41. Laia

41

LAIA

T he chains bite into my wrists, each step sending a fresh wave of pain through my battered body. The dark elves drag me down the stone steps, their laughter echoing in the narrow corridors. The dungeon reeks of blood and decay, the air thick with a stench that makes my stomach churn.

We reach a large chamber, dimly lit by torches flickering in the damp air. My breath catches in my throat. Humans hang from chains, their bodies broken and bloodied. Their eyes are hollow, and their lips cracked from dehydration. The sight is a grotesque reminder of what Eryndor’s cruelty knows no bounds.

Eryndor stands in the center, watching with sick satisfaction as a dark elf slashes a human’s back with a whip. Each crack sends a fresh spray of blood across the floor. I flinch with every lash, my heart pounding in my chest.

Eryndor’s gaze shifts to me, his smile widening. “Ah, Laia,” he purrs, stepping closer. “Welcome back to your rightful place.” His hand grips my chin, forcing me to look at the scene before me. “This is what happens to those who defy me.”

The chains clink as I struggle against his hold, but it’s useless. The dark elf holding the whip sneers at me before delivering another brutal lash to the human’s back. The man’s scream echoes through the chamber, searing into my soul.

“Stop it!” I shout, my voice breaking. “Please… stop.”

Eryndor chuckles, his breath hot against my ear. “Oh, Laia,” he whispers. “This is just the beginning.”

My stomach churns, my heart pounding against my ribs. "You're a monster," I spit, my voice trembling with fury. "Worse than anything this world has to offer."

Eryndor turns to me, his lips curling into a slow, predatory smile. "Oh, little Laia. You wound me with your words." He gestures toward the humans hanging from chains. "You should be used to this by now. After all, this is how the strong thrive in Protheka."

My fingers curl into fists, my body trembling with rage. "You're nothing but a coward," I bite out, my voice raw.

Eryndor's smile fades, his eyes darkening. "Perhaps you need a reminder of your place." He steps forward, his voice a low, menacing growl. "Watch."

Eryndor's eyes gleam with sadistic delight as he waves a hand. "Kill them," he orders, his voice as cold as the dungeon's stone walls.

"No!" The scream tears from my throat, raw and desperate. I pull against the chains, feeling them dig deeper into my flesh. One by one, the dark elves move to the hanging humans, their blades glinting ominously in the dim light.

The first man's eyes widen in terror as the blade presses against his neck. "Please, no!" he begs, his voice a choked whisper. The dark elf's expression remains impassive as he draws the blade across the man's throat. Blood spurts out, painting the floor crimson as the man's body crumples.

"Stop it! Please, stop!" My voice is hoarse, my sobs echoing through the chamber. The next victim—a woman—meets my eyes for a brief moment before her life is snuffed out with a swift slash. Her body falls like a broken doll.

Each death is a fresh wound to my soul. My knees buckle, but the chains hold me upright, forcing me to witness every horror. Tears blur my vision as another life is taken, and another, until the chamber is littered with lifeless bodies.

Eryndor watches me, his smile widening with every sob that escapes my lips. "I never tire of watching you cry, Laia," he says, his voice dripping with cruelty. He steps closer, his hand gripping my chin again, forcing me to look at him through my tears.

"But you know how this works," he continues, his breath hot against my face. "Beg me, and perhaps I'll spare you."

I choke on my sobs, my body trembling with rage and despair. The weight of his words presses down on me like a suffocating shroud. My voice is barely a whisper as I speak, "You're a monster."

Eryndor's smile only widens at my defiance. "Perhaps," he murmurs, his eyes gleaming with malice. "But I'm your monster."

The chamber falls silent except for my ragged breaths and the drip of blood from the lifeless bodies around us.

I meet Eryndor’s gaze, my chest heaving, but I don’t bow. I don’t beg. My mind flashes to Thalos, Irix, and Kael—their fierce eyes, their strong hands that have pulled me from the darkness. Their faces give me strength. I’m not a slave anymore. I’ve learned to fight. I’m a warrior now.

Eryndor’s expression hardens, his smile fading. “You’ve grown defiant,” he sneers, his eyes narrowing. “I made a mistake letting you go. I should’ve broken you completely when I had the chance.”

His words sting, but they only fuel my resolve. The dark elves drag me outside, the sudden burst of sunlight blinding me after the dim dungeon. My heart pounds as they lead me into the courtyard, the rough stone under my bare feet a harsh reminder of my captivity.

They string me up, my arms pulled taut above my head, the chains biting into my wrists once more. The position is agonizing, but I grind my teeth against the pain.

Eryndor’s voice cuts through the air like a blade. “No food. No water. Let her hang here as an example.”

My heart races, fear clawing at my chest—but not for myself. It’s for Thalos, Irix and Kael. They’ll come for me; they have to. But Eryndor’s words echo in my mind, a chilling reminder of his cunning nature. What if he’s ready for them? What if they never make it?

The thought sends a shiver down my spine, but I push it away. They’re strong—stronger than Eryndor knows. And so am I.

As the hours drag on, the sun beats down on me, every second stretching into an eternity of pain and thirst. My vision blurs at the edges, but I hold onto the image of my minotaurs—their fierce loyalty and strength—clinging to it like a lifeline.

I won’t give up on them.

And I know they won’t give up on me.

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