34. Dan’thiel

thirty-four

Dan'thiel

Time moves differently in a windowless room. Although for a dungeon, this is better than most I've seen. There are no rats scurrying about, no dripping water echoing ominously. Even the chains have a certain shine to them that suggests regular cleaning. Who knew the Guardians of the Otherworld could be so quaint with their prisoners?

The furnishings are meager but functional, like a humble offering from a benevolent captor, the bare necessities for survival. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Boredom is a cruel tormentor, gnawing at my sanity like a starved rat. I pick up one of the books they left me, its leather-bound cover well worn from previous captives. I thumb through the pages, find it's a history of some ancient Illuemera king who died horribly.

I count my days by the number of meals I've received, assuming they're still feeding me three times a day. If that's the case, then I've been here for twelve days so far.

Fifty years to go. Maybe I should stop counting. I wonder if they'll even tell me if Yurghen succeeds or what happens to Mira.

The first few days, I tried yelling and banging on the door. Nothing. Not a word. No guards to shut me up. I might as well be screaming into a void. That's when reality kicked me in the gut - I'm not getting out of here.

An indistinct noise filters in through the heavy iron door, pulling me from my thoughts. Can't be lunch already, can it? I've barely tucked into breakfast - a hunk of bread and a sliver of something that was once, optimistically, cheese.

The door swings open with a jarring creak, revealing the only friend I've had in this place. Rynlin.

He steps inside tentatively, eyeing the room with an assessing gaze, probably to make sure everything is in order.

"Dan'thiel." He nods, his lips set in a thin, grim line. "You look about as well as I feel."

I smirk at that, tossing the ancient book onto the small table beside me. "That's a compliment, right?" My voice is hoarse from disuse.

His lip curls into a lopsided sad smile before suddenly gesturing to my half-eaten breakfast. "This can't be the food they're sending you. That is unacceptable. I'll see to it that this improves."

All I can do is offer a small nod of thanks. "So the Council is really going to do nothing?"

Rynlin lets out a tired sigh as he sits on my bed, eyeing it with distaste and bouncing on the squeaky mattress, as if making a mental note to address this as well. "It seems that way. I— I'm sorry. They asked me many questions, and I'm bound to obey and tell them the truth. I never wanted this to happen."

In the early days of my imprisonment, I'd cursed his name over and over again. He was the only one who knew of the things I did, touching the world in small ways. He always warned me and made his disapproval obvious, but he never turned me in. Then to find it was he who'd given them the damning testimony against me. I was livid.

In time, that anger faded into a low simmer, barely detectable. Now, with him before me and the remorse clear on his face, it vanishes like mist burned away by the early morning sun. "I knew the risks of what I did. Given the option, I'd do it all over again if only on the chance that the council changes their minds."

"I don't think that will happen."

"Please. Talk to people. Other Guardians not on the council. Convince them all. If all the voices agree, they can't be ignored forever, right? I don't think we have much time."

My voice is pleading now, but I don't care. I have to get through to him. Make him believe this is possible. But he shakes his head, clearly defeated.

"It will only put me in the cell next to yours, and I'd have a much longer sentence than fifty years."

His words hit me like a punch in the gut. I barely register his movement as he stands up, brushing imaginary dust off his pants and avoiding my gaze.

"But…" My voice is a whisper, my heart pounding in my chest like a marching drum. "Isn't it worth it?"

He stares at me for a moment, and I know the answer in his heart. All the rage simmering inside me, the anguish, boils to the surface at once.

"What will you guard?" My voice echoes with desperation, drowning in the cold silence of the Otherworld. "What is the purpose of this realm without the mortals? There will be nothing to hold back the ferocity of the Underworld from." I glare at his unmoved figure, unable to comprehend his complacency. "These archaic rules cannot justify such inaction."

My words hang in the air like a challenge, daring him to defy my logic. He simply shakes his head and turns to go. "I'll have some proper furnishings and meals sent. There's no reason for you to be uncomfortable here."

I stare at the locked door for a long time after he leaves, standing in the middle of the empty cell. Hope slipping through my fingers like sand falling in the breeze.

My empty mind drifts to Mira and her desperate mission. She is my last glimmer of hope, the only thing keeping me from succumbing to darkness. My lifeline and my world's last chance at survival.