Chapter 8
Darkness.
It was the first thing Rynn noticed. Not the kind that came with closed eyes — but a deep, choking shadow that pressed in on all sides, living and breathing around her. She tried to move, but her limbs were heavy, her wrists bound by something cold and metallic. Not rope. Not steel. Something older.
*Veilcaster bindings.*
The name alone made her skin crawl. Her head throbbed as she blinked rapidly, vision adjusting. She was in a stone chamber — circular, high-walled, lit only by ghostly blue glyphs etched into the walls. A sigil pulsed on the ground beneath her, faintly humming with energy.
She was alone… for now.
But not for long.
A slow creaking echoed from the hallway beyond. Footsteps. Not rushed. Not heavy. Measured. Confident.
Rynn tensed.
From the shadows emerged a tall figure, cloaked in black with bone-like patterns woven into his robes. His face was hidden beneath a hood, but his voice slid across the room like oil.
*"You were difficult to catch."*
She didn't answer.
He knelt, just outside the sigil's edge. "You're not the one we were after. Yet… you stayed behind." He tilted his head. "Why?"
Rynn met his gaze, refusing to flinch. "I don't owe you an answer."
The figure chuckled. "Perhaps not. But your silence tells us more than words."
He stood and began circling her. "You know him. The one they now call *Draziel Vale*. He came to you for assistance, right?."
Something tightened in her chest.
He continued, "Do you even know what he truly is?"
She didn't respond.
For a moment, there was quiet. Then, he removed a crystal vial from his cloak — inside, a dark, writhing mist coiled like smoke. He held it up.
*"We'll see how long you last before the essence breaks you."*
Rynn's breath caught.
Essence torture. The Veilcasters were going to rip the memories from her — one piece at a time — to uncover what she knew.
But they'd underestimated her.
*She wasn't just a healer. She had her own secrets too.*
And if Draziel was still alive…
He was coming.
And when he did, *this place would burn.*
---
Let's continue from *Draziel's perspective*, preparing for Rynn's rescue.
---
The cave they found shelter in was shallow but dry. The flickering firelight danced across the walls, casting long, jagged shadows. Draziel sat cross-legged, staring into the flames, his cloak draped loosely over his shoulders. Across from him, Sylas sharpened his blade with slow, precise strokes.
Neither spoke for a while. The tension hung like smoke.
"She saved us," Sylas finally said. "We owe her."
Draziel nodded slightly. "I don't leave people behind. Not anymore."
There was weight in those words. *Not anymore.*
His hands flexed on his knees. The Dominion stirred inside him — angry, restless. It demanded release. *Vengeance.* But Draziel knew what happened when he acted without control.
"We need information," he said, eyes still fixed on the fire. "I sensed something in their magic — a frequency I haven't felt since the old wars. They're not hiding anymore."
Sylas raised a brow. "You mean they want us to come?"
Draziel stood. "No. They think we won't."
He walked to the mouth of the cave, looking out at the distant woods. The moon sat low, half-veiled by drifting clouds. In the distance, faint blue runes flickered and vanished — a sign of Veilcaster activity.
"They'll torture her for what she knows," he said softly. "If they break her, they'll come for us next."
Sylas sheathed his blade. "Then let's make the first move."
Draziel turned to him, his voice cold. "We will. But we strike smart."
He reached into his satchel, pulling out a scroll inked in old Dominion script. A map—one from the wars. Veilcaster strongholds, sanctums, hidden pathways.
He pointed. "There. The Hollow Spire. One of their oldest lairs, deep in the obsidian ravines."
Sylas squinted. "You think that's where they're keeping her?"
Draziel nodded. "It's where I'd take someone I want broken."
A gust of wind swept through the cave. Draziel's cloak fluttered, and with it, the faint shimmer of runes etched along his back — marks of his rebirth.
"We leave at dawn," he said. "And this time… we're not running."
He turned back toward the fire, and as the flames danced higher, their glow reflected in his eyes — not just firelight, but something ancient… and awakened.
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