27. The Eternal City #3
These weren’t just any scenes. They were events from the last Trial. My heart stilled.
Five contestants turned on each other over a single golden stag corpse. Bodies in the dirt.
Then, my own face filled the screen. I watched myself forge a star-blade and send it spinning through the air. It struck the man square in the chest, his eyes widening before he crumpled.
I looked away, stomach churning.
“They broadcast all the Trials,” Xül said, noticing my reaction. “Every domain can watch. The viewing portals are everywhere—markets, pleasure houses, residences.”
“Lovely.” I muttered.
“Come,” Xül said, his hand finding my elbow. “We have an appointment to keep.”
As we reached a juncture between tiers, a Shadowkin attendant materialized beside us, bowing deeply to Xül.
“My lord,” the creature intoned. “The prisoner continues to resist standard questioning. Your presence is urgently requested.”
“Of course it is,” Xül muttered. “Incompetence surrounds me.” He turned to the attendant, his voice hardening. “Tell Vareth I’ll be there shortly.”
The Shadowkin bowed again before dissolving into the shadows.
“Prisoner?” I asked, seizing the opportunity to finally get some answers. “Is that why we’re here?”
“If your brother hadn’t eliminated Drakor, I wouldn’t be dealing with such mundane matters,” Xül replied, irritation clear in his tone.
“His absence has... redistributed certain responsibilities that I, as Warden, should not have to subject myself to. But we have yet to find a replacement, so here I find myself.”
“Where exactly are we going?”
He stopped walking, turning to face me directly. “The Prison of the Damned.”
My stomach dropped. “What?”
“Did you think the name was metaphorical?” His expression suggested mild amusement at my discomfort.
“And why exactly am I coming along on this delightful excursion?”
“Consider it educational.” He resumed walking, forcing me to hurry after him. “The Trials aren’t merely about combat or survival, starling. They’re about understanding the divine domains in all their aspects—even the unpleasant ones.”
We crested a final rise, and I saw it. Unlike the elegant towers of the main city, the Prison was a jagged mass of dark stone. No windows pierced its walls, no ornamentation softened its brutal lines. It stood separate from the city proper, as if even death wanted distance from what lay within.
“It’s... not what I expected,” I managed, fighting the urge to back away.
“Few things are.” Xül’s expression changed, hardening. The mentor I knew—irritating, arrogant, occasionally almost mortal—disappeared, replaced by the Warden of the Damned in truth rather than just title.
For the first time since arriving in Draknavor, I felt truly afraid of him.
We approached the Prison’s single entrance—a towering arch inscribed with warnings: Abandon hope. Abandon memory. Abandon self.
“Stay close,” Xül commanded, his voice dropping to a register that seemed to vibrate in my bones.
The massive doors swung open at his approach, revealing darkness so complete it seemed solid. Xül stepped forward without hesitation, and after a moment’s paralyzing doubt, I followed him.
Shadowkin guards stood at attention, their forms more substantial here than in the city proper. They bowed as Xül entered, the movement rippling through their ranks.
“My lord.” A Shadowkin separated from the others. “The prisoner awaits in the third interrogation chamber.”
“Vareth.” Xül acknowledged him with a nod. “What do we know?”
“A Lightbringer, my lord. Captured in the lower archives. Claims to be a diplomatic messenger.” Vareth’s tone made it clear what he thought of this explanation. “We’ve confirmed he carries no official credentials.”
“A spy, then.” Xül sounded almost bored. “How unimaginative.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Xül turned to me, his expression unreadable. “You may observe from the alcove. But you will remain silent and out of sight. Understood?”
I nodded.
Vareth led us down a darkened corridor. The occasional moan or distant scream filtered through the stone, raising the hair on the back of my neck. I fought to keep my expression neutral, unwilling to give Xül the satisfaction of seeing my discomfort.
The interrogation chamber was stark and utilitarian—a single chair in the center surrounded by markings etched into the floor. Vareth directed me to a small observation alcove set into the wall, where I could watch without being immediately visible.
Chained to a chair was a being of pure light who didn’t even turn to look at Xül when he entered.
“Let’s not waste time,” Xül said. “We both know why you’re here.”
“I am a diplomatic messenger,” the Lightbringer insisted. “This detention violates all protocols between domains.”
“Diplomatic messengers carry credentials.” Xül circled the chair slowly. “They announce themselves at proper entry points. They don’t skulk in restricted archives.”
“A misunderstanding?—”
“Lying to me is pointless.” Xül cocked his head, and the chains tightened.
“I’ve already told you. I made a wrong turn.”
Xül didn’t bother responding to the obvious lie. Instead, he made a subtle gesture with his left hand. The binding chains pulsed and tightened even further. The being’s radiance flickered.
My stomach twisted. I wanted to look away but forced myself to watch.
“Let’s try another topic then,” Xül said quietly. “I find it interesting that Sundralis has reduced its external operations in recent months. Resources diverted elsewhere. Why?”
My heart began to pound, and I leaned forward, suddenly desperate not to miss a single word.
“Your intelligence is flawed.”
“Is it?”
Xül raised his hand again, and the summoned soul resumed its torture.
I bit my lip to keep from making a sound.
The Lightbringer’s pain was palpable, filling the chamber with a high-pitched whine just at the edge of hearing.
I wanted to feel only disgust at Xül’s methods, but a treacherous part of me wondered.
If this being had information about something happening in Sundralis, something that Olinthar was doing, didn’t I want that information extracted by any means necessary?
The moral compromise in that thought sickened me.
“Temporary adjustments,” he gasped when the death magic receded. “For increased security during the Trials, adjustments in our infrastructure, meetings?—”
“Meetings?” Xül’s posture shifted, his attention sharpening. “What meetings?”
He didn’t answer.
This time, Xül didn’t call forth his damned servants.
Instead, he placed his hand directly on the Lightbringer’s form, and I watched in horror as he became a conduit himself.
Dark tendrils of energy flowed through him, into the Lightbringer, their screams merging with the prisoner’s as they invaded.
“Who attends these meetings?” Xül demanded.
“No one of consequence,” the Lightbringer managed.
“How do they access the Palace?”
“Standard protocols.”
Xül’s grip tightened. The Lightbringer flickered erratically as energy pulsed through its form. “No standard protocol allows direct access to the capital without passing through multiple security checkpoints. And we have both eyes and ears there. Try again.”
“Special arrangements,” he gasped. “For efficiency.”
“What kind of arrangements?”
The Lightbringer refused to answer. Xül’s expression hardened, and he made a complex gesture with his free hand. The chamber darkened as he summoned what looked like dozens of damned souls, each one more twisted and tortured than the last. They converged on the prisoner in a horrifying wave.
“Portals!” the being screamed, voice distorted in pain .
Xül released him, and he collapsed in the bindings, his light barely visible, patches of his form extinguished.
He leaned closer to the weakened prisoner. “Who?”
The Lightbringer remained silent, but when Xül raised his hand again, spectral servants already readied for another onslaught. The being flinched.
“We’re well beyond the point of secrets,” Xül said coldly. “Who is creating these portals?”
“Not your concern,” the Lightbringer croaked.
“Terralith? Aella?” Xül pressed. “Thorne? Axora?”
The Lightbringer’s posture changed at the mention of the last name—a subtle tension I might have missed had I not been watching so closely.
“Axora,” Xül breathed. “Axora is creating direct portals into the Capital.”
The Lightbringer’s silence confirmed his guess.
“Since when?”
“A few weeks—maybe a month.”
“This is unprecedented,” Xül said, true shock evident in his voice. “No one can create passageways into the seat of another domain. Divine law forbids it.”
“I’ve said nothing,” the Lightbringer insisted weakly.
“You’ve said everything,” Xül replied, death magic coiling around his fingers like black frost. “And you will continue.”
“I—I misspoke.”
“No.” Xül moved closer, the damned souls hovering just behind him. “You didn’t. They’re merging aren’t they? War and Order? Becoming one?”
I froze.
Bellarium. The domain of War. The domain where Thatcher was.
When the Lightbringer didn’t speak, the souls converged again. Screams cracked through the chamber and echoed off the walls.
The being finally gasped, “I don’t know for certain! That is above my knowledge.”
My breath caught.
The Lightbringer’s form wavered, becoming increasingly unstable. “If Olinthar discovers I revealed any of this, he’ll unmake my very essence. No afterlife, no transition—just oblivion.”
“He won’t get the chance.” Xül’s voice was cold as the grave. “You’ve served your purpose.”
Before I could process what was happening, he made a sharp gesture.
“Consume,” he commanded, and every damned soul in the chamber descended upon the Lightbringer in a horrifying frenzy.
The being’s form contracted violently as the souls tore his essence apart piece by piece, each taking a fragment of light until nothing remained but a fading spark that winked out of existence.