Hamstung Dungeon.
Drip! Drip!
The leaking water pattered on the ground endlessly, the only sound that seemed to deprive the dungeon of deafening silence.
The last embers of fire clung stubbornly to the iron wall sconces, their flickering light barely illuminating the damp, moss-stained stones. The smell of mildew and rot hung thick in the air, mixed with the metallic tang of blood long dried.
In the corner, a woman huddled, knees pulled to her chest, shivering despite the heavy night. Her hair clung to her damp face as she shifted restlessly, caught between feverish dreams and the gnawing reality of her chains.
The faint scratch of rat claws over stone made her flinch, and the tiny, biting insects feasted on her exposed skin.
Her eyes half opened flickered to a food at the corner of the cell. Her stomach twisted at the sight. The food had long spoiled, and was now being decomposed by maggots.
She had refused to eat the food, thinking it was poisoned.
With nothing to eat, she lay back down.
Not because she was tired.
But because there was nothing else to do.
The night had grown colder, pressing against her thin dress like damp fingers.
Her arms folded tightly over her stomach as it growled.
In the stillness, the sound startled her. She opened her eyes, blinking into the darkness as if someone else had made the noise.
Her stomach tightened again.
Another hollow groan.
She swallowed, the motion dry and painful. Even her saliva felt scarce. She pressed her palm harder against her abdomen.
It clawed gently at first, a dull ache.
A twisting pull beneath her ribs. Her body reminded her, again and again, of what it lacked.
She rolled onto her back and stared upward. The ceiling above her blurred as her eyes glossed with unshed tears.
Even plain water would have felt like mercy.
She let out a shaky breath.
There was no anger left in her. Not even fear. Only a tiring depletion.
Slowly, she turned to her side once more, cheek pressed against the cold surface beneath her. She wrapped her arms around herself to hold herself together.
Soon, a low, guttural groan echoed through the dungeon, reverberating off the stone walls like the sigh of some ancient beast. Joya's eyes snapped open, pupils dilating as every nerve in her body screamed for alertness.
And then, from somewhere just beyond the edge of the firelight, came the shuffle of heavy footsteps.
Clawing at the hem of her gown, Joya's fingers trembled as her eyes darted around the shadowed cell, desperate for any sign of someone, but there was nothing.
Her chest heaved with shallow breaths.
The chill of the stone floor percolated through her thin gown, but she barely noticed, consumed by the growing dread gnawing in her stomach.
The rotting food in the corner, crawling with maggots, made her stomach churn.
Even when she closed her eyes, she could picture the writhing, white shapes and hear the soft, wet scratching as they feasted in the dark. She swallowed hard, wishing she could erase the image from her mind, but sleep stayed stubbornly out of reach.
Her thoughts wandered, uninvited and relentless.
Every memory of home, every fleeting hope of rescue, clashed with the suffocating despair of her present. She counted silently, breathing in, breathing out.
"This is my fate."
The words echoed bitterly in her mind as she let out a weak, humorless breath.
"The gods play funny games indeed. Creating me only to abandon me to the cruel hands of fate."
Her voice was hoarse and weary as she talked.
Her throat tightened, and a sharp ache bloomed behind her eyes. She squeezed them shut, but it was useless.
Tears gathered anyway, blurring the darkness until it pulsed and swayed. A tear escaped, sliding down her temple and disappearing into the cold stone beneath her cheek as her mind drifted to him… Prator.
Would he still be alive?
Did he escape the wrath of Vagor?
All these questions remained unanswered, eating her up from within.
"This is my fault."
She swallowed hard, her throat burning as the image of Prator rose unbidden in her mind, and with it, the terror of how he might be dead.
The idea clawed at her chest, stealing the little air she had left. Her breath hitched as panic wrapped its fingers around her heart.
"His blood shall be on my hands," she whispered brokenly, her voice cracking.
"I am the one who caused this."
Her hands curled into fists, nails biting into her palms as if pain might anchor her, punish her.
If she had spoken sooner. If she had chosen differently. If she had been brave enough to tell him the secrets of her past, maybe things would have been different.
Her mouth quivered, and this time she didn't fight the tears. They came freely, streaking down her face, warm against skin.
She loved him; there was no denying it now. She had always loved him. But she had been too afraid to name it, too proud to claim it, and now, that remained her biggest regret.
"Joya."
The voice rang in her heart. She stiffened but did not respond. Her nails remained dug into her skin.
This was just her mind betraying her again. Grief had a cruel way of imitating voices.
"Joya!
The voice called out to her louder this time.
Her breath caught. The sound was too clear to be dismissed so easily. Her heart lurched violently against her ribs as her eyes flew open.
The dungeon snapped back into focus: to the flickering torchlight, the damp stone, a shadow…a shadow?
Her breathing came fast as she pushed herself upright, eyes scanning the cell wildly. There was a shadow stretching and recoiling along the walls.
The shadow was unmistakably that of a man.
Broad shoulders. A head tilted slightly forward. The clear outline of arms hanging at his sides.
"Who… who's there?"
Joya rushed forward, her fear overpowering caution. Her fingers wrapped tightly around the cold iron bars as she leaned closer, straining to peer beyond.
Then a voice emerged from the darkness…
"Do not be afraid."
A man stepped into the light.
She did not recognize him.
Not his face, not his voice—there wasn't a single ounce of familiarity to cling to.
But something else caught her attention.
The key.
It dangled from his left hand, glinting faintly in the torchlight as it swayed.
Her breath stuttered as her eyes followed it, her pulse quickening despite herself.
That key meant only one thing. Freedom… or another cruelty disguised as mercy.
She lifted her eyes back to the man's face, searching for intent, for deception.
"Why are you here?"
He did not answer.
In a sudden blur of movement, he leapt forward, and in the next heartbeat, he stood directly before the cell. Joya was startled; stumbling backwards, she retreated as the iron bars loomed between them.
Reaching out, he took hold of the padlock; the small bunch of keys clinked together, and he began to try the keys one by one.
Each failed insertion did nothing but thin the fragile thread of hope in Joya's heart.
"He shall be waiting for you by the sea."
The man spoke as he struggled to find the right key.
Her brow furrowed.
"Who… who shall be waiting for me?" she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of hope.
"Prator," he answered simply.
A small gasp escaped her lips. Relief surged through her like electricity.
"I was sent by Prator to rescue you. There will be a black horse waiting outside. Take it, pass through the back gate, behind the garden, and leave the castle at once."
The man continued, and Joya blinked.
Before she could speak, before doubt could harden her heart again.
Click.
The padlock twisted.
Then snapped open.
It was real.
The cell that had swallowed her despair now stood open.
Her fate, once sealed behind the iron bars, had just been broken.
"Quickly go!
The man said, throwing a black shawl at her, which she caught midair.
Without thinking, she stepped out of the cell.
"Go, I will keep watch; do not look back."
He urged, and she broke into a fast sprint.
Then she slowed.
Her steps faltered.
Something tugged at her chest: gratitude.
Against every instinct screaming at her to flee, Joya turned.
She hurried back.
Before he could react, she wrapped her arms around him, briefly but firmly, a silent thank-you pressed into the moment.
"What is your name?
She asked.
"Harab."
There was a hint of awe in his expression, a quiet marvel.
"You risked yourself for me," she whispered, disbelief and gratitude mingling in her voice.
"I was a disciple of Prator," he admitted.
"He saved my family from the slums and gave us a home. I owe him this much. My life, my loyalty… everything I have is because of him."
Joya nodded curtly, her hand tightening around the shawl.
"I will never forget you… Harab."
She said, without another word, Joya turned on her heel.
Hey!
Came the grunt voice of one of the prisoners locked up.
Joya shrieked, frightened by his husky voice.
"Do not forget us here. When the gods shine their face upon you, come for us."
The man with a brown molded teeth said, his sunken yess straining through the bars if the cell he was locked in.
There were others locked in the small cell with him, but they were too weak to speak, so he advocated for them.
Joya nodded courteously at his words before turning towards the direction she was headed.
Her legs pumped furiously, feet striking the cold stone floor as she began to run faster than she had in days. The black shawl whipped around her shoulders.
Behind her, Harab remained still and silent, watching her disappear into the darkness of the corridors. The faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a mixture of relief and admiration.
As she ran, Joya almost tumbled over a body lying on the floor. She paused for a second, then looked down.
It was the body of a guard. She looked ahead and saw more bodies, some soaked in a pool of blood.
Her mind flashed back to the dagger she had seen in Harab's hand, and suddenly everything made sense.
Joya leaped over the fallen bodies, her heart hammering, the black shawl whipping around her shoulders.
Finally, her eyes caught sight of an opening ahead.
She slipped through the opening and came face-to-face with a door, left slightly ajar.
Joya's chest heaved as she pressed her hand against the worn wood, peering through the narrow slit.
The world outside beckoned, dark, quiet, and full of possibility.
With a deep breath, she pushed the door wider, letting the night swallow her whole.
The air rushed in, filling her lungs with. The black shawl, now draped around her neck, caught the wind immediately. It lifted and fluttered behind her, snapping once like a dark flag in the night
And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Joya felt it: she was free.