The Echoing Void

Chapter 3: The Echoing Void

Time within the cell was endless. Every minute was a fight against obstinate cold and wan light that only managed to push the shadows aside. Asher lay on a thin bed, his frame still trembling from the shock of his return and the agony of betrayal. His heart pounded with memories of that fateful moment the burning pain, the flood of forbidden power, and that single, haunting word: "KHAELOS."

For what felt like hours, Asher sat quietly, bracing his locked hands against the cell's rough stone walls. The runes carved into the surface pulsed weakly, holding his feral strength in check. His thoughts drifted back to the Sanctum of Awakening and the destruction that had ravaged his life. Now, in place of the potential for a new life, he was left with questions, pain, and an overwhelming feeling of isolation.

A metallic, heavy clank shattered the quiet. The cell door creaked open, and one figure in a black robe stepped in. The hood covered most of their face, but the voice was unmistakably cold and calculated—a voice with a weight of cruelty.

"Reeds," the figure said, each sentence brief and direct. "It is time for you to be questioned."

Asher's throat tightened. "Questioned? After what happened? after you all sent me here for possessing something I have no idea of" he struggled to get out, his voice full of anger.

The interrogator approached, the dark light barely a glimpse of sneer below the hood. "You have awoken a force we do not understand," said the figure with a voice that dripped condescension. "A power that breaks the balance we have maintained so long. It is dangerous, and it must be explained."

Asher's head was a maelstrom of confusion and pain. "I had no choice," he whispered. "I just. I just did what I was told to do. But when my blood touched the pool, something changed. I heard a voice—just one word: KHAELOS. I saw destruction and a stranger I've never seen. I feel this power running through me, but I have no idea what it is.".

The interrogator's gaze, hidden behind darkness, seemed to reach inside him. "KHAELOS," mocked the voice, the sound of the word itself a bitter joke. "No one knows what that. What did you actually see, Reeds?"

He stood there for a second, holding himself back as if he was too heavy. Asher pinched his eyes shut, struggling to recall the vision. His voice trembled with raw emotion when at last he spoke. "I saw nothing of our world," he answered, his voice laden with despair. "I saw devastation beneath an sky full of strange, frozen stars. There was a man a god, but not of our tales or of anything we know. It was as if he was calling to me, trying to make me remember something lost. I do not know what it is. I only know that it altered me forever."

A cold, threatening laugh, low and ominous, issued from the hooded figure. "Your words are as weak as your condition, Reeds. You speak of visions and voices, but you have no idea what they are. Do we look like philosophers to you? The power that you share is not a gift, it is a deformity. And we will not allow deformities to disrupt the sacred order we have spent all our lives maintaining."

Anger and hurt welled up in Asher. "I am not a freak!" he bellowed, tears burning in his eyes. "I feel this power as much as anyone else. I did not go looking for it, but now it is a part of me. I want to know about it, not be locked up like an animal.".

The interrogator's tone grew icy. "Knowledge comes at a price, Reeds. What you're looking to learn could kill you, as it has killed others in your stead. We keep these abilities in check for a reason to keep balance that you foolishly try to disrupt."

Asher's voice broke. "I trusted the Order. I believed you were protectors. And now I don't even think you guys have a function anymore."

For a lifetime, the room was quiet only for the deep breathing—the sadistic silence before further torture. Then the interrogator leaned forward, voice dropping to a whisper that was tinged with sadistic glee. "You will be taken before the High Arbiter, Reeds. You will tell all about your visions. And afterward, we shall decide whether or not you pose a threat that must be destroyed or a fascination to be employed."

The interrogator's mouth curled up in a scornful smile which Asher was unable to see. "You will not be alone. You will be company for others like yourself—others whose abilities have alienated them from the Order. They already await you in the holding cells, and you will join them soon. Maybe, together, you will have some scraps of truth in your suffering.".

A shiver ran through Asher as the door creaked open wider. The hooded figure indicated that he should stand. Asher stood, his hand shaking, his red-rimmed eyes filled with determination though he was trembling. He was led down a dark passageway where the muffled voices and footsteps echoed against the stone walls. Each step was heavier than the last, each tick closed him in on a fate he did not wish for.

At the other end of the corridor, the cell door led into a larger common holding cell. Flickering, dark lighting revealed several other prisoners cowering in the shadows. Their eyes, filled with a mixture of resignation and desperate resolve, met his as he was pushed into the space. Some bore fresh scars; others had lost hope long ago.

Of the group was a thin man whose eyes appeared haunted and a young woman with a stubborn expression. They did not say a word, but their quiet presence provided a small sense of relief to a battered victim now declared an outcast.

In that moment, Asher's mind flashed. Beyond the fear, beyond the pain, beyond the harsh criticism of the interrogators, he had a spark, a spark of rebellion. Even if the High Arbiter and his followers thought him a threat, he would never let them destroy his spirit. He would find the truth to the accursed word, to the black magic which had changed him, and perhaps, possibly, learn how to take back his own destiny.

The hooded interrogator's tone cut through the silence once more. "Prepare yourself, Reeds. You will soon stand before the High Arbiter and be judged for your deeds. Remember, any defiance of the Order will hasten your demise.".

When the door closed on him, enveloping him among his new acquaintances, Asher took in a shaky breath. He knew that the following days would be days of suffering and uncertainty, but he was conscious of something: he would not be caged by fear. Even in the midst of individuals who were fated like him, he clung to the hope that being aware of his power—however taboo it was—was the only path to break free from these bonds.

And far down inside him, the echo of "KHAELOS" pulsed like a heartbeat, an unspoken call to which he vowed to answer, no matter blackened the path grew.

The creaking, heavy door clamped shut and for a moment, Asher sat in shocked, breathless solitude with his only companion the hammering pulse in his body. The clammy, rocky wall against the backs of his hands fought to steady his panicky mind. He had no idea what the word was, nor did anybody else here—yet it changed him, and it now surged through him as a gentle mutiny.

Before he could get lost in his own daydreaming, the scuffling of feet and the soft murmurs drew his attention to the other side of the cell. Slowly, the other prisoners were led in from the corridor. Their exhausted, pinched faces were each a wordless witness to suffering and isolation. There were no words of visions or secret names; they simply existed in this bleak, unforgiving space.

A thin, grizzled man with tired eyes broke the silence as he settled onto a hard bench. "New blood," he said quietly, not unkindly, "you look like you've been hit by a storm." His tone was matter-of-fact, as if suffering was nothing new in these walls.

Asher grunted weakly, the untempered anger still burning just beneath his skin. "I. I don't know," he croaked, his voice gritty with confusion. "I heard something—a word. And I saw things… things I don't have words for. Now they tell me I'm a danger and I've been bless by a devil."

A young woman with firm eyes, her face pinched in with unspoken resolve, leaned forward. "Dangerous, or just different?" she asked, her tone strong but gentle. "They never make the effort to look at us. They just look at the things they fear." Her eyes met his, and for a brief moment, there was the flash of mutual comprehension.

The grizzled man snorted softly. "Different was all we ever were to them. They institutionalized us not for what we did, but for not being their perfect image. We're not criminals for hearing a word we can't define or because we have powers related to darkness, but we're issues they want to keep concealed from everyone else.".

Asher experienced betrayal once again. He had believed the Order, prayed that they would guide him, and now where was he—marked as an anomaly on no proof whatsoever, convicted by the unseen power that had coursed through him. "I never asked for this," he uttered, his voice cracking on the verge of desolation. "I never desired any of this gift. I merely… I merely did as I was instructed."

The girl's eyes softened, though they immediately hardened with determination. "We've all had things given us to make us small," she said to him. "But even in here, even when they try to break us, we have to hold on to ourselves. We are more than the Order fears."

A heavy silence fell between them, punctuated only by the distant rumble of machinery and the quiet breathing of the prisoners. For an instant, Asher's fury melted into a thoughtful stillness. He looked around at these faces, so full of subdued grief and unyielding hope.

A harsh bellow from down the corridor by one of the guards interrupted their hushed conversation. "All prisoners, prepare to move. You are to be presented before the High Arbiter shortly."

The group shifted, resigned. The grizzled old man stood up and fastened his tattered coat. "They think that by packing us in like sardines, they can break us," he growled in a low, bitter tone. "But do not worry. We must hold on to what little light we have.".

Asher's heart pounded for the second time today not with fear and anger this time, but with growing determination. He recalled the interrogator's taunting words and bitter scorn that had followed the strange word. Although none of them actually knew what "KHAELOS" meant, it was a secret already that had changed him. And in changing, he felt a spark of something that would not be extinguished.

A guard's footsteps echoed as the prisoners were disturbed from their silent cohesion. Asher stood without a word, even a nod, and walked with them. The corridor stretched before them, dark and unforgiving, a path to the High Arbiter's judgment was a judgment that would seal his fate.

But as he took a step forward, Asher held on to one thought: even if the Order didn't know or could not name the power within him, he would struggle to know its truth. He would not be defined by the Order's unfeeling edict or by a word no one else knew. In the shared hush and sorrow of his cellmates, a promise was sworn: together, maybe they could learn to survive and one day, maybe, to untangle the mystery that now pulsed in him like a wayward heart.