Hours had passed since the guards had dragged Elda away. Every minute of it was filled with the sound of her cries, her pleading echoing through the cold, damp halls of the dungeon. Aelric could do nothing but listen, helpless, as her voice broke again and again under the cruelty of the guards.

Each cry, each desperate plea, made his blood boil. Anger and guilt twisted inside him, feeding off each other, tightening like a vice around his chest. His hands clenched into fists, the cold metal of his shackles biting into his skin, but the pain meant nothing compared to the rage that pulsed through him. They were hurting her—because of him.

He had caused this. If it hadn’t been for him, Elda wouldn’t be in this dungeon. She wouldn’t be suffering.

The torment seemed endless. Every time her cries faded, they would return louder, more broken than before, until eventually, they stopped altogether. The silence was worse than the screams.

Aelric strained his ears, his heart pounding in his chest. There were no more sounds of struggle, no more voices, just the quiet shuffling of footsteps as the guards carried her back. But there was no sound from Elda herself—no sobs, no groans of pain. Nothing.

They had brought her back, but he couldn’t see her. He couldn’t hear her. His mind raced with thoughts of what they had done to her.

Aelric’s breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as he strained to hear any sign of life from Elda’s cell. But there was nothing. No movement, no whisper of breath—just silence. His stomach twisted into knots as a dark thought crossed his mind. What if she wasn’t alive? What if they had broken her completely?

The thought sent a surge of panic through him, but the anger remained, burning in the pit of his chest. He could feel it, bubbling beneath the surface, pressing against the edges of his consciousness like a fire ready to burst free. His magic was there, but it was weak, flickering in the background like a dying ember. He didn’t have enough strength to break free, not yet.

Time dragged on, each second a torturous eternity. His mind replayed the sounds of Elda’s torment over and over again, her cries mixing with the guilt that had haunted him since Calder’s death. She didn’t deserve this. She had only tried to help him, and now she was paying the price.

“Elda,” he whispered into the darkness, his voice barely audible. “Are you there?”

No response. The silence was suffocating.

Aelric’s heart pounded, the guilt and rage swelling to unbearable levels. How long could he sit here, helpless? How long could he let them torment both of them, day after day, until the inquisitor arrived to watch them burn? His body ached, his muscles screamed from the tension, but he couldn’t focus on any of it.

He pulled at his shackles, the cold iron digging into his wrists. It was useless—he had already tried to free himself a dozen times. His magic was too weak, and his body was too battered from the interrogation. But he couldn’t just sit here, listening to the silence, knowing they had broken her.

For what felt like hours, Aelric lay there, his mind whirling with a thousand thoughts. He had to escape, but he didn’t know how. The guards were too cautious, too prepared. And without the strength to summon his magic fully, any attempt would be futile.

But then, amidst the torrent of thoughts, a memory surfaced. It was faint, distant, but it tugged at the edge of his mind. The last time he had faced death—the fire that had surged from within him, out of pure desperation, had saved him. His power, his magic, had always been there, but it was stronger when his emotions were pushed to the brink.

Perhaps that was the key.

He closed his eyes, focusing on the anger that coursed through him. He let it build, let the frustration and rage boil inside him until it was all-consuming. The fire within him flickered, hesitated, and then it flared to life. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He could feel the warmth spreading from his chest, seeping into his arms, his hands.

Aelric gritted his teeth, pulling at the chains again. The iron groaned under the strain as the heat from his hands intensified. Sweat dripped down his brow, his muscles shaking with effort. The chains didn’t break, but the metal was beginning to heat up, and he could feel the faintest shift.

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“Just a little more…” Aelric whispered to himself, his voice trembling with desperation.

His wrists burned from the heat of his own magic, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. He had to get free. For Elda. For himself.

Another minute passed, then another. The shackles groaned again, the metal softening under the heat, but it still wasn’t enough. Aelric’s strength was fading, the fire inside him dimming as exhaustion crept in. His body screamed for rest, but he pushed on, refusing to let the weakness consume him.

Just as he thought he would pass out from the effort, one of the shackles snapped. The sudden release sent him sprawling forward, his arm free but his other wrist still bound. He gasped, his body trembling from the strain, but the small victory gave him a surge of hope.

He forced himself to sit up, pulling at the remaining shackle with renewed determination. The heat flared again, and after a few agonizing minutes, the second shackle broke. Aelric slumped against the wall, panting, his body trembling with exhaustion. But he was free.

For a moment, he just sat there, trying to gather his strength. His wrists were raw and blistered from the heat, but he didn’t care. He had to get to Elda.

Aelric pushed himself to his feet, every muscle in his body screaming in protest. His legs wobbled beneath him, but he forced himself to move. The cell door was heavy and locked. He cursed under his breath but knew what had to be done.

Placing his hands on the iron lock, he closed his eyes and let the heat build again, focusing on the task of melting the metal. It took longer this time—his energy was fading fast—but after what felt like an eternity, the lock began to soften. With one final push, the metal snapped, and the door swung open.

The hallway outside was dimly lit, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows against the stone walls. Aelric stumbled forward, his heart pounding in his chest. He had to be quiet. If the guards found him now, it would all be over.

He moved toward Elda’s cell, his heart hammering in his ears. His legs felt like lead, his body aching with every step, but he couldn’t stop. He had to know if she was still alive.

When he reached her cell, Aelric peered through the small window in the door, his breath catching in his throat. Elda was lying on the cold stone floor, her back to him. She wasn’t moving.

“Elda,” Aelric whispered, his voice barely audible.

No response.

Panic surged through him. He fumbled with the door, his fingers shaking as he tried to push it open. It took him a moment to realize the door was locked from the outside. He cursed under his breath, searching frantically for a way to break in.

His magic was weak, but he couldn’t stop now. He pressed his hands against the door, willing the fire inside him to return. It took a moment, but slowly, the heat began to build again. He could feel the metal of the door heating up beneath his palms, the faint glow of his magic flickering to life.

The door didn’t budge, but the lock began to soften. Aelric gritted his teeth, focusing all his remaining strength on the heat. After what felt like an eternity, the lock gave way with a sharp crack, and the door swung open.

He rushed inside, collapsing to his knees beside Elda. His hands shook as he gently turned her over, his heart sinking at the sight of her bruised and battered face. Her skin was pale, her breathing shallow. Blood stained her clothing, and Aelric knew instantly that the guards had done irreparable damage.

“Elda,” Aelric whispered, his voice trembling. “Please… wake up.”

For a moment, she didn’t move. Aelric’s chest tightened, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. But then, slowly, her eyes fluttered open.

“Aelric…” her voice was barely more than a whisper, weak and broken. “You… you shouldn’t be here…”

Aelric shook his head, his heart breaking. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry for everything. You didn’t deserve this.”

Elda’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles, though her eyes were glazed with pain. “You… you tried…”

Her words faded as her strength gave out. Aelric held her hand, his magic too weak to save her, knowing there was nothing he could do. Her breathing grew weaker by the second, and with one final, shuddering breath, she was gone.

The silence that followed felt unbearable. Aelric sat there, numb, cradling her lifeless body, rage building inside him, threatening to overwhelm him.

Footsteps echoed down the hall.

Aelric’s head snapped up, his blood boiling. The guards—his tormentors—were coming back. The fire inside him flickered faintly, but his anger, his grief, fueled him. He wouldn’t let them get away with this.

The door to Elda’s cell swung open, and the two guards who had tortured them stepped in, smirking as they saw Aelric on the ground.

“Thought you could escape, witch?” one of them sneered.

Aelric stood, his legs unsteady but his resolve burning. His magic was weak, but he had enough for this.

The first guard lunged at him, sword drawn, but Aelric dodged, summoning a burst of flame to his hand. The fire sputtered, barely more than a flicker, but it was enough to make the guard hesitate. Aelric used the distraction to grab the sword from the guard’s hand, turning it on him.

The second guard rushed forward, but Aelric’s anger took over. He slashed at the man, the blade cutting deep into his side. The guard stumbled back, blood pouring from the wound, but Aelric didn’t stop. He pressed the attack, his fire flaring to life with each strike, fueled by the fury of Elda’s death.

With one final blow, the second guard collapsed, dead. Aelric stood over their bodies, his chest heaving with exhaustion. His magic flickered out, leaving him weak and barely able to stand.

But they were dead. And he was free.