Astor Thorne

Daron found himself back in the dark.

For days on end, he had endured unspeakable torture. His body was a canvas of bruises and cuts, a testament to the cruelty inflicted upon him.

He had gasped for air as his lungs burned from being repeatedly submerged in water. He had writhed in agony as flames scorched his skin and hot iron seared into his flesh. He had been slowly cut and torn in different spots on his body, each new wound an exploration of pain. The salt and vinegar baths that sometimes followed made him scream until his voice gave out, a raw, silent howl of a broken animal.

When he thought he could endure no more, Burge devised new torments. Sleep deprivation that left him hallucinating, believing for brief, merciful moments that he was back in his home. The constant gnawing hunger that turned his thoughts feral, made him wonder if he should chew through his own libs to escape the restraints and this hell. Every second stretched into an eternity, each minute a lifetime of misery.

He had no allies, no reprieve, no hope. The instruments of torture were as varied as they were cruel, and the hands that wielded them unflinching in their purpose. His once-healthy body was now a fragile shell. He started to forget what it felt like to be whole, to be unbroken.

He couldn't keep track of the days anymore, they all blurred together in a never-ending nightmare. Time was a meaningless concept inside this torturous place. It had to have been at least a few weeks by now, but there was no way to tell for sure without any daylight.

Daron had learned firsthand the true meaning of suffering in this place.

The void had become more than just an escape; it was a sanctuary where his pain receded into the background, a place where he could almost forget the horrors inflicted upon him. Here, his wounds were mere shadows of their true selves, and his mind could wander, seeking refuge from the relentless torment. In this abyss, he found a fleeting peace, a chance to breathe without the sharp sting of broken ribs, to think without the cloud of exhaustion that had become his constant companion. Each visit to the void allowed him to reclaim a fragment of the person he once was, to patch together the tattered remnants of his psyche.

He had started to rely on these interludes in the void, counting on them to sustain him through the next round of cruelty. It was as if some benevolent force had granted him a pause button on his suffering, a momentary ceasefire in the war against his body and mind. The void was a place of nothingness, yet it had given him something invaluable: a sliver of hope that he could endure, that he could survive.

This time, though, something was different. An unfamiliar weight pressed down upon him—a stark contrast to the weightless drift he'd known before. It had changed, from a dream to something more… tangible.

"Hello?" He spoke out loud. The question hung there, suspended in the void, unanswered.

"Silence again, my only companion," he noted dryly. "Let's see if there is anything in here."

The boy moved forward, driven by an odd feeling to find... something. A landmark. A sign. But there was only the unyielding expanse, indifferent to his endeavor.

With each cautious step, Daron's feet seemed to whisper against a surface that felt both solid and insubstantial. The ground beneath him was simultaneously firm and unstable, like walking on shifting sand. Each stride required careful balance as he traversed the void that stretched endlessly in every direction. It was a disorienting experience, with moments of sinking into what felt like quicksand, only to suddenly find himself back on stable ground. This strange sensation left him feeling both unnerved and fascinated at the same time.

What even is this place?

The thought crept into the silence, a whisper in the dark expanse of his mind. Could this be a reflection of his subconscious, painted in darkness? Or maybe a prison built from his deepest fears, with every shadow standing guard?

I guess I'm losing my mind, he concluded.

He kept on walking through the emptiness. The weight on his shoulders felt heavier with each step, but he trudged on, searching for a buoy in this sea of nothingness.

***

A whisper sliced through the stillness, sharp as a knife's edge.

"Daron."

His name hung in the void, an anchor thrown from an unseen ship. Daron halted. It was the familiar voice, ethereal and distant.

"Who's there?" He spun on his heel, almost losing his balance. "Who are you? Show yourself!"

The strange acoustics of the void made his words feel thick on his tongue, distorted as if wrapped in cotton.

He listened intently, straining against the sensory deprivation for any sign of life, any hint of direction. The voice had been clear this time, unlike his previous visits it seemed… whole.

Daron's gaze darted across the horizonless landscape, seeking for the source of the voice.

"Who are you?" Daron repeated, the question laced with an edge of desperation.

"Where are you? Show yourself… please."

"You are not alone."

"Tell me what you want!"

His fists clenched at the ambiguity, a futile gesture against an invisible adversary. What games did this presence play? What hidden eyes observed him from within the expanse?

He took another step forward, on his way to find the source of this unseen entity that kept trying to communicate with him, but before he could advance further, a sudden jerk snapped against his back—an invisible lasso seizing him with the ferocity of a riptide.

His breath hitched, the abrupt pull wrenching him from the cold embrace of the void.

"Ah!"

The sound was ripped from his throat. It was as if a titan had hooked him by the spine, dragging him upward, backward, out of this place. Daron flailed, reaching for something, but there was only the tug, insistent and overwhelming, hauling him away from the voice and its cryptic message. The dark landscape blurred, the voice's last words lingering like smoke as he was pulled relentlessly.

Daron's consciousness clawed its way back to the surface, each gasp a sharp stab of reality. Pain radiated from his wounds. His heart hammered against his ribs, an erratic drumbeat syncing with throbs of agony.

He opened his eyes.

Vision swimming into focus, Daron locked eyes with the figure seated before him.

The man's aura radiated a sinuous blend of elegance and menace. He sat with graceful poise in front of Daron on a wooden chair, his legs crossed in a display of confidence. The light bounced off his black leather shoes. His long coat draped over his form, shrouding him in darkness.

With slicked back black hair and piercing eyes, he looked down onto Daron with an air of utter superiority, as if he held all the power in the world in his hands. Every movement he made exuded a sense of calculated control and danger.

"Who are you?" Daron's voice emerged raspy.

"Aster Thorne, at your service," the man replied, tapping a finger on the silver head of his cane.

"What do you want from me? There's not much left, you know... after you've torn my life apart," Daron spat, fighting the dizziness of his abrupt waking

"You see Mr. Lamb," Thorne began coolly, adjusting his crisp suit jacket. "Your father was a interesting man, but he got involved in things he wouldn't… he couldn't understand."

Daron tried to suppress the painful memories swelling up in him upon the mention of his father. His heart ached at the thought of him being gone forever.

"He paid the price for his naivety and curiosity." Thorne continued.

"What has this got to do with me then. I am not my father."

"Yes indeed. To be honest with you, I was quite certain you had the information we were looking for, but alas, it seems I was wrong."

"So you just tortured me for nothing?" Rage started to bubble up inside of Daron, "And you were the one who ordered my parents to be killed?"

"We cannot leave any lose ends, I am sure you understand." Thorne's cold gaze fell onto the mutilated teenager in shackles, "And yes, it was my order to end the lives of your parents. Your father knew too much."

Daron froze.

This man was the reason his tranquil life ended, why he endured so much pain and suffering, so much sorrow and grief. Astor Thorne.

Daron envisioned himself breaking free of his shackles, lunging at Thorne with all the ferocity of a cornered animal.

In his mind's eye, he saw Thorne's cold expression give way to surprise, then fear, as he wrestled the cane from Thorne's grasp and drove it through his heart.

But these were the fantasies of a desperate and broken boy.

He knew that any outburst, any attempt at violence, would be futile.

With immense effort, Daron forced the anger back down, swallowing it like a mouthful of hot coals. He couldn't afford to let his emotions rule him, not now. He needed to think, to strategize. If he was to have any chance of surviving this, he had to play it smart.

His mind raced through the possibilities.

If Thorne believed he was no longer useful, that he didn't have the information they sought, then perhaps they would dispose of him quickly. A swift death was terrifying, but it was better than the prolonged agony of more torture.

Or maybe, just maybe, he could convince Thorne that he knew something after all, that he could bargain for his life.

It was a slim hope, but hope was all he had left.

"So what?" Daron said, his voice trembling but controlled. "Are you going to let me leave then?"

Thorne studied him for a moment, and for a second Daron could notice the hint of a perplexed look on the man's face.

An almost invisible smile made its way onto Thorne's thin lips, appearing out of place on his otherwise serious face.

"Well, of course not, Mr. Lamb," he said, standing up gracefully, a mix of elegance and precision. "You have become our dear Burge's new favorite plaything... and you have to keep up the morale of your men, would you not agree?"

Before Daron could say anything else, Thorne's words had crushed his hope of ever making it out alive.

"You should rest now. I've already taken up enough of your time, and time is a precious resource," Thorne said as he took his leave with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"I believe Mr. Burge will be rejoining you soon enough."