The sharp clang of iron bars springing open echoed through the cavern, a stark sound against the sudden quiet that followed the Alchemist's demise. Kael didn't move immediately, his body still coiled tightly, every sense straining, listening. Around him, hesitant rustles of movement began from the other cages. A few stifled sobs broke the stillness. The cloaked rescuers moved with a chilling efficiency, their presence a heavy, powerful weight in the cavern.
One of them, the tall, hard-eyed Commander with hair like midnight, was now looking through the singed journal handed to her by another rescuer. Kael watched from beneath lowered lids as the Commander's gaze flicked over a page, then lifted, her eyes finding Elara—the dark-eyed woman who had briefly met his gaze during the assault. "Elara," the Commander's voice was cool, carrying easily despite its low volume, "the Alchemist's notes detail 'extensive alterations' on a 'prime subject'." Her gaze shifted, pinning Kael for a chilling instant. "See to that boy. Assess him."
Elara nodded once, her expression carefully neutral as she acknowledged the order. She then moved towards Kael. Her approach was measured. He noted the faint, steady glow from her wand. She stopped before Kael, who remained huddled by the back of his now-open cage, his posture wary, observant. To see him more clearly in the residual gloom, Elara murmured, "Lux'aelun."(Light, come forth.) Warm, gentle light blossomed from the tip of her wand, washing over Kael, chasing the deepest shadows from his small alcove.
Elara paused, her careful composure faltering for only a bare instant. Kael saw her gaze linger, a flicker of quickly suppressed surprise in her eyes before her professional mask settled back into place. He registered her reaction with a familiar, dull resentment. It was the Alchemist's 'triumph,' that awful, perfect mask he was forced to wear. He instinctively looked away, a flicker of distaste for the unwanted attention making his own expression tighten almost imperceptibly.
Elara, recovering swiftly, spoke, her voice soft, though Kael still detected the underlying steel of a warrior. "The danger is past, Kael," she said, her use of his name – precise, likely gleaned from the notes via the Commander – was noted by him. "We'll get you out of this chamber." She offered a hand.
He looked at the offered hand, then at her face, his expression unreadable. After a silent moment of assessment, he accepted, allowing her to help him to his feet. His legs were unsteady, but he bore his own weight as much as possible, disengaging from her support as soon as he could stand. He was free from the cage. That was a fact. The rest was… an unknown variable.
The journey out was a blur of shadowed tunnels and the quiet, efficient movements of the rescuers. They passed the Alchemist's ruined workspace. Kael glanced at it once, his face impassive, then looked away, committing key details to memory. Finally, they ascended a winding, crumbling stairway and emerged into the biting cold of the night air.
Above, countless stars glittered, cold and distant. The ordinary world—the scent of pine and damp earth, the sigh of the wind—felt sharp, almost an assault after the stale air of the caverns. The rescued prisoners, Kael among them, were gathered in a small, sheltered clearing just outside the cavern mouth. Other rescuers were already there, establishing a temporary perimeter, their movements sharp and purposeful in the starlight and the glow of their wands. Kael was given a thin, rough blanket and a piece of stale bread. He found a shadowed rock to sit on, pulling the blanket around his thin frame, slightly apart from the low, hushed sobs and murmured conversations of the other survivors. He didn't eat. He watched. He listened.
Elara approached him again, the Commander a silent, observant shadow a few paces behind her, the recovered journal now in the Commander's hands. Elara knelt, keeping a respectful distance. Her expression was carefully neutral, though her eyes still held a hint of that earlier troubled curiosity. "Kael," she began, her voice low and even, "the Alchemist's notes were... disturbing. They mention significant procedures." She paused. "Are you in any pain now? Do you feel anything… different, because of what he did?"
Kael considered her words, his gaze flicking from her to the impassive Commander, then back to the ground. Information. They want information. They saw him as a "subject," he reasoned, just like the Alchemist had, though perhaps with different intent. The warmth from the stone at his neck was a steady, secret pulse. He would give them only what was necessary. "I'm fine," he whispered hoarsely, his eyes still averted. It wasn't a complete lie; the numbness was a constant, protective shell.
"This place," Elara continued, her voice gentle but persistent, "the Alchemist… he was working on many things. The notes are unclear on specifics for each subject. Did you experience anything at all that felt… unusual?"
Kael gave a small, jerky shake of his head. "No. Nothing." His voice was flat. "I cleaned. Fetched things for him." He offered no more, his gaze remaining downcast, letting them draw their own conclusions from his clipped responses.
Elara held his gaze for a long moment, her own searching. A flicker of something – sorrow, perhaps frustration – crossed her face before it smoothed again. "Kael," her voice was even softer, "you said your parents passed. Is there anyone else? Any other family we can take you to?"
This question, at least, required a factual answer. "They're dead," Kael stated, his voice devoid of inflection, each word a carefully placed stone. "Fever, last spring." He paused, then added, the information delivered with cold precision, "My uncle brought me here. He sold me." He met Elara's gaze briefly then, expressionless, before looking away.
Elara's breath seemed to catch. Her hand twitched, as if she wanted to reach out, but she restrained the impulse. "I see," she said quietly, her voice laced with a sorrow she didn't try to hide. "I… I am truly sorry, Kael."
A sharp clearing of a throat cut through the night air. The Commander stepped fully into the faint light spilling from the cavern entrance, her face hard-edged, her eyes the hard, clear grey of winter ice. "The Alchemist," the Commander said, her voice devoid of any warmth, all sharp, practical efficiency. "What was he doing here? Did he have help? Visitors?"
Kael stiffened almost imperceptibly at the abrupt shift, the coldness of the Commander's tone a stark contrast to Elara's quiet empathy. He met the Commander's piercing gaze. So, you finally ask, Kael thought, a cold stillness settling over him. Done beating around the bush. He had sensed it from the moment they'd shown such specific interest in the Alchemist's notes and his 'prime subject'. This wasn't just about him, or the other captives. It was about the old man's real work – the kind that attracted those hushed, urgent visits from the men in dark robes with their veiled sigils, the ones who carried strange instruments carved with black script and spoke in hushed tones of… songs that could unravel things.
"There were visitors," he said, his voice still low but unexpectedly steady. "He didn't let them stay long. But I watched. I remember things." The Commander's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "You saw collaborators?" "I saw faces. I heard names." Kael's tone was flat, matter-of-fact. "I know what he hid." He paused, then the surprising firmness in his voice became more pronounced. Elara stood slowly, looking from Kael to her Commander, an unasked question in her eyes. Kael's eyes held the Commander's steadily, his expression quietly determined. "I'll help you," he stated simply. "But you take me with you."
Silence stretched, taut and cold, broken only by the sigh of the wind. Then the Commander gave a single, almost imperceptible nod. Kael didn't react, his face giving nothing away. But beneath the rough cloth of his rags, against his skin, the stone grew warm.