Elena came back to herself slowly, like surfacing from deep water.
Cold bit first.
The floor beneath her was freezing stone, rough enough to scrape her palms when she pushed herself upright. Her breath fogged faintly in the dim air. A single torch sputtered in an iron bracket, throwing weak, trembling light across—
A cell.
An actual medieval dungeon cell.
Iron bars lined one side.Damp walls dripped faintly.And chained from a ring in the floor—
Her wrists.
Heavy metal cuffs circled them, linked by a short length of chain that rattled when she shifted. The cold from the metal bit deep into her skin, and every small movement sent a sharp bite of pain radiating through her arms. She tugged once experimentally—
The chain pulled taut instantly.
She hissed at the sting blooming across her wrist.
Panic surged, but she forced it down. Think. Move. Survive.
A low voice came from the dark corner of her cell.
"So. You're awake."
The man from the infirmary stepped forward, torchlight catching the hard angles of his face. He had changed into unfamiliar armor—dark, foreign, bearing an emblem she didn't recognize.
Elena's shoulders locked.
She shifted back, the chain dragging with a metallic clatter. The sound echoed through the cell like a warning bell.
He crouched just out of her reach.
"Comfortable?" he asked, tone mocking.
"Thrilled," she rasped. "Five stars. Would recommend."
A flicker of amusement crossed his eyes.
Elena lunged anyway.
The chain jerked her short, yanking her down to one knee. Pain shot through her shoulders. She gritted her teeth, stretching her arm as far as she could reach—
She missed his face by barely two inches.
He didn't flinch.
Instead, his hand snapped forward with trained, terrifying speed.
A sharp strike connected with her cheek.
Not hard enough to break anything—but hard enough that the world went white at the edges.
Elena gasped, head whipping sideways.A ringing filled her ears.Her vision blurred and pulsed.
The taste of metal slid over her tongue.
She brought a hand to her mouth—sluggish—and felt the warm sting at her lip.
The man watched her, expression unreadable."Don't test the chain," he said softly. "You won't win."
Elena turned her head back toward him, breath shaking but eyes burning.
Elena turned her head back toward him, breath shaking but eyes burning.
He studied her like she was a puzzle he intended to break apart piece by piece.
"The Emperor wants you," he said simply.
Elena blinked.
"…Well," she croaked, wiping blood from her lip, "that's unfortunate for him, because my schedule is currently full."
One eyebrow lifted.
She continued, deadpan despite the throbbing in her cheek:
"I'm already fully booked for the next… eternity, actually. Very busy. Lots of not-being-kidnapped planned."
A faint, humorless smile bent his mouth.
"You won't be given a choice."
"Story of my life lately," she muttered.
His expression cooled further — like he was growing bored of her defiance, or perhaps impressed in a twisted way.
"You misunderstand, Elena. You are not wanted for who you are."He leaned forward, shadows slicing across his face."You are wanted for what you are."
Her stomach tightened.
"I'm just a person," she said quietly, though uncertainty laced the words now.
"No." His voice dipped, almost reverent in its menace. "You are the anomaly the rift warned of. The arrival under twin moons. The one it brings when power shifts." He tilted his head. "You appeared where the border between realms is weakest. That is no accident."
Elena swallowed hard, pulse thundering.
He went on:
"The rift belongs to the Emperor. The power that spills from it will be his. But only one touched by its call can unlock what slumbers beneath."
"And you think that's me?"
"I don't think." His eyes glinted. "I know."
Elena shook her head, breath hitching. "You've got the wrong woman. I'm not magical. I'm not chosen. I'm—"
"A threat," he finished. "A bridge between worlds. A key."
"I'm a doctor," she snapped. "Not a—cosmic USB drive."
He laughed — a low, unpleasant sound.
"You misunderstand again." His tone lowered, colder. "Keys are not kept for their comfort. They are kept for their function."
A chill rippled through her.
"And the Emperor," he said, standing slowly, "has been waiting for a key like you for a very long time."
He reached down and lifted her chin again, though she jerked against the contact.
"You will help him tear the rift open," he murmured. "Or you will be broken until you do."
Elena's heart pounded so hard it hurt.
But she glared up at him anyway — trembling, furious, unyielding.
"You don't know me," she whispered. "And you have no idea what Soren will do to you."
The man's smile sharpened.
"Oh, I do. Which is why you will not remain here long."
He straightened, stepping back into the shadows.
"Rest, Elena. The journey to Kharath is not a gentle one."
The door slammed shut behind him.
The sound rang through the cell like a final sentence.
Elena sagged against the wall, wrists aching, cheek throbbing… but her eyes burned with something fierce and alive.
Fear, yes.
But also—
Rage.
And one unshakable certainty rose in her chest—
Soren was coming.
He had to be.
He would tear through stone, soldiers, entire empires if he had to. He had said she was under his protection. He had looked at her like losing her was the one thing he would not allow the world to do.
But then—
A whisper slid through her mind like a knife dipped in ice.
"Do not get attached," Mirenya had purred. "He grows bored of attachments."
Elena's breath hitched.
Cold spread beneath her ribs, far sharper than the stone floor.
What if Mirenya had been right? What if she was just another complication, another curiosity the prince would eventually set aside? What if her disappearance was… convenient? What if he wasn't coming?
The thought hollowed her out.
Her throat tightened, and for one dangerous moment she felt the edges of despair scraping at her chest.
No.
No. Absolutely not.
She straightened—slowly, painfully—and wiped the blood from her lip with the back of her chained hand.
She might be alone.
She might be afraid.
She might be bruised and shackled in an enemy cell—
But she was not a damsel in distress. She was a survivor. A woman who had navigated crises far more complex than arrogant men and supernatural politics.
If Soren came, good.
If he didn't?
She would figure out a way to get out of here herself.
Her gaze swept the room again, sharper this time—not for comfort, but for weaknesses, patterns, tools, mistakes.
The chain. The torch bracket. The guard's footsteps. The drip of water from the ceiling. The rhythm of the shifting torchlight.
Details. Always details.
Her wrists ached, her cheek throbbed, but her mind was already turning—calculating, planning, dissecting every possible angle like a problem she refused to fail.
"Alright," she whispered to herself, voice raw but steady.
"If no one's coming… then I'll save myself."
In the darkness, her resolve sharpened like a blade. Elena was not done. Not even close.