Ophil

I opened my eyes and looked around the dark room… no, it was a cell. I sat up slowly, trying to remember what happened and how I got there. My legs and hands were chained, and the cold steel was distracting, making it hard to think straight.

"Ah, Your Majesty, you are finally awake," an old man said, walking into the cell.

'Your Majesty?'

"I was worried," he said with a sinister smile. Where am I? "Sorry for my rudeness," he said, bowing. "I'm Ophil," he introduced himself, but I wasn't curious.

"I know you've been wondering why Fielding was after you," he said. Fielding? Who? "Or was it Callum he went by?" Oh! "You, Your Majesty, happen to be a priceless item for the revolution that's bound to happen," he began. "That bite mark is not just a bite; it contains part of the King's magic, and we will use it for a ritual that will change the world for the better," he said.

This man creeps me out. His presence fills the cell with a chilling aura that makes my skin crawl. I try to focus on his words, but the unease I feel is overwhelming. The way he speaks, with that sinister smile and gleaming eyes, makes it hard to concentrate. Change the world with a scar? It sounds absurd, like some twisted fantasy rather than a reality.

The idea that something as mundane as a bite mark could hold the key to altering the course of the world is baffling. My mind struggles to grasp the concept, to understand how a simple scar could be so pivotal. It's as if he's speaking in riddles, and every word he utters just adds to the confusion.

I can't help but feel a rising dread as I try to make sense of his explanation. The implications are terrifying. Is this man really suggesting that my scar is more than just a mark—something that holds a magical significance capable of changing the world? The thought is both bewildering and horrifying.

"You are the last key we need to finally get what we desire," he continued.

"What do you want?" I had to ask.

"Good question," he said. "We desire the power of the deities, the power the Erriseans take for granted, the power of the faeries," he explained.

He's the typical villain, isn't he? Obsessed with accumulating more power, driven by a greed that blinds him to everything else. It's a familiar archetype: the villain who believes that by gaining control over forces beyond their reach, they can reshape the world to their liking. They're so consumed by their ambition that they lose sight of the consequences of their actions.

In stories like this, it's almost predictable. Characters like him—those who crave power with such fervor—often find themselves undone by the very force they sought to command. Their downfall comes as a direct result of their hubris, their inability to see the limits of their own ambitions. They grasp at power, thinking they can control it, only to be overpowered by it in the end.

I can't help but think that his fate will be no different. His grand plans and dark schemes will likely spiral out of control, leading to his own destruction. It's a tragic irony, but it's also a kind of poetic justice. In the end, the power he seeks might be the very thing that consumes him.

"How can I help you with that? I'm not an Errisean," I said weakly.

"Were you even listening?" No, I wasn't.

"Please, tell me exactly what it is that you need. I'll see if I can help you. Just… just let me go home," I tried bargaining. I don't know how to fight; it's best if I bargain my way out of this. I didn't last a second after we were attacked—I was knocked out easily.

"You are what we need," he said. You're really chatty, but not a single word you've said since you walked in makes sense. "Your blood is crucial for the ritual."

"My blood? How much blood are we talking?" I asked, and he started laughing.

"You are really funny," he said, shaking his head. "Get comfortable, Your Majesty. You won't be here for long," he said and turned to leave.

"How much blood?"

Are they going to kill me? The question echoes in my mind, each repetition more haunting than the last. What do I do now? My heart races with fear and uncertainty. This whole mess is Callum's fault—his actions have led me to this nightmarish situation. I can't understand why this is happening to me, why my life has been turned upside down by his betrayal.

I refuse to sit here and passively accept whatever fate they have in store for me. I can't let them kill me, not without a fight. I've reached the pivotal moment in my story, the arc where everything is on the line. As the female lead, it's not just about surviving—it's about fighting for my place in the narrative. This is the major conflict that defines the climax of my journey.

I must find a way out, no matter the cost. Survival is my duty, my responsibility. I've faced countless challenges and obstacles up to this point, and I refuse to be defeated now. The stakes are high, and I am determined to overcome them, to seize control of my own destiny. This is my story, and I will not let it end here.

How do I escape? I'm not prepared for this arc at all. My heart pounds as I consider the enormity of the situation. I've been thrust into the heart of the conflict without any of the tools or strategies I would need to navigate it. The sense of helplessness is overwhelming. I didn't expect to face such a critical juncture unarmed and unready.

The thought of escape feels almost like a distant fantasy—a glimmer of hope against the stark reality of my predicament. I need to find a way out, but I'm grappling with the realization that I lack the preparation and resources typically required for such a challenge. It's as if I've been thrown into the deep end without knowing how to swim.

Despite my fears and doubts, I know I have to summon the strength to confront this moment head-on. The arc of my story has brought me to this point, and though I feel unprepared, it's crucial to rely on my wits, courage, and any opportunity that presents itself. Survival is not just about fighting physical restraints—it's about overcoming the mental and emotional barriers that threaten to keep me trapped.