3. Catandria

3

CATANDRIA

T he dark elves leave me crumpled on the ground, every part of me screaming in pain. My face is swollen, my ribs ache with each breath, and blood seeps from cuts and bruises. I can't even cry anymore; my body is too exhausted. Hatred fills my heart, a burning desire for revenge that keeps me moving.

I can’t let them stop me. I’ve got to find Fira.

I drag my weary body back to our tiny tent. Each step is agony, but I push through it. My friend, Fira, lies on her pallet, unmoving. Her usually vibrant eyes are closed, and her face is pale and still.

"Fira?" I whisper, my voice hoarse. "Fira, wake up."

She doesn't respond. I kneel beside her, shaking her gently, then more forcefully. Still nothing. I press my fingers to her neck, searching for a pulse, but find only cold skin.

"No, no, no," I murmur, shaking my head. Tears blur my vision, but they don't fall. I can't afford to lose myself now. "Not you too."

We've been through so much together. Shared our fears, our pain, our small moments of hope. She was the closest thing I had to a friend, a confidante in this hellish place. And now she's gone.

I sit beside her for what feels like hours, staring at her lifeless body. My mind goes numb, and I can't move. The world around me fades, leaving only the crushing weight of loss.

What am I going to do without her?

Eventually, I force myself to stand. I can't stay here, not with her body reminding me of everything I've lost. I need to do something, anything, to make this pain stop.

My eyes fall on a small knife lying on the ground. It's not much, but it'll do. I pick it up, feeling the cold metal against my skin. A plan forms in my mind, a desperate, reckless plan.

"These fucking dark elves are going to pay for what they've done," I whisper, gripping the hilt of the knife tight. "To me. To Fira."

I step outside, the cool night air hitting my bruised face. The dark elves are scattered around the camp, some laughing, others drinking. They don't notice me, not yet.

I grip the knife tightly, my knuckles white. "I'll take one of them with me," I mutter to myself. "I'll make them pay."

I skulk through the shadows, every muscle in my body tense. There are some dark elves gathered around the fire, oblivious to my presence. As I creep closer, I hear them talking, their voices low and conspiratorial.

"Did you hear about the demon in the dungeons?" one of them says, his voice a harsh whisper. "They say his blood can strengthen our magic. Imagine what we could do with that kind of power."

Another one snorts. "His flesh, too. We could create an army of demons, ones we can control."

A demon? In the dungeons?

Suddenly, a wild idea forms in my mind. If I can free this demon, maybe he can help me. Maybe he can be my chance for revenge, for freedom. It's risky, but I have nothing left to lose.

And perhaps, he wants to slaughter the dark elves as much as I do. The thought sends a flicker of optimism through me.

I wait until the dark elves' attention drifts, then slip away, heading toward the dungeons. The entrance is guarded, but I manage to sneak past during a moment of distraction, my heart pounding in my chest. The narrow corridors are dark and cold, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and decay. Shadows cling to the walls like sinister spirits, and every step I take echoes ominously.

"What the fuck was that?" a voice shouts, cutting through the stillness. "Check the entrance. Now."

I freeze, pressing myself against the cold, unforgiving stone, my breath shallow. The sound of hurried footsteps grows louder, and I pray to any gods listening that I remain unseen.

My breath hitches in my chest as I press myself against the wall. My whole body tenses as I sink into the shadows, watching as a dark elf walks by me. Completely oblivious to my presence.

Keep going , I think to myself. Bile rises up my throat, but I swallow it down and push forward.

Finally, I reach the cell. Inside, I see a prisoner. But he looks like a dark elf. My eyes narrow, scrutinizing him from head to toe. Blood oozes down his body and numerous cuts are spread across his skin.

Has he been tortured?

And if so, why hasn't he died yet? No one can survive injuries like that.

Unfortunately, he notices me immediately. His gaze pierces me like a dagger. "Well, well," he says, his voice a low rumble. "What do we have here? A little creature coming to play with fire?"

I swallow hard, my grip tightening on the knife. "Are you a demon?" I ask, voice trembling.

"Who's asking?"

"Please, I… I need some help."

He chuckles, a dark, mocking sound. "Help? From me? Do you even know what you're asking for, little one?"

"I don't care," I reply, my voice gaining strength. "I need to get out of here. I want revenge. And I think you can help me."

He studies me for a moment, his eyes narrowing. "Interesting. You think you can just waltz in here and make demands?"

"No," I say, shaking my head. "But I can offer you something in return. Freedom."

He leans back, a smirk playing on his lips. "Freedom, huh? And how do you plan to accomplish that?"

"I'll find a way to get you out," I say, my voice steady now. "But you have to promise to help me. To kill them."

He laughs, a deep, resonant sound. "Oh, little one, you have no idea what you're getting yourself into. You've just walked into my sanctuary, like a sacrifice ready to be slaughtered."

Trembling where I stand, I grip my knife and watch as his body heaves forward with laughter. The sound of his voice sends a shudder through me.

Is this the right choice? Or am I making the mistake of a lifetime?