She wasn't sure when she had held her breath, but she breathed out heavily when she heard the command to move closer. Without hesitation, she obeyed.The office belonged to General Thax, a man who seemed carved from granite and iron. The room itself was vast and medieval, built from dark, unpolished stone. Heavy tapestries depicting armored knights and grim battles lined the walls, doing little to soften the space. A huge, roaring fireplace in the corner offered warmth, but the light it cast only deepened the shadows.
General Thax was seated behind a massive oak desk—a piece of furniture so heavy it looked like it was a century old. He was a powerfully built man in his mid-forties, clad in a deep crimson tunic beneath polished steel breastplate and pauldrons. His face was sharp, the skin taut, and his dark brown eyes were not raised in a shout, but lowered and fixed on her with a frightening, unwavering scrutiny.
The man accompanying her, the General's subordinate, stood slightly to her left. He was a young soldier, perhaps barely twenty, his face perpetually shadowed by a simple, open-faced steel helm. He had the build of a foot soldier and carried a long, slightly battered broadsword. His posture was rigid, suggesting an intense fear of the General that mirrored her own.Under Thax's gaze, she shrank. His eyes didn't spell danger in bold; they spelled it in a cold, ruthless silence that was far more unnerving.
"Who are you?" The question was simple, delivered in a voice that was low and smooth, yet carried the weight of a stone collapsing. It required a simple answer, but her eyes widened in shock. Then it settled to devastating terror. No matter how much she tried, she didn't have the answer. Her amnesia was still a lingering problem, a horrifying void where her identity should be.
Lowering her eyes, she shook her head, a gesture of deep uncertainty. Thax took it as defiance. His patience wasn't wearing thin; it had already vanished.
"Did you breach the barrier?" he tried again, the smooth tone now tasting like ice.
Yet again, she shook her head. She had seen no such barrier, and if it indeed did exist and was highly regarded, she couldn't have possibly broken it, or surely she would remember? That crushing doubt—the fear of a hidden, forgotten transgression—was worse than the fear of the General.
Thax stood up slowly, a movement that contained immense, contained power. His face was not reddened with rage, but unnaturally pale and tight with suppressed fury.
"Has Ryker been informed?" He questioned, not taking his dark brown eyes off her, his voice never rising above a conversational tone. It made the threat palpable, almost thick enough to cut through.
"A messenger was already sent to deliver the report, General," the young soldier replied immediately.
"I'll inform the elders. As for her, take her to the dungeon for 'questioning'." He put a slight, chilling emphasis on the last word.
"But General, sir…" the soldier began to protest, taking a quick, nervous breath.
"Do you dare waste my time, soldier!" Thax's voice finally hardened, cutting him short like a steel blade. The soldier didn't shrink or get startled, just sighed in defeat.
"No, sir."
"Good. Now, get her out of here."
The soldier nodded briefly as he placed a large, gauntleted hand on her shoulder, guiding her out. She could feel the hot, unblinking scrutiny of Thax's gaze drilling into her back until the heavy, brass-studded oak door of the office slammed shut.
The Dungeon.
Once they were out of the tower and into the moonlit stone courtyard, she sighed in relief. The surrounding area was all cold, dark stone walls, wooden scaffolding, and narrow, mud-slicked paths—the architecture of a rough, medieval fortress. She was greatful that it was over but a nagging feeling at the back of her mind kept repeating in a low whisper: this is just the beginning.
As they moved toward a smaller, more forbidding building, the soldier finally broke the silence, snapping her out of her trance.
"What is your name?"
Once again, she shook her head, her amnesia a bitter knot in her throat.
"Answer with words," he commanded, sounding more tired than harsh.
"Not… remember," she finally managed, the two words hollow and uncertain.
"How old are you?" Trying again, he thought she must know her age at least.
"Not know," her sweet, soft voice replied. She truly had no reason to lie, and the realization that she was a complete blank slate terrified her anew.
Looking deeply into her eyes, the soldier believed her. "Hope Ryker gets here soon," he mumbled more to himself than to her,certain she didn't know who he was. " He's the only one who can save you now." He added muttering under silenced breath but she'd caught it. Save... from what.
They moved past other soldiers until they reached another, low-slung building. The night was bitterly cold, the moonlight completely blocked by dark, menacing clouds.
Suddenly, a sound ripped through the courtyard—a long, chilling, inhuman howl that seemed to echo up from the ground beneath their feet. Her skin crawled with a familiar unease.
"What that?" she gasped, stumbling.
The soldier ignored the question and shoved open a metallic door. A wave of bone-deep, damp cold washed over them, far surpassing the night air. Along with the cold came a cloying, coppery scent—the overwhelming smell of old and fresh blood.
Her eyes widened inside the dungeon. The walls were uneven, rough-hewn stone slick with moisture. Knives, heavy spiked chains, and iron hooks hung from the ceiling and walls. There was a table with rusty pliers, branding irons, and long, thin implements she could not identify. Worse, she noticed the floor was not stone, but hard-packed, dark earth that had been saturated repeatedly.She looked frighteningly at the soldier who had led her here.
Sensing her unspoken question, he said quietly,
"Welcome to the dungeon. This is where General Thax ensures the truth is… found."
The certainty of her coming pain, coupled with the absolute uncertainty of why she was here and who she was, made her knees buckle. She was an empty vessel, and they were about to destroy it.CHAPTER THREE
Classification
They did not put her in a dungeon.
That came later.
First, they washed her.
The water was cold. The hands were efficient. No one spoke. She was stripped of her dress, scrubbed, inspected, redressed in a plain grey shift that smelled faintly of lye and old cloth. Smooth restraints were fastened around her wrists—not tight enough to hurt, but impossible to slip.
She noted that detail.
The room they brought her to was clean and dry, torchlight evenly spaced along stone walls. A table stood at its center. Three chairs on one side. One on the other.
She was placed alone.
A man entered and sat, opening a ledger without looking at her.
"State your name."
Silence stretched. Her mouth opened, then closed again.
"I don't know," she said finally.
The quill paused, then scratched across parchment.
"Approximate age."
She searched herself and found nothing to offer. She shook her head.
Another mark in the ledger.
"Where did you come from?"
"The forest."
"And before that?"
Her hands curled slowly into fists. "I don't remember."
The man hummed softly, not unkindly. "You understand how this sounds."
She nodded.
That was a mistake.
The door opened again. Boots this time. Armor lighter than the soldiers', movements controlled. The newcomer leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
"She answers too quickly," he observed.
The ledger man nodded. "As if rehearsed."
"I'm not—" She stopped herself. Words felt dangerous here.
The armored man tilted his head. "Why haven't you cried?"
She blinked. "I… don't know."
The ledger snapped shut.
"Classification pending," the man said. "Return her to holding."
"No."
The word cut through the room cleanly.
The man by the wall straightened. "She's a child."
"She crossed a sealed barrier."
Ryker stepped forward then, fully into the light. He wore no insignia beyond his cloak, but authority clung to him regardless.
"She doesn't know what a barrier is," he said. "She doesn't know where she is. Torture will give you fear, not answers."
The ledger man studied him. "And if you're wrong?"
Ryker's jaw tightened. "Then I'll answer for it."
A long pause.
"Very well," the man said. "Dungeon. No interrogation. Yet."
As they led her away, she glanced back once.
Ryker was watching her—not with pity, not with certainty.
With doubt.
And she understood something then, dimly but firmly:
Silence kept her alive.
But it was already changing her.The door closed behind her with a heavy, final sound.
Ryker remained where he was, staring at the space she had occupied, jaw tight.
He had spoken out of turn. He knew it.
And somewhere above them, in rooms he was not invited into, people would already be asking why.