused on his plan, playing it over and over in his head to the point of insanity. It was the familiar sound of the door being unlocked that shook Rane out of his reverie. That wretched, harrowing sound. No matter what, it would be the last time he heard it.

“Get up,” Sydell demanded as he walked inside.

Rane kept his eyes closed and didn’t budge. He didn’t even dare breathe. Sydell removed his glove and cast the spell. Heat spread through Rane’s back and he fought back every instinct that urged him to scream. Pain clouded every thought before it even formed. He wanted to plead for mercy, to stop the torment. But there was something he yearned for even more. To leave this place. To see the world outside. Then, the pain stopped. Rane held his breath still. He waited for what felt like an eternity until he heard Sydell’s voice over him.

“Get Leylin here right now!”

Rane stood awkwardly after Sydell turned around. Everything felt hazy. The spell burned hot in his body, numbed it to everything else. His heart beat pounded in his ears as he stretched out his hand. Sydell knew. Sydell knew and he’d turn around and kill him. The thought ran through his head countless times in that short moment, yet he didn’t stop. The feeling of the man’s neck in his palm calmed him. That damning voice screamed in his mind, clearer than ever before.

Punish him!

Rane channelled all the hatred in his soul in this single spell. All the pain and torment he had suffered turned to nora, just like Sydell had wanted. White flames erupted from his hand and tore the man’s head from his body. The magic sizzled through his throat, and his half-charred head fell to the ground with a thud. The rest of him followed shortly after as his body collapsed. Then there was only a low sizzling as the man’s clothes burned.

Rane looked down, panting out steam. The flames of the spell lingered on his fingertips. Some part of him expected the husk to move. To get up and declare it all another test, before locking him up again. Yet no matter how much he waited, it didn’t.

“I killed him,” he mumbled.

It should feel good. Killing wasn’t supposed to be a question of good or evil. It was about survival. He had finally gotten rid of his tormentor and the pain, yet all he wanted was to vomit. His legs trembled and he fell to his knees in front of the burning body. He watched as red nora floated in the air, wisps of it curling from the flames like luminescent smoke. It danced and twirled in the air before reaching for Rane and touching his skin. It was warm and lucid and granted him power he had never felt before, but it also let him catch a glimpse of what Sydell had felt.

Remorse. This was magic born of regret and suffering. Rane didn’t understand it. Could that man feel even a shred of guilt? Rane shut the thought out. If he didn’t escape now, he’d have killed for nothing. He got to his feet right as the guards entered the cell. The moment they realised what had happened, their oaths took hold and they unseathed their weapons.

“Get away!” Rane stepped back, screaming, but he knew it was useless. The men weren’t in control anymore. He reached for the magic inside him, but found nothing. No familiar heat or tingle of a spell being manifested. He had used it all up. Only wisps of Sydell’s nora remained inside him, dormant and unresponsive.

One guard rushed forward, sword in hand. Rane twisted his body to avoid the attack, but he was far too slow. Numbness filled his entire being as the sword pierced his abdomen. The pain he expected never came. Only a sharp sting. He looked down and saw his own entrails hanging out of his body. Strangely, there was something comforting about the certainty of this fate. Of all the outcomes he had envisioned, being impaled and bleeding out wasn’t the worst. He knew his chances were slim and that death may lie ahead. An attempt to draw breath made blood surface in his mouth, and the blade forced him back down onto the stone. To his tired mind, not having to stand almost seemed pleasant. Perhaps after laying others to rest, it was finally his turn.

His vision blurred.