The sky outside the window still held its golden orange hue, but time seemed to crawl slowly inside the silent room. The air was still fragrant with the faint scent of herbs—perhaps some kind of sedative, or worse: a consciousness-controlling device. Milica kept her eyelids tightly closed, restraining every movement of her eyeballs so as not to reveal even the slightest hint of her regained consciousness. She regulated her breathing as rhythmically as possible, as softly as possible, almost inaudibly, creating the perfect illusion of someone still in a drugged sleep.
Her sensitive ears had caught the sound of footsteps. Heavy, yet gently dragged. The pattern of movement was slow and irregular, as if the guard was not used to guard duty. But it was clear that he was watching. Perhaps from behind the curtains of the room, or through the gap in the door that was not completely closed. Every breath, every slight shift of his weight, felt like a threat that could break the silence and attract unwanted attention.
Milica could not show weakness, but she could not show readiness either. Her best option—was to pretend. She had to be a helpless puppet in the eyes of her captor, at least until she found a loophole.
She remained in a curled-up position with her knees bent, her entire body restrained by the ropes. Her wings felt stiff behind her back, slightly pinched by the forced sitting posture. She held her breath, then exhaled slowly through her nose. She let her body appear limp and unconscious, although behind her closed eyelids, she continued to analyze the shadows from the gaps of light that penetrated. Every dark corner, every faint reflection, became part of the mental map she was compiling.
The footsteps finally moved away. Not too far, but enough to give the guard confidence that his prisoner was still helpless in her sleep. A new silence enveloped the room, a deeper and more tense silence, like the air before a storm.
That was the moment.
Milica's body felt stiff, and a tingling sensation spread from her toes to her groin. The bonds on her knees and thighs felt tight, but it was not impossible to slightly adjust the pressure through internal movements. She had practiced in total restraint before, although of course not as sadistic as this. At Butterfly Academy, they taught her the importance of mastering her body in even the most extreme situations, and that lesson has now become her savior.
But this time is different.
This red rope was no ordinary rope. Each knot contained a spark of ancient magic. She could feel it. The flow of mana in her body, which usually flowed freely, now felt blocked by an invisible wall that was implanted directly through the pressure of the knots and the position of her body. This technique—if not from the Eastern human world—must have been inherited from the binding tribes of the Soriya Valley, where body and spirit magic were studied in a more primitive and extreme way. Faerie bindings were designed to sever a magic user's connection to their source of power, rendering them no different from ordinary mortals.
Milica tried to pull her hands away, just to gauge the elasticity of the rope. But the knots on her back were too precise, and every movement only added to the pressure on her chest. Her upper arms were pressed tightly to her sides, and her wrists were bound tightly behind her back. She couldn't reach the knots with her fingers, a fact that underscored the effectiveness of the binding.
The gag in her mouth was no ordinary cloth. She recognized its texture—the black fibers of the Mist Root plant, used in spirit-silencing rituals. Her vocal powers, both incantations and butterfly notes, were completely paralyzed. Even if she tried to speak, not a single magical vibration would respond. She was completely sealed.
No more strength, no more magic.
All that was left was her brain and her instincts.
And she never doubted either of them.
With a deep breath, Milica slowly adjusted her posture. She leaned her back completely against the pillow behind her, then pushed her body weight sideways using her bound heels. Her first jump was not to escape, but to change position, to assess the terrain. She had to look around, to understand her new surroundings, before trying a bolder move.
She fell to the side of the sofa, then rolled over slightly, facing the window. Her wings moved slowly to adjust her balance. After that, she raised her knees slightly, bending her thighs as close to her stomach as possible. With constant pressure from her abdominal and pelvic muscles, she tried to sit up straight. Every movement was a painful struggle, but her determination was stronger than the pain.
It took time. About a full minute just to reach a stable sitting position. Her shoulders were straight, her eyes were open, her body was shaking slightly from the pressure of the ropes and the weight of her wings behind her. Her face remained calm, but inside her mind, the wheels of strategy were turning rapidly.
From that vantage point, she could finally assess the room more clearly.
This was no prison cell. There were no bars. No chains. Not even the door was locked in the traditional manner. Yet everything felt too quiet. The silence itself was a shackle, stifling any sound, any hope of being heard.
A small round table stood in the corner of the room, a flower-shaped oil lamp atop it. The light was soft, emitting a pale blue—not ordinary light, but the glow of Lux Current, a natural energy source commonly used by elven scholars to power magitek mechanisms. It meant that this house had access to advanced technology or rare artifacts, a vital clue to the identity of her captors.
Across from the couch, a white wooden door was carved with a flower symbol she didn't recognize. It was slightly ajar, and through the crack she could see the plain wooden floor stretching out like a corridor. There was no sound. No shadows. But there was a scent. Faint. Milica adjusted her breathing, letting the air in slowly.
Burning wood.
Warm metal.
The scent of food.
The guard wasn't just waiting. He was staying here. That meant this was a temporary base, or even a permanent hideout. A crucial piece of information she could exploit.
With her body now sitting upright, Milica began to move her body bit by bit—jumping.
Not just any jump, but short hops using her hips and thighs as pivots, propelling herself forward a few centimeters each time. The movement was difficult, painful, and painfully slow. But it was the only way. She had to reach the door, or at least get close enough to see more.
One… two…
Milica paused for a moment, making sure there was no sound from outside. Still quiet.
Three… four…
She was now nearing the edge of the couch. Just a little more to reach the floor. But that was the hardest part. From the height she was sitting and the shape of the knot, she had to fall—and fall with complete control, so as not to make any suspicious noise.
She took another breath, then pushed herself off the edge of the couch.
Thud!
Milica's body hit the floor. It hurt. It hurt so much. But she clenched her teeth behind her gag and held back the sound. Her wings hit the floor hard, kicking up a small cloud of dust. But she didn't stay still for long.
Quickly, she rolled her body to the left side of the room, where she could peek under the door.
The small gap was enough. Enough to see a wooden corridor stretching to the right. At the end of the corridor, the shadow of a person's feet stood still.
Tall. Slender. Leather shoes. Unmoving.
Guarding. Or observing.
Milica knew she couldn't move much further tonight. But she already knew one important thing: her captor was no fool. This was someone who knew what they were doing. But also someone who was confident enough not to handcuff or lock her behind bars.
That was arrogance. And in strategy, arrogance is the gateway to a loophole.
Milica slowly leaned her body against the wall, adjusting her position until she was sitting with her back to the floor. He took a deep breath, letting his lungs adjust to the tension of the ropes and the torturous position. But in his eyes, a small fire burned. She resolve was as strong as steel, and a plan began to form in his mind.
She would not stand still.
She would find a way out. Whether from this knot. Whether from an accident. Whether from the carelessness of the guards.
But one thing was for sure.
"I will get out of here," she told herself, though no words could come out of her gagged mouth. The vibration of her determination echoed through her, louder than anything she could say.
And when that time comes, I will reveal everything you have hidden.