Hell on earth

Echoes of Ossian

The cold, damp walls of the basement pressed in around me as they dragged me down, the weight of my brother's death still hanging heavily over me. It was all my fault, wasn't it? I hadn't been able to protect him. I hadn't been able to save him.

And now, in the eyes of the people who once called me family, I was a monster. A murderer.

They threw me into the darkness, the clattering of chains echoing in the silence as they bound me to the cold stone wall. My arms were stretched painfully behind me, the shackles biting into my skin. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the gnawing ache in my chest—the grief, the guilt, the realization that I had failed him.

The world spun around me, a blur of faces, sounds, and shadows, none of them clear. My mind felt like it was shrouded in a fog, an impenetrable haze that twisted and turned, refusing to let me grasp the truth.

How long had I been here? Was it hours? Days? Weeks? Time no longer held any meaning.

The rain that had drenched my body and soaked my soul had long since ceased, yet the chill remained, a bone-deep cold that refused to leave me. It gnawed at me, making it harder to think, to focus.

But there was something deeper, something more suffocating than the cold. It was a weight, a heavy, unrelenting pressure in my chest. A pressure that I couldn't escape, no matter how much I wanted to.

He was a figure in the shadows, standing just beyond the dim light of the flickering torch. His face was impassive, unreadable, but his eyes held something darker—something colder. He never spoke much, but I didn't need him to. His presence alone made the walls of the room feel even tighter.

I had been in this hell for days, maybe weeks, and yet, no one had explained why I was here or what I had done. My father, however, was always present, watching from the distance, his gaze like ice, always cold, always unforgiving.

And every time my mind flickered back to the truth—to the events of that night—I found myself clouded, disoriented. The more I tried to grasp the reality of what happened with my brother and the assassin, the more I was pulled away from it. I could feel the edges of the memory dissolving, slipping through my fingers like water.

I had been there when my brother died, hadn't I?

But what had really happened? Who had been there? Was it me? Was I the one responsible?

A cold shiver ran down my spine as I caught Cassian's gaze, his lips curving ever so slightly into a twisted smile. He moved forward, slow, deliberate, his boots making no sound on the stone floor.

"You're a mess," he muttered as he knelt in front of me, his hands cold against my face. "You can't even remember the simplest thing, can you?"

"I..." My voice was a rasp, barely above a whisper. "I don't... I don't remember..."

"I'm the one who helped you forget, you know," Cassian said, his voice dripping with malice. 

The vial, in his right hand, reflected dim ligh. When he twisted the stopper open, a faintly acrid smell wafted from it—a sharp, bitter scent that burned the back of the throat, like something poisonous and old.

"Do you remember the taste?" Cassian asked, his voice low, almost a whisper as he brought the vial closer to my face, making sure I could smell the drug. "This is what made you forget everything. A few drops, and your mind... gone. Just like that."

I recoiled, feeling a cold sweat break out along my skin as his words sank in. 

Cassian's eyes glittered darkly as he tapped the vial against his palm, the liquid inside shifting with a slight ripple, as though alive. He held it up for me to see one more time, that vile green substance, now a symbol of my broken mind.

"It wasn't just the pain and torture," he continued, a wicked smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "It was this. A dose here and there, just enough to erase your memories. To make you forget the truth. To turn your mind into a blank canvas where only the lies could be painted."

He uncorked the vial with a deliberate, slow twist, and I flinched at the sound, the sharp pop echoing like a death sentence. He brought it close to my lips, teasing the edge of the vial against my mouth, and I could feel the weight of it—the weight of what he had done to me, what they had all done.

The memories began to trickle back, but they were fleeting, like wisps of smoke slipping through my fingers. How much had I truly forgotten? How much had been taken from me?

"You never even stood a chance," Cassian muttered softly, his voice almost a gentle mockery now. "Not when your father had this in his hand."

The cold glass of the vial against my lips was almost too much to bear. My body trembled, but it wasn't from the coldness of the stone walls surrounding me. It was the fear—the bone-deep fear—that I could no longer trust my own mind. My thoughts were fractured, slipping between dark memories and a creeping emptiness I couldn't understand. I had forgotten. I had forgotten. But I didn't want to forget more.

Cassian's fingers dug into my jaw, forcing my mouth open with ruthless precision. I tried to resist, but the chains that held me in place made any movement futile. My limbs felt like they were made of lead, too heavy to move, as though my body had long since abandoned me. Panic surged in my chest, but my body betrayed me, refusing to fight back.

"Don't fight it," Cassian hissed, his breath hot and foul against my ear as he pressed the vial harder to my lips. "You've already forgotten so much, just let go. One last time... you'll forget it all. Just like you forgot your brother."

His words were poison, but they didn't need to be said to hurt. I could feel the weight of them as if they were carving into my very soul. Forget... again. How much of me would remain if I allowed myself to lose this final piece of who I was? How much of me had already been ripped away?

The vial tipped, and before I could react, the liquid splashed against the back of my throat—bitter, sharp, like burning acid that slid down with a sickening ease. My eyes watered, my throat constricted as I gagged, but Cassian's grip only tightened. I gasped for air, but my lungs felt too small, the room closing in around me.

The taste was vile, an assault to my senses, and I felt a wave of nausea sweep over me. My body jerked as I tried to reject it, but it was too late.

"Drink it," Cassian urged, his voice cruel, laced with mockery. "It's already inside you now. Don't fight it."

The drug began to work almost immediately, like fire spreading through my veins. It started slow, but soon a warmth bloomed inside me, spreading through my chest, my arms, my legs. It was comforting in a way—dangerously so—and yet it felt wrong. My vision blurred, edges of the world growing fuzzy, like looking through a foggy window.

The drug wasn't just numbing my body; it was numbing my thoughts, too.

I felt my thoughts unraveling, each memory slipping away like sand through my fingers.

Moments I should have held onto—they faded in and out, only to be replaced with an overwhelming emptiness.

My mind screamed to hold on, to fight it, but I could hardly form the words anymore. It was like I was drowning in this haze of nothingness, sinking into a place I couldn't claw my way out of.

My body grew heavy. My limbs refused to obey. The anger I had felt just moments before was replaced with a strange, hollow calm. My own will seemed to dissolve into the drug's grip, and I could no longer tell if I was still fighting or if I had already given in.

"Good boy," Cassian murmured, the praise sickly sweet in my ear. "Let go. Forget. Just like you were meant to."

But I didn't want to forget. I didn't want to lose myself anymore. And yet, with each breath, the drug was pulling me under, erasing pieces of who I was, until the memories became nothing more than distant whispers—too faint to hold onto.

And then, just as quickly as it had started, the chaos in my head began to still. A quiet, unbearable silence filled the space where my thoughts once were. The drug had done its work. I was left adrift, lost in a sea of nothingness.

"Tell me," he whispered, leaning in close. "Tell me, what's left of your memory now?"

His gaze was sharp, calculating, but there was something else in his eyes—a satisfaction, a pride in seeing me broken.

I shook my head violently, desperate to hold onto anything. " What happened? Were is Ainar?"

Cassian's laugh was low and mocking."He's gone, you really don't remember?"

I turned my head away, struggling against the chains that bound me. "No… you're lying… He—"

A memory of his cold body rushed to my head, invading my thoughts with an intensity that took my breath away. My hands, trembling, reached for the phantom of his body—his lifeless form. I could still feel the weight of him in my arms, the coldness of his skin, the stillness that replaced the warmth of life.

I felt the ground beneath me shift, my mind collapsing under the weight of the revelation. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe. My vision blurred, the edges of my reality crumbling away.

He was dead wasn't he ?

I couldn't remember the last time I had spoken. Couldn't recall the last words that had left my lips. They didn't matter anyway. I didn't matter. Not anymore.

But my brother. My brother. The thought of him—his face, his smile, the feel of his small body in my arms—cut through the fog like a knife. But why was he gone? I couldn't remember. I couldn't remember anything. What had happened? How had it come to this?

I had been there. I had been with him. But where was the moment when I lost him? Where was the instant that it all shattered?

My hands trembled at my sides, my fingers twitching involuntarily, as though trying to reach for something that had slipped from my grasp. A memory, a moment, a piece of the truth. But nothing came.

I couldn't even remember how I ended up here, bound to this stone wall, drenched in blood—his blood? My blood?

"You killed him," a voice whispered from the darkness, and my head snapped up. The words pierced through my mind like a jagged shard of glass. "You let him die. You murdered him."

"No…" I whispered, my voice barely audible, the word escaping my lips like a prayer. "No, I didn't. I didn't…"

But the words felt empty. Hollow. Did I?

Another voice, harsher this time, followed. "You failed him. You were supposed to protect him. You killed him, and now you're nothing more than a monster."

Monster. The word rattled around in my head, growing louder, louder, until it drowned out all reason. Was that what I was? Had I really killed him?

"No…" My voice cracked as I tried to make sense of it, but the more I struggled, the harder it became to hold onto the pieces of my mind. Had I killed him?

The pressure in my chest intensified, suffocating me. My thoughts were slipping away from me, spiraling out of control. I couldn't hold onto the truth anymore. My brother was gone, and the why of it all was slipping further from my grasp, like sand slipping through my fingers.

I looked around, desperate to find something—anything—to hold onto. But all I saw were shadows. The faces of the elders, twisted in disdain, their eyes cold with accusations.

"You don't even remember, do you?" one of them spat, stepping closer. The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable, venomous. "You can't even remember what happened. You're worthless. You can't even defend yourself. You're nothing but a murderer."

"I… I didn't…" My words faltered, my breath catching in my throat as I tried to find a way to explain, to justify myself. But I couldn't. Every time I tried, the memory slipped further away.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear at the walls of this darkness and demand answers, demand the truth. But I couldn't.

"I didn't… I didn't kill him," I whispered, though even I wasn't sure if I believed it anymore.

Another voice echoed from the shadows, this one softer, more insidious. "That's the problem, isn't it? You don't remember. You've forgotten the truth, you killed him."

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, each beat growing more erratic, more panicked. The world was spinning around me, every voice, every accusation growing louder, blending into a cacophony of hatred.

Did I do it?

I tried to concentrate, to push through the fog in my mind. But every time I reached for a memory, it slipped from me, leaving nothing but a cold emptiness behind. The harder I tried to remember, the more it eluded me. I was drowning, suffocating in my own mind, unable to grasp anything.

And then, a whisper in the dark.

"You're not even human anymore, are you? You're a demon. You don't deserve to live."

The word demon twisted in my mind. My father's face flashed before me—his cold smile on his face as he had looked at me after my brother's death. I remembered the disgust in his eyes, the way he'd turned away from me, as if I were already dead. As if I were already a monster.

My thoughts began to spiral, the room spinning faster and faster as I tried to hold on to some shred of reality. Did I do it?

I didn't know. I couldn't remember.

I was a demon, wasn't I? A killer.

The fear, the confusion, the grief—all of it merged together, consuming me. I could feel myself unraveling, the edges of my sanity fraying. I didn't know what was real anymore. Was I the one who killed him? Was I the one responsible for his death?

I could feel my hands shaking, my body trembling uncontrollably. The darkness around me seemed to press in tighter, suffocating me, until I could hardly breathe. My heart raced, a frantic drumbeat in my chest as the walls of my mind crumbled. I didn't know who I was anymore.

"Confess," they shouted, their voices sharp, demanding. "Admit it. You killed him."

I couldn't. I couldn't remember. And yet… I felt it deep inside me—a gnawing sense of guilt that I couldn't shake. Something inside me was telling me that I had done something. Something horrible.

Had I killed him?

I didn't remember.

But maybe… maybe I was a monster. Maybe I had become the very thing I feared.

I felt the tears come, hot and bitter, streaming down my face as I curled in on myself. My mind was unraveling, the truth slipping further and further away. I had no defense, no proof to clear my name. All I had was a feeling—a cold, gnawing feeling that I had done something unforgivable.

And no matter how much I begged, no matter how much I screamed for the truth to come back, I knew deep down that it wouldn't matter. They had already decided what I was.

A murderer.

A demon.

And I would never be free.