Arbiters of Existence

Now what the hell is going on here!

Rhys was dumbfounded as Silas and Goro knelt before him.

For a long, awkward moment, the only sounds were the distant clatter of chains and the faint drip of water somewhere in the prison's stonework.

This was actually a good thing — Rhys realized. Locals of this wildly unfamiliar territory were pledging allegiance to him.

He had no idea why, but it was clear they believed something about him that he didn't understand. His mark still burned against his skin, a constant reminder that whatever power he was tied to, it wasn't something he could control — or even explain.

After thinking up a way forward, Rhys finally came to a resolution. He would fake it.

"No," Rhys said flatly, shifting against the cold wall behind him.

Silas opened his mouth to protest before Rhys quickly cut him off.

"It doesn't matter what you think I am, or rather what I used to be— it's a no."

Silas blinked, his head still bowed, but the corner of his mouth quivered upward in a thin smile. "Ah, of course. Humility. A rare trait."

You think too highly of me, nobleman. Humility isn't the issue here.

Goro remained silent, a solid, unmoving figure. His massive hands rested on his knees, but his head was still slightly lowered out of reverence.

Silas finally rose, dusting off his ragged coat. "Forgive us, Master Rhys. We meant no offense. It's simply… unexpected to find an Eshe user here."

There it was again. Eshe user.

Rhys had no clue what that meant — but if these two thought he was one, then going along with it might not be a bad idea.

He squared his shoulders, trying to look more confident than he felt. "I'm not exactly at full power," Rhys said, carefully choosing his words. "My abilities… they've been sealed."

Silas arched his brow. "Sealed, you say?"

"Yeah," Rhys muttered, fingers brushing the Mark on his neck.

Rhys flailed his arm in the air, as if displaying his body and missing arm.

"I was involved in a great battle and as you can tell, I was not the victor."

Goro let out a long, subdued groan while Silas grimaced.

"And my mind also appears to have been fragmented since I awoke. So my memory is… complicated."

That part wasn't a lie. Rhys had been off his game since he came to Haloway. It's like his mind has been constantly foggy.

Silas exchanged a brief glance with Goro, then stepped closer — his voice lowering. "I suspected as much. The Mark on your neck… it has no glow to it."

Maybe cause it's still awakening but you don't have to know that.

Rhys' heart thudded painfully against his ribs. He didn't answer, hoping the silence would push Silas to fill in the gaps.

Thankfully, Silas took the bait. "Eshe users," he began, "were once a race of people — set apart, gifted. They drew their strength from Eshe itself — the force that encompasses all aspects of life and existence. Creation, destruction, time, death… all threads of the same tapestry."

Rhys listened attentively, trying his best to look stoic. Yes Silas, fill me in on the lore!

Silas' voice grew distant, his gaze far away as if remembering a world long gone. "The Eshe users were granted the authority to command certain aspects. Not only the elements — but the very fabric of reality. Some could summon fire as easily as some could slow a beating heart. They weren't merely mages — they were arbiters of existence."

The weight of those words hung in the air.

"Arbiters of existence," Rhys muttered under his breath, trying to grasp the scale of what Silas was saying.

Silas nodded solemnly. "Yes. And for a time, they thrived under the Dark Lord's protection. Since the Empire feared Eshe users, he emerged as the most powerful of them all and became their guardian."

The Dark Lord again.

Rhys kept his expression neutral, though his mind spun. He had no desire to dwell on that particular name.

From there, Rhys could piece together what happened based on what Silas already said before.

The Dark Lord disappeared. And with his absence, the world turned on the Eshe users. They were seen as a threat — a force too wild, too dangerous without someone to keep them in check.

"Let me guess," Rhys muttered. "People started hunting them down."

"Correct." Silas' smile didn't reach his eyes. "Many were killed. Others… well, those with stronger ties to Eshe found themselves in places like this." He gestured to the prison walls. "Caged, starved, broken — so their power would never rise again."

Rhys' Mark flared suddenly, the burn sharp enough to make him wince.

Silas caught the movement. "It's no wonder you've been sealed, Master Rhys. They must have feared what you could become."

Rhys didn't respond. All he had now was more questions. Was his Mark the same one that the Revenants in the real world have? And Lenny's as well

The silence was broken by the sudden clanging of metal against metal.

"On your feet, you dogs!"

A guard — clad in dark, dented armour — appeared at the bars, banging a wooden club against the iron. His face was hidden beneath a grimy helmet, but his voice dripped with cruel amusement.

"Which one of you is the lucky bastard today?" the guard sneered, pulling a scroll from his belt. His eyes scanned the names, then stopped. "Ah. You."

The cell door groaned open.

The guard pointed directly at Rhys.

"You're up."

Silas' jaw tensed, but he said nothing. Goro remained still, his massive hands flexing slightly.

Rhys' pulse thundered in his ears. "Up for what?"

The guard's smile widened. "You'll see."

Thick, iron cuffs were placed on Rhys' wrist and neck, agitating the bruises from the last time he was cuffed.

Before Rhys could react, rough hands grabbed him and yanked him from the cell.

Bastard! You're lucky I never accepted their offer. Otherwise I would have told Goro here to mess you up!

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He was led through a maze of stone corridors — damp, dark, and reeking of rust. Chains clinked softly in the distance, a constant reminder that this place was designed for suffering.

The Mark of the Damned burned hotter with every step, like it knew what was coming.

Finally, they stopped before a thick wooden door. The guard pounded twice, and the door creaked open.

The room beyond was vast — too vast for a prison chamber — with high ceilings lined with blackened torches. The air was heavy, stale, like something ancient was asleep beneath the stone.

At the centre of the room stood a cage large enough to hold something far bigger than a man. The iron bars had purple rune-linings and were twisted, as though whatever had been inside had tried — and nearly succeeded at breaking free.

And then Rhys saw it.

The creature — if you could even call it that — was a twisted mass of muscle, sinew, and teeth. Its limbs were long and uneven, as though someone had stitched together parts of different beasts, leaving them to rot before forcing life back into the abomination.

Claws scraped the stone floor with a rhythmic, maddening screech, each twitch of its misshapen fingers sending fine sparks against the damp ground.

Its skin was a patchwork of blackened flesh and raw sinew, with tendrils visibly wriggling about under its skin.

The moment the door swung open, its hollow eyes snapped to Rhys — unblinking, boiling and hungry.

The guard shoved Rhys forward.

"Survive," he said simply, his voice almost bored.

The cage door groaned open.

Rhys' nose was instantly assaulted by the familiar acrid stench of scorched ash. This gave him flashbacks to the subway Reaper that sent a cold shiver down Rhys' spine.

The creature stepped forward — a slow, deliberate movement — and the click-clack of bone and claw echoed off the walls.

It was big.

Even hunched, it completely dwarfed Rhys — towering over him, its spine a jagged ridge pushing against the thin layer of burnt flesh. Strings of saliva hung from its crooked jaw, sizzling when they hit the stone floor.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

Not this again.