The heavy door slammed behind her, and Kira was dragged roughly into the dimly lit room. They shoved her into a wooden chair, the harsh scrape of the shackles clinking as they locked her wrists to the table before her. She snarled, bare tusks flashing like blades, a fierce warning to the knights who dared to imprison her.
A rough hand yanked her head back, then slammed it down hard onto the scarred surface of the table. A sharp crack echoed, and she yelped—a quick, sharp sound—but refused to break eye contact with the hulking knight behind her. His armored helmet pressed into her temple, the visor's edge slicing a thin line of blood.
"Do that again, you little monster, and I'll rip your jaw from your disgusting head," the knight snarled, pressing down with cruel intent.
Kira's arms pushed weakly against the grip holding her fast, but the iron didn't yield.
A slow, cold voice cut through the tense air. "That will be enough."
Ruffgaurd entered like a shadow descending—each step sending a weighty ripple through the room, his armor glinting ominously in the flickering light. His presence alone crushed the room's breath. With practiced ease, he pulled a chair and seated himself opposite Kira, fingers steepled with menace.
The two knights exited silently on his snap, the heavy door thudding shut behind them.
Ruffgaurd reached for a worn wooden box from the shelf—a pale wood with dark iron hinges, the words engraved across its top chillingly familiar: "Through pain, your sins will be cleansed."
Kira's jaw tightened. That phrase haunted her like a ghost—spoken in the fireside stories of her childhood, in whispered warnings, and harsh commands. She swallowed the memory as Ruffgaurd gathered more implements and laid them out with deliberate cruelty.
"So, little Boarkar," Ruffgaurd said, voice low and venomous, "why do you wander so far from your savage lands?"
Kira's gaze never wavered. She held herself tall, proud, defiant—a warrior unbowed, teeth bared like a cornered beast.
Ruffgaurd's one unscarred eye bored into her, waiting, calculating.
The room fell into a suffocating silence, broken only by the distant clatter of footsteps echoing down the hall. Ruffgaurd tapped a slow rhythm on the table, his finger erratic and unpredictable, each tap a drop of time in a growing storm.
An hour passed in the frozen stillness, neither yielding ground.
Kira's thoughts drifted briefly to her father—how he would be now, rallying the clans at the ancient waterfalls, the cascades roaring like the strength of their ancestors.
Suddenly, Ruffgaurd's cold voice cut through the haze.
"Forgive me, I have yet to eat today—due to you and your... gifts."
With a cruel smile, he stood, poured a dark liquid over her head, soaking her hair and stinging her skin. Before she could react, his hand yanked her head forward and slammed her face into the table.
Blood trickled from her broken nose, mixing with the water and tears she refused to shed.
Ruffgaurd's knife gleamed wickedly as he pressed it to her cheek, dragging it down slowly. "You thought me patient? You underestimate me."
He seized a handful of her thick hair, tugging until pain bloomed bright in her scalp. Despite the agony, Kira gritted her teeth and snarled, her spirit refusing to break.
But with each cruel tug and slash, the layers of pride began to peel away—until her hair lay in tangled piles at her feet, her tears falling silently in streams of blood and sorrow.
Ruffgaurd whispered an incantation, his hand igniting with a burning light. Kira flinched, chains rattling as she tried to shield herself, but her arms were useless.
"Oh, afraid of the touch of the most high?" he taunted, burning knife in hand.
He cooled the blade, mocking her weakness, then abruptly shifted as a knock sounded at the door.
"Bring them in," he ordered.
The tavern keeper was shoved inside, eyes wide with terror, clutching a woman who wept silently. Behind them, a small boy no older than four was pushed forward, eyes bright and curious, innocent to the horrors around him.
The boy's gaze locked onto Kira's, unwavering and pure, stirring something deep within her—a fragile spark of hope amid the darkness.
Ruffgaurd lifted the boy high into the air, his armored hands firm yet mocking. The parents gasped, fear etched deep in their faces.
"You sing praises to Umar and her knights?" Ruffgaurd sneered as he slowly turned the child to face them.
The tavern keeper's voice trembled, "Yes, sir. We honor the glory of Umar and those who protect it."
"Then why did you allow the Boarkar whore to stay at your tavern?" Ruffgaurd's tone was sharp as a blade, each word cutting the room's breath short.
Dread flooded the air like a heavy storm. The parents froze, their breathing shallow, their eyes wide with terror. Kira's heart plummeted. She had endured pain herself, but the suffering of innocents twisted inside her like a knife.
Ruffgaurd let the boy drop from his hands, but just as the child took a step forward, curious eyes fixed on Kira, the knight caught him again with a cruel grin. The boy's laughter echoed, innocent and unaware, a fragile light amid darkness.
The mother collapsed with a thud, overwhelmed, while the tavern keeper fell to his knees, begging desperately. "Please, sir! I swear, I didn't know what she was!"
As the man crawled closer, pleading, Ruffgaurd's grip tightened on the boy's arm until a sickening snap filled the room.
The boy's scream shattered the silence—high-pitched, pure agony—his small body trembling violently. His face flushed crimson, then paled as breath escaped.
Kira's lungs seized. "Blow into his face! Now!" she demanded fiercely.
The tavern keeper obeyed, frantic and trembling. After several desperate tries, the child coughed and gasped, life slowly returning.
Ruffgaurd's smile deepened with cruel satisfaction as he seized the mother, snapping her neck like a twig.
Kira's mind fractured under the weight of horror—how could such merciless brutality be allowed? How could a kingdom sanction this?
Ruffgaurd leaned close, his breath icy on her skin. "What's the matter, little princess? Afraid to see your enemies bleed?"
Panic surged in her chest as he squeezed her head, chanting a dark prayer that burned through her skull.
"Why are you here? Show me!"
Her thoughts flashed to her father, the clans, the ancient waterfalls where their ancestors' strength flowed.
But under his crushing grip, pain tore through her, sharp and relentless.
At last, he released her. She collapsed back into the shackles, broken yet unbowed.
Ruffgaurd straightened, brushing a lock of thin white and grey hair from his forehead, adjusting his armor with a slow, deliberate grace.
He walked over to the tavern keeper and his son, lifting them roughly off the floor. He pulled a folded piece of paper from a pouch at his side and pressed it into the man's trembling hand.
"Take this to my knight in the west wing. He'll see you're compensated for your... cooperation."
Ruffgaurd waved dismissively toward the woman's lifeless body sprawled on the floor.
The tavern keeper and boy were pushed out the door, the muffled sounds of the child's crying trailing down the hall.
Ruffgaurd returned to Kira's side, stepping over the fallen woman as though she were nothing more than dust.
Sitting again, he resumed tapping his left index finger against the table, the rhythm slow and mocking.
"I noticed your confusion about why I did what I did to those people," he said, voice dripping with contempt.
Kira met his gaze, anger and hatred burning in her eyes.
"The reason," Ruffgaurd continued, "is because I know what you are. You are Boarkar, trained to withstand pain and torture. But you… you are no ordinary warrior. You are a chosen cleric of your devilish gods."
Kira looked away, the weight of his words heavy and bitter.
"I could have brought in any random villager to weaken you. But this way, I taught that fool of a tavern keeper a lesson, too."
Her eyes locked onto his, confusion and dread swirling together.
Ruffgaurd's smile widened, cruel and knowing, a predator savoring his prey's despair.