Rain lashed the ground in furious sheets, drumming against leaves and stone like a thousand frantic hearts. The guard's eyes fluttered open, body heavy with chill, water seeping through seams of his cloak. He shifted on the mud, fingers digging into sodden earth for purchase, breath fogging the air as he pushed himself upright. Shivers raced along his spine, teeth chattering softly in the relentless downpour.
He blinked hard, wiping rain from his brow with a sodden sleeve, muttering through numb lips: "This storm's a beast. Shelter... yeah, need shelter." His boots squelched as he rose unsteadily, knees protesting the cold. "One more round," he grumbled, glancing over his shoulder at the fog-shrouded paths. "Captain'd skin me otherwise." His hand dropped to his side, patting the empty scabbard—nothing. He paused, frowning, fingers tracing the leather again. "Sword? Where'd it go?" A sigh escaped, heavy and weary; he rubbed his temples with calloused thumbs. "Klutz. Always forgetting."
Steps dragged forward toward the barracks, rain pattering on his helmet like impatient knocks. He yawned wide, jaw cracking, shoulders rolling to shake off the wet. Around the corner, a black cat huddled on the grass, fur slick and gleaming under the veiled moon. He crouched slowly, extending a hand, voice lifting in a gentle lilt: "Hey there, cutie. Come on." The cat edged back, ears flattening, eyes locked on his with wary gleam. He chuckled low, straightening up. "Shy one, huh? Next time." He brushed past, boots leaving prints in the muck.
The dungeon entrance gaped ahead, shadows pooling like ink. The cat darted in, tail a fleeting whisper against the threshold. He spun on his heel, brows knitting: "Wait—no, you can't!" The cat vanished deeper, paws silent on stone. He hesitated, hand hovering at the gate, then stepped forward a pace. "Pets down there? Prisoners'd tear you apart." Another step, then he froze, head tilting at the silence below.
A scream ripped upward, raw and guttural, slicing the air before snapping short. His breath caught, chest tightening; he inched closer, fingers curling around the rough iron frame. "What... what the hell?" Heart thudded against ribs, each beat echoing in his ears.
He reached for the lantern, knuckles brushing cold metal—grip slipped on rain-slick surface. It clattered down, glass shattering with a sharp crack. The candle sputtered alight, flame dancing wild, casting jagged shadows over a dark puddle seeping from the stairs. Blood. He stared, throat dry, then swallowed hard and crossed the threshold, boots echoing faintly.
The crimson trail snaked ahead, glistening under his hesitant steps. He followed it down, one stair at a time, hand trailing the damp wall for balance. At the bottom, liquid lapped his ankles, warm and thick; he lifted a boot, watching it drip red. Another scream erupted nearby, jagged and desperate—he jolted, hand flying to his chest, breath hitching.
The stench hit then, thick and coppery, twisting his gut. He leaned against the wall, stomach roiling; bile rose sharp, spilling onto the stone in heaving gasps. He wiped his mouth with a trembling sleeve, eyes watering, and peered into the gloom. Wails echoed again, overlapping in agony's symphony—he pressed palms to ears, whispering hoarse: "What hell is this?"
The blood stirred beneath his feet, small waves lapping like breaths. He lifted his gaze slowly, squinting into the far shadows. A figure emerged, steps deliberate, form shrouded in crimson that blended with the dark. Eyes glowed faint, unnatural, piercing the void like distant stars.
It closed in, sword dangling from one hand, blade catching glimmers of light. His own sword—he recognized the hilt's curve, the nick on the guard. "That's... mine," he breathed, voice cracking.
Details sharpened with each ripple: silver hair cascading in wet strands, pale skin streaked red, a gash circling the left eye like a crown of thorns, ending at his chin. A boy, young—sixteen, maybe seventeen—face etched with quiet fury.
The boy halted close, ripples settling around them. Their eyes met, locked in silent storm—fear crashing against something ancient, unyielding.
The sword slipped from the boy's grasp, plunging into the pool with a muted splash, bubbles rising briefly. He turned, taking one step up the stairs, then another—thunder boomed overhead, shaking the walls. The boy faltered, knees buckling, body folding to the stone in a silent heap.
The guard's gaze darted: submerged blade, then the sprawled form, chest rising faintly. Panic surged, hot and wild; he backed away, boots sloshing, then turned and bolted upward, scream tearing from his throat: "Help! Someone—help!"