Aelric leaned back against the cold stone wall, his body trembling from exhaustion. The damp air of the dungeon seemed to cling to him, soaking through his clothes and chilling him to the bone. The wound on his side still ached, despite the healing efforts of his magic, but it was the weight of his situation that bore down on him more than the pain.

He glanced at Elda, who sat a few feet away in the dim light, her face pale and gaunt. She had tried to keep a brave face since they had been thrown into the cell, but Aelric could see the fear in her eyes. The reality of what awaited them had settled in. Death by fire. The thought made Aelric’s stomach churn, and every time he closed his eyes, he could still see the flames that had consumed Calder.

He had killed a man. The memory of that night played over and over in his mind, no matter how hard he tried to push it away. The fire had surged from within him, uncontrolled and deadly. And now, because of his actions, both he and Elda were condemned.

“I didn’t mean for any of this,” he muttered under his breath, though he wasn’t sure if he was speaking to Elda or himself. The guilt gnawed at him, sinking its claws deeper with every passing moment.

Elda didn’t respond, her gaze fixed on the floor. The silence between them was heavy, oppressive, broken only by the distant sound of water dripping from somewhere deep within the dungeon.

Aelric closed his eyes, trying to focus on his breath, trying to keep the panic at bay. But the longer he sat there, the more the fear crept in. The inquisitor was coming, and once they arrived, there would be no more chances. He would burn. And worse, so would Elda. Because she had helped him.

He had dragged her into this nightmare.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. Heavy boots echoed down the stone hallway, growing louder with each step. Aelric’s body tensed as the door to their cell creaked open, the dim torchlight from the corridor spilling inside.

Two guards stepped in, their faces tense, swords drawn and pointed at Aelric’s throat. The blades gleamed in the faint light, and Aelric could see the nervous glances exchanged between the men. They weren’t taking any chances.

One of the guards, a tall man with a scar across his jaw, gestured sharply with his sword. “Get up, boy. Slowly.”

Aelric obeyed, the pain in his side flaring with the movement. The swords stayed pointed at his neck the entire time, the guards ready to strike at any sign of trouble. Aelric could see the tension in their stances, the way their hands gripped the hilts of their weapons just a little too tightly. They didn’t know what he was capable of, and that terrified them.

As he stood, one of the guards motioned with his sword, directing him toward the door. “Move. And don’t try anything.”

Aelric bit back a retort, knowing it would only make things worse. The guards weren’t interested in his explanations or confessions. They wanted to bring him in, and they were terrified of what might happen along the way.

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They dragged him through a series of narrow hallways, the cold stone walls pressing in on all sides. Aelric’s heart pounded in his chest, fear tightening its grip on him. He knew what was coming. They weren’t looking for answers. They wanted him to confess—to break.

They threw him into a small, dimly lit room. A wooden chair stood in the center, and the walls were bare stone, cold and unwelcoming. The guards shoved Aelric into the chair, forcing his arms behind him and binding his wrists with heavy iron shackles. The metal bit into his skin, cold and unyielding.

The swords never left his throat.

“Let’s see how long you’ll keep that mouth of yours shut,” one of the guards muttered, his voice dripping with malice.

Aelric didn’t respond. He knew there was no point. The guards weren’t interested in the truth. They wanted vengeance for Calder, and they wouldn’t stop until they got it.

The first blow came without warning. A fist slammed into Aelric’s side, right where his wound was still healing. Pain exploded through his body, and he gasped, his vision swimming. Another punch followed, this time to his jaw, snapping his head to the side.

“Calder was one of us,” the other guard growled, his sword still pointed at Aelric’s throat, as if expecting him to lash out at any moment. “You think you can just burn him alive and walk away?”

Aelric winced, blood trickling from his split lip. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…”

“Shut up!” The guard’s fist collided with Aelric’s stomach, knocking the breath from his lungs. Aelric doubled over, gasping for air as the room spun around him.

The other guard leaned in close, his breath hot against Aelric’s ear. “You’re going to burn, boy. Just like Calder.”

Aelric’s mind raced, his body screaming in pain, but he bit back the urge to cry out. He couldn’t give them the satisfaction. They wanted him to confess, to beg for mercy, but he wouldn’t. Not like this.

The beating continued, each blow harder than the last. The pain was overwhelming, his body wracked with agony, but somehow, Aelric managed to hold on. His mind clung to a single thought: survive. He had to survive.

After what felt like an eternity, the guards finally stopped. Aelric slumped in the chair, barely able to keep himself upright. His body was battered and bruised, his breath shallow and ragged. The guards unshackled him and dragged him back toward the cells, the swords never leaving his side.

They tossed him into a small, damp chamber separate from Elda’s. Aelric collapsed onto the cold stone floor, his body shaking from the pain.

As he lay there, he heard the guards talking outside.

“Get the woman next,” one of them said. “She’s been hiding that witch. Let’s see if she’ll confess.”

Aelric’s heart sank as he heard the door to Elda’s cell creak open. He struggled to sit up, his vision still blurry from the pain, but he could hear everything—the guards dragging her out, the same rough handling they had given him.

“No, please,” Elda’s voice echoed down the corridor, trembling with fear. “I haven’t done anything.”

Aelric clenched his fists, the cold metal of his shackles biting into his skin as he listened to her being taken away. He knew what was coming. He had endured it. But the thought of Elda facing the same cruelty filled him with a new kind of terror.

Moments later, he heard the muffled sounds of her interrogation. The harsh voices of the guards. The dull thud of fists hitting flesh. Elda’s soft cries of pain. Aelric’s stomach twisted, guilt and rage building inside him.

This was because of him. Because she had tried to help him, they were hurting her.

Aelric pressed his back against the wall, his body trembling with exhaustion and pain. His magic was weak, too weak to save either of them. But he couldn’t stay like this. He couldn’t let this be the end.

As he sat there, the distant sounds of Elda’s torment echoing through the dungeon, Aelric made a silent vow. He would escape. He had to. For Elda. For himself.