3. Loelle

three

Loelle

The door closes with a heavy thud, and I can feel the vibrations of Finzar's footsteps growing fainter as he walks away. I'm not sure where he is going or when he'll be back, but I appreciate the reprieve. However long it lasts.

My heart is pounding in my chest, my breath coming fast and shallow. I shiver in the frigid air, goosebumps rising on my naked skin. My arms ache from being bound above my head, but the pain is nothing compared to the hunger gnawing at my stomach.

My mouth is parched, my throat raw. I have had nothing to drink since they captured me. The stone altar under me is cold and hard and my chafed wrists are bruised from where the chains hold me tight.

I have never felt so conflicted before. Despite my condition, there is a part of me that wants him to return, that wants to submit to him, to feel his hands on my skin again. But the rational part of my brain, the one that has kept me alive for so long, screams at me to fight back, to resist his attempts to break me.

I can still feel the weight of his gaze on my body, the touch of his fingers on my skin. The memory of his touch sets my skin aflame, and my pulse races all over again. At first he was all cold brutality, his pale eyes full of violence and zealotry. But the fire I saw earlier has gone, replaced by an uncertainty that intrigues me.

Even with his brutish ways, there is a mystique about him that stirs something deep inside me. His touch was not that of a tormentor, but of a lover, a male who wants to please rather than cause pain. Did something else shake his faith? Or is this some kind of game, a twisted manipulation meant to make me compliant and pliable? Either way, I must figure out how to get out of here. My life is on the line . I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to focus. There has to be a way out.

The creak of the door opening snaps me back to reality. But it's not Finzar who enters, it's two new acolytes wearing purple robes. They stand over me, their faces impassive.

"Master Finzar has been lax in your purification. I see no blood, no burns, no sign of pain or suffering," says the larger of the two. His voice is laced with venom.

"We can't have that. High Inquisitor Sakar will be most displeased," the second agrees.

I tense, struggling against the chains. But the metal holds me tight, keeping me pinned to the altar.

"Let me go, please!" I plead, desperation creeping into my voice.

The acolytes ignore me, their crimson eyes burning with a dark hunger. I know what's about to happen. I saw the scars and burns on the bodies of prisoners when I crashed into this temple. I saw their brands, how they were flayed and tortured until they submitted.

This isn't right. This can't be happening. I've been through shit before, but this is something else, something much worse. The idea of these fanatics torturing me is terrifying. Finzar really isn't the biggest monster here. I can tell by the gleam of their red eyes; these two acolytes have the darkest of hearts. Bastards.

I scream, but the darkness of the room swallows the sound up. The acolytes move closer, their shadows looming over me.

"You have not suffered enough. Not yet," the first says, his voice like ice.

The other acolyte moves toward the table of instruments, his fingers hovering over the array of cruel devices. But the first stops him, a fanatical gleam in his red eyes.

"Let us take this heretic to the Sun Room," he says, his voice dripping with religious fervor. "Let her burn before the gods. Let her know the truth of the sun, its cleansing flames searing away her impurities. Through that she shall achieve true purity."

"No, please!" I cry, my body convulsing against the unyielding chains. The metal bites into my flesh as I thrash, desperate to escape. Without warning, the acolyte's hand strikes my face, the impact reverberating through my skull.

"You will submit to the sun," he growls, his breath hot on my face.

"Please," I whimper, my voice barely audible. But my pleas fall on deaf ears.

They grab me, their fingers digging into my arms with bruising force. I'm hauled off the cold altar, my bare feet scraping against the rough stone floor as they drag me from the room.

"Master Finzar will not be pleased," the smaller acolyte muses, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

"I do not care," the larger one snarls, his face contorted with zealous determination. "He grows doubtful. We will not allow this heretic to go unpunished."

We enter a corridor bathed in blinding light, the sudden brightness searing my eyes after the dimness of the chamber. I struggle against their grip, twisting and pulling, but their hands are like iron shackles, unyielding and merciless.

"Let go of me! Let me go!" I scream, my voice raw and desperate.

But my cries fall on deaf ears as they drag me into an open-roofed chamber. A pit of glowing coals dominates the center, its heat radiating in pulsing waves. The stone walls are covered in glass and mirrors, reflecting and amplifying the scorching light, creating a dizzying, hellish kaleidoscope. The oppressive heat hits me like a physical force, stealing the breath from my lungs.

"Welcome, heretic, to the Sun Room," the taller acolyte announces, his voice echoing off the mirrored surfaces. "Here, you will burn for your crimes against the true faith."

My eyes fix on the pit of coals, their angry red glow promising agony. Terror claws at my insides as the reality of my situation sinks in. They're going to throw me into that inferno.

"No, please," I beg, panic rising in my voice like bile. "I'll do anything. I'll confess! I'll join your cult, whatever you want. Just don't throw me in there." My words tumble out in a frantic rush, desperation making my voice crack.

The taller acolyte's lips curl into a cruel smile, his eyes glinting with malicious anticipation. "Perhaps we should have some fun with her first," he suggests, his tone dripping with dark promise.

"Yes," the other agrees, his voice husky with excitement. "I have some ideas. Master Finzar's methods have left much to be desired. This one needs more than just pain and fear. She needs to be broken, shattered completely. To be made an example for all who would defy the sun gods."

The smaller acolyte nods eagerly, his hand snaking out to caress my breasts. His touch is cold and clammy despite the intense heat, sending revulsion crawling across my skin.

I shiver violently, goosebumps rising on my flesh despite the sweltering air. "Don't do this," I plead, my voice barely above a whisper. "I have credits! I'll pay whatever you want."

"Credits won't save you. You brought this upon yourself, heretic," the acolyte growls, his face contorting with righteous anger. "You defied the sun gods, and now you will burn for your arrogance."

"Please," I beg once more, hot tears streaming down my face, leaving salty trails on my cheeks. But my pleas are cut short as the acolyte whips out a dagger from his belt, pressing its razor-sharp edge against my throat. I feel the cold bite of steel against my skin, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat around us.

The acolyte's cold, unyielding gaze never leaves mine as he presses the dagger harder against my throat, drawing a thin line of blood. I feel it trickle down my neck. My heart races, pounding in my ears like a drum, drowning out the crackling of the coals.

"Please," I choke out, my voice shaking. "You don't have to do this."

The acolyte sneers, his grip tightening on the dagger. "Silence, heretic. Your pleas are worthless here."

So I stay silent as my legs and arms are bound to the wall by rope. And I watch silently as the acolytes set about preparing the Sun Room. I don't know what they have in store for me, but it can't be good.

Above the pit, a massive mirror looms, reflecting the hellish scene below. On its unforgiving surface, I catch sight of my reflection and barely recognize myself. My once-sleek red hair is a wild tangle, matted with sweat and grime. My eyes, bloodshot and swollen from endless tears, stare back at me with a haunted look I've never seen before. My skin glistens with a sheen of perspiration, angry red marks crisscrossing my flesh where the chains have bitten into me. The terror etched into every line of my face is palpable, a visual echo of the fear that gnaws at my insides. I look terrified. And I am.

The acolytes approach, bearing a contraption that sends a fresh wave of dread through me. It's a massive glass globe, easily the size of a man's torso, suspended in an intricate metal frame. They position it carefully over the pit, adjusting its height with practiced precision. Within the transparent sphere, a pool of liquid gold undulates, its surface rippling with a glowing reflection.

"What is that?" The question escapes my lips in a trembling whisper, fear making my voice crack.

The smaller acolyte's eyes flick toward me. "Your purifier, heretic," he replies, his tone dismissive and cruel.

I watch, mesmerized and horrified, as they meticulously adjust a series of mirrors around the globe. The golden liquid begins to roil and bubble, its glow intensifying until it's painful to look at directly. Waves of heat roll off the apparatus, the air shimmering around it like a droughtland mirage.

The larger acolyte turns to me, his gaze devoid of any warmth or compassion. "Let us begin with your branding," he announces, his voice carrying the weight of a death sentence. "This will ensure the truth of the sun's light is seared into your very flesh, a permanent reminder of your transgressions against the true faith."

He reaches for a metal rod, its end shaped like a miniature sun with cruel, sharp rays. The implement glows an angry, molten red, radiating heat that I can feel even from this distance. I thrash wildly, desperate to escape, but the acolytes' grips are like vises, their fingers digging painfully into my flesh.

"This will hurt, apostate," he says, his lips curling into a smile that chills me to my core despite the oppressive heat. His eyes gleam with a sadistic anticipation that makes my blood run cold.

"Don't do this. I've done nothing wrong!" I beg, my voice cracking with desperation. But my pleas fall on deaf ears, lost in the sizzling air of the chamber.

As the brand makes contact with my shoulder, pain explodes through my body, white-hot and all-consuming. A scream tears from my throat, raw and primal. The stench of burning flesh fills my nostrils, making me gag. The sound of my agony reverberates off the mirrored walls.

I can feel my skin bubbling and blistering beneath the merciless brand, the heat burrowing deep into my flesh, searing through nerve endings. Tears stream down my face, evaporating almost instantly in the intense heat.

A wide grin splits the smaller acolyte's face as he watches his partner work, his eyes alight with a twisted joy at my torment. "It will only get worse, apostate," he hisses, leaning in close.

He turns to my tormentor, his eyes wild. "Now, let me brand her," he demands, his voice thick with eagerness. He reaches for the rod, but the larger one yanks it away.

"No," he snarls, baring his teeth in a feral grimace. "This is my turn. I am the one who will break her." His grip tightens on the brand, knuckles white with the intensity of his determination.

The smaller acolyte's eyes gleam with malicious intent as he fights to reposition the brand. Then, without warning, he presses it against my other shoulder. A fresh wave of agony rips through me, my scream echoing off the mirrored walls. The searing pain is even more intense than before, my nerves already raw and hyperactive from the first burn.

"There," he says, satisfaction dripping from his voice. "A matching set for the apostate."

I slump in their grip, my body trembling from shock and pain. The smell of my burnt flesh hangs heavy in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of my sweat and tears.

"Now, let us prepare for the main event," the taller acolyte says, his voice filled with anticipation.

They drag me closer to the pit; the heat growing more intense with each step. My branded shoulders throb in agonizing rhythm with my racing heart. They secure me to a stone frame near the edge of the coals, the restraints biting into my wrists and ankles.

The acolytes move with practiced efficiency, adjusting mirrors and tinkering with the strange glass globe. The golden liquid inside bubbles more violently, its glow intensifying to an almost blinding level.

"Soon, heretic," the smaller acolyte says, pausing to look at me. "Soon you will know the true power of the sun gods."

They continue their preparations, occasionally casting glances my way, their eyes filled with a mixture of religious fervor and sadistic glee. Each movement, each adjustment they make, sends a fresh wave of terror through me.

I hang there, helpless and in agony, my mind reeling with fear of what's coming. The heat from the pit washes over me in oppressive waves, making it hard to breathe as my branded flesh throbs with the pain they inflicted.

As I watch them work, dread settles in my stomach like a lead weight. Whatever they're planning, I know it will be far worse than anything I've experienced so far.

The larger acolyte approaches me, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. "It is time for your final purification, heretic," he says, his voice dripping with venom. "You will be cleansed in the fires of the sun, and your screams will be a testament to the glory of the sun gods."

I steel myself, muscles tensing in anticipation of more pain. Suddenly, the Sun Room's door crashes open with a thunderous bang.

Finzar looms in the doorway, his imposing figure silhouetted against the corridor's darkness. His pale eyes, so cold and calculating earlier, now blaze with an inferno of rage. His gaze sweeps the room, lingering on the angry, blistered brands marring my shoulders. "What," he growls, his voice low and dangerous, "is the meaning of this?"

The acolytes recoil, their faces draining of color. "Master Finzar, we were only—" the smaller one stammers, but Finzar silences him with his furious response.

"Silence!" he roars, the word reverberating off the mirrored walls. "I did not authorize this, Vixar. You had no right to touch her, let alone brand her!"

I hiss in agony as the larger acolyte, Vixar, squeezes my newly branded shoulder, causing pain to flare through my body. He sneers at Finzar, who remains in the doorway, his eyes blazing with fury. "Master Finzar," Vixar mocks, "we were merely doing what you lacked the courage to do. The heretic needs to be broken, and we will do it."

Finzar's eyes narrow to slits of unbridled fury as he watches Vixar's cruel grip on my shoulder. With a primal roar that shakes the very foundations of the Sun Room, he surges forward, his robes billowing behind him like dark wings. His hand, calloused and powerful, closes around Vixar's throat, effortlessly lifting the larger acolyte off the ground. "How dare you touch her!" he bellows, his voice reverberating off the mirrored walls, amplifying it to a deafening level.

Vixar's eyes bulge grotesquely, blood vessels bursting as Finzar's grip inexorably tightens. His feet kick uselessly in the air, hands clawing desperately at Finzar's iron grip. But Finzar's strength, fueled by rage, is insurmountable. With a sickening, wet crunch that turns my stomach, Vixar's neck gives way. His body goes instantly limp, like a puppet with cut strings. Without hesitation, Finzar hurls the lifeless form into the pit of glowing coals. The body lands with a dull thud, flesh sizzling as it makes contact with the burning embers.

The smaller acolyte, face ashen with terror, stumbles backward. His back hits the wall of mirrors, shattering one and sending a waterfall of glittering shards to the floor. "Master Finzar, mercy!" he pleads, voice quavering. His trembling hands rise in a futile gesture for mercy.

Finzar rounds on him, his eyes now twin infernos of murderous intent. "You dared to defy me," he snarls, each word dripping with lethal promise. "To touch what was not yours to touch. You will pay for your insolence."

In a blur of motion, Finzar snatches a wicked-looking device from the torture table. Its metal gleams ominously in the harsh light as he swings it in a vicious arc. The acolyte's scream of agony is cut short as the implement connects with his chest in a sickening crunch of shattering bone. He crumples to the ground, a broken marionette, blood spreading in a crimson pool around his prone form. Finzar towers over him, chest heaving, the torture device still clutched in his white-knuckled grip.

I watch in stunned silence as Finzar turns to me, his eyes a maelstrom of emotions—fury and something else I can't quite name. "I should never have left you alone with them. I… I should have known they would disobey my orders." His voice is hoarse and barely audible over the crackling of the coals.

He reaches out, his hand hovering near one of my branded shoulders. I flinch involuntarily, the memory of searing pain still fresh. Finzar withdraws, a flicker of understanding passing over his face.

"We must move quickly," he says, his tone urgent. "The Solstice approaches, and Sakar will not wait to begin the ritual."

Finzar strides to the instrument table, selecting a small, wickedly sharp knife. The blade glints ominously in the firelight.

"What are you doing?" I ask, unable to keep the tremor from my voice.

His expression grim, Finzar approaches. "I need to remove these restraints," he explains, his voice low and gruff.

"Please, don't hurt me," I plead, my heart racing. But Finzar's hands are steady as he carefully cuts through the ropes.

As the restraints fall away, I rub my raw wrists, my gaze darting between Finzar and the lifeless acolytes. "You killed them," I whisper, still processing the brutal scene.

Finzar nods grimly. "They defied me. They would have hurt you further. I… could not allow that."

He hands me a robe, which I gratefully pull on, wincing as it brushes my burns. "We must hurry," he urges.

"What exactly are you doing?" I ask, my mind reeling.

"Getting you out," he says fiercely. "I won't let them hurt you anymore."

"But what about you?" I ask, suddenly concerned. "Won't they punish you for this?"

He nods, his jaw set. "I've made my choice. Now hurry."

As we rush through dark corridors, my mind races. This man, who not long ago had me strapped naked to an altar, is now risking everything to save me. What he did to me was not torture. I see the truth of that now, and although it makes little sense, I am grateful. And I realize I can't let him face this alone.

"Come with me," I say impulsively.

"What?" he asks, clearly surprised.

"To Terrax," I explain. "I have connections there. We could both disappear into the smuggling network."

Finzar pauses, studying me intently. His brow furrows as he contemplates my words. "I… I cannot simply leave," he says, his voice heavy with conflict. "I have a plan. I can claim the acolytes were traitors, working against the Nexus. Sakar might believe me if I present it right."

"It's too dangerous," I tell him. I see the struggle in his eyes, years of indoctrination warring with the spark of rebellion that made him save me. My heart aches for him, and I make a silent vow to get him out, whether he believes it's possible or not.

"Finzar," I say softly, reaching out to touch his arm. He flinches slightly but doesn't pull away. "Your plan is brave, but it's a death sentence. There's no guarantee you can convince anyone that they were traitors. And then what? You'll be alone, with no one to help you."

He remains silent, his pale eyes searching mine.

"The Nexus is everywhere," he argues. "They'll hunt us down and kill us both."

"We have to try," I say firmly. "We'll figure it out together. But first, we need to escape. In Terrax, we'll have resources, allies. We can fight the Nexus from the outside where they can't touch us."

Finzar sighs deeply, running a hand through his long black hair. I can see the moment his resolve wavers then breaks. "You are a strange one, little flame," he says, a hint of warmth in his voice. "Perhaps… perhaps you're right. Very well. We leave together. But we must hurry. Every moment we linger increases our risk."