Captured

Ivy

"Stay composed, trust in your training." My voice was barely a whisper, a soothing mantra amidst the chaos, as I focused on drawing in deep, steady breaths.

I had drifted off to sleep in my bed, just like any other evening, only to awaken in a disorienting nightmare. I found myself bound tightly, a coarse sack obscuring my vision, my ankles secured together, and my wrists restrained behind me. The surface beneath me was an uncomfortable jumble of uneven shapes, and I could feel the jarring motion of what I suspected was a wagon, pulling me along with an unsettling roughness. 

These must be infrequently traveled paths, leaving me uncertain whether anyone other than my captors would even hear my cries for help. Who knows if anyone would actually come to my rescue or be capable of assisting me, even if my voice reached another ear? My first priority should be to assess the strength and tightness of my restraints. I tugged at the ropes, feeling the rough texture with its numerous loops and sharp edges designed to bite into my skin if I dared to shift. Clearly, my captors weren't messing around. 

They underestimated me; pain was something I had grown accustomed to. My father, a general and celebrated dragon hunter, had always yearned for a son. Instead, he got me, his only child, after my mother perished in a dragon raid. I was the substitute he never asked for. From a young age, I endured grueling training, and now, I was prepared for whatever lay ahead.

I carefully maneuvered my wrists, angling them just right to avoid the sharp spikes designed to hinder my escape from striking anything crucial. With a subtle twist, I pressed the spikes against the rough ropes, feeling the familiar sting as they dug in. The pain surged, just as I anticipated, but I had steeled myself for this moment, allowing me to push the agony to the back of my mind. As my blood trickled down onto the ropes, it created a slickness that facilitated my escape, and before long, I felt the sweet release of freedom as my arms broke free from their bindings.

After finally wriggling my wrists free from the bindings, I raised my hands to the sack that shrouded my head. To my utter dismay, I found it was secured tightly around my neck with a robust band, much like a choker. As I traced my fingers along its surface, I realized it was thick and seemed to be made of metal, lacking any clasp or visible means of removal. My heart sank; whoever had taken me had fitted me with the same collar that dragon hunters use on their captures—a tracking and suppression collar, or TSC.

A flicker of hope ignited within me as I realized there should be another way to free myself from the suffocating sack over my head. My fingers danced along the fabric, searching for any sign of binding. There! I felt the ties at the top, and with a surge of determination, I deftly worked to untie them. The moment they gave way, I felt the bottom loosen, and with a swift motion, I yanked the sack off, shedding my confinement with ease.

I blinked rapidly, and suddenly, my sight cleared. A wave of disbelief washed over me as I grasped the reality—I had been unconscious for far longer than I had imagined. Slivers of light filtered through the cracks in the thick wooden planks surrounding me. Panic surged as I registered my confinement within a massive wooden crate, perched atop bags marked with rice. A quick scan of my surroundings sent a chill down my spine; the crate was securely nailed shut, leaving me ensnared in this precarious situation.

I seized the collar of my flowing green nightgown and tore it away, inadvertently revealing a hint of cleavage, but honestly, that was the least of my concerns at the moment. I shredded the soft cotton fabric in two and fashioned each piece around my bleeding wrists, securing them tightly to staunch the flow. Next, I spotted the frayed rope that had bound my wrists and grasped it, pinching it near a cluster of sharp metal spikes protruding from it. With determination, I began to slice through the ropes that were knotted in a perplexing array around my ankles.

I managed to wiggle my legs free with just a few minor scratches, but I was still firmly trapped in this sturdy wooden box. Pressing my palm against the rough surface, I tried to channel my energy, but to my dismay, I couldn't tap into the martial energy that humans cultivate. And the familiar sprite that everyone summons after they turn eighteen? Well, I wouldn't be able to summon it until my eighteenth birthday celebration, which, thanks to the lunar calendar, is still three weeks away. If I miss that window, I'll be stuck waiting another year, and that would seriously set me back compared to my peers in training.

There's an unsettling sensation that lingers in the back of my mind, one that suggests their timing is far from mere happenstance. It feels as though whatever schemes they have in store for me are intricately woven into the fabric of my father's life, perhaps designed to undermine his standing by using me as a pawn in their game. Is it possible that this is a strategic maneuver aimed at usurping his authority? While that might not be the most dire outcome I could envision, I can't shake the feeling that the reality of the situation is layered with complexities that go well beyond the surface. There's a sense of foreboding that tells me I'm only scratching the surface of a much deeper intrigue.

Examining the ropes that had ensnared me, I realized they were crafted from Inhibrious, a peculiar plant notorious for its ability to suppress an individual's powers for a full twenty-four hours after they had severed physical contact with it. This plant not only drained one's energy but also possessed a remarkably tough, fibrous quality, making it suitable for a variety of applications. However, its use was strictly regulated; it was deemed illegal to incorporate Inhibrious into any item unless during wartime or under the explicit command of the king. To defy this law, to wield it without authorization or in peacetime, was tantamount to treason—not just in the Voltaire kingdom, but across all neighboring realms as well.

This led me to ponder a troubling question: what could possibly motivate someone to risk the dire consequences of treason merely to tarnish my father's reputation? Three potential motives sprang to mind, each more unsettling than the last. One in particular sent a shiver of dread coursing through me, causing my arms to tremble for the first time in years. Yet, I forced myself to take a few deep breaths, grounding myself in the moment. Succumbing to panic would do nothing to aid my escape; I needed to strategize, to devise a plan that would lead me to freedom.

As I navigated my way around the crate, I found myself moving with a careful grace, each step taken with a feather-light touch. It was curious, really, how I felt compelled to tread so softly, especially considering the raucous clatter of the carriage as it jostled along the uneven path. There was an inexplicable tension in the air, a nagging sensation that whispered of unease, pulling at the corners of my mind. I hesitated to confront this unsettling feeling, as if acknowledging it would somehow amplify its presence, forcing me to delve into the depths of a fear I preferred to keep at bay.

 As I meticulously sifted through the contents of the crate, shifting bags aside with a mix of determination and trepidation, my mind raced with thoughts of escape. The realization struck me that the crate would be pried open from the top, a detail that sent a shiver down my spine. It raised unsettling questions about my captors: they would either need to possess an extraordinary height or the uncanny ability to maneuver people and objects from precarious angles. The unveiling of this information dramatically reduced the pool of possible suspects, casting aside numerous individuals who simply did not possess the means to hire exceptionally trained mercenaries or who physically did not fit the profile.

The ramifications of this discovery were simultaneously unsettling and strangely comforting, as it sparked the beginnings of a strategy in my mind. I felt a sense of clarity emerging, as I now had a clearer understanding of the landscape I was navigating. I envisioned constructing a makeshift stairway from the bags of rice, an escape route that could lead me to freedom if I played my cards right and I quickly went to work building it. 

I had crafted a makeshift stairway that brought me to the summit of the towering crate. With determination, I seized a large sack of rice, testing its weight as I swung it experimentally. My trainer's voice resonated in my mind, a constant reminder of the grueling training sessions that had shaped me. Just as I began to find my balance, the carriage lurched to an abrupt stop, and the unmistakable sounds of movement outside the crate sent a chill racing through me. My heart thundered in my chest as I tightened my grip on the edges of the sack, a mix of fear and adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Coming Next Time: Daring Escape