Nine

Arin's eyelids fluttered open, heavy and reluctant. A dull ache throbbed through her body, a symphony of stiffness and soreness that made her groan involuntarily. She tried to move, but her limbs felt leaden, her muscles protesting with every twitch. A wave of confusion washed over her as she took in her surroundings.

She was in a room, a strange room, a room soft and muted, filled with shadows and the faint scent of herbs. The bed beneath her was plush, the sheets smooth and cool against her skin. A single, flickering candle cast long, dancing shadows across the walls, creating an illusion of shifting shapes.

Where was she? How had she gotten here? She tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in her head made her wince. Her memory was a fractured mosaic, pieces scattered and disjointed. Then, like a tidal wave, the horror of her capture crashed over her.

The brutes. Gorok's lifeless eyes. The leader's cruel smile. The desperate, futile attempt to escape. The crushing weight of their brutal power, his hardness as he tried to impale her.

A wave of fear, cold and sharp, pierced through her and she clasped her legs tightly together. She shrank back against the bed, her body trembling, her eyes darting around the room. Were they here? Had they brought her here? Was this some kind of twisted game, a prelude to further torment?

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the memories, but they were relentless, replaying in her mind like a macabre film reel. The image of Gorok's lifeless body, the brutal efficiency of his execution, the hands on her body, sent a shiver down her spine.

The room was silent, save for the soft crackling of the candle. But the silence was heavy, pregnant with unspoken threats. Arin's senses were on high alert, every sound magnified, every shadow a potential enemy.

Suddenly, a soft thump echoed from a corner of the room, a corner shrouded in darkness. Arin's breath hitched and her hair flew as her neck snapped in the direction. Her heart pounded against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence. She strained her ears, trying to discern the source of the sound.

"Who is there?" she asked, her voice a hoarse whisper, barely audible. Fear made her voice rise, a panicked edge she couldn't control. "Who is there? Show yourself!"

The silence that followed was even more terrifying. There was no response, no movement, just the eerie stillness of the room. Arin's imagination ran wild, conjuring images of brutes lurking in the shadows, their eyes glowing with malicious intent.

She tried to sit up again, her muscles screaming in protest, but she managed to prop herself against the headboard. Her eyes, wide and dilated, scanned the room, searching for any sign of movement. She was trapped, vulnerable, at the mercy of whoever was in the room with her.

"Please," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Please, if someone's there, just… just tell me who you are."

The silence stretched on, an agonizing eternity. Arin's fear morphed into a desperate, frantic energy. She had to do something. She couldn't just lie there, waiting to be attacked.

She reached for the edge of the bed, her fingers trembling, searching for something, anything, she could use as a weapon. Her hand brushed against a small, ornate box, its surface cool and smooth. She grabbed it, her grip tight, her knuckles white.

With a surge of adrenaline, she threw the box towards the dark corner, the sound of its impact shattering the silence. "Show yourself!" she screamed, her voice raw with fear. "I won't let you hurt me!"

*

The tavern was a dimly lit, raucous affair, a haven for the rough and desperate. Seren, shrouded in a dark, hooded cloak, moved through the throng of patrons with an unsettling grace, her presence an anomaly in the grimy establishment. She found the designated room, a small, private chamber at the back, and entered without hesitation.

Inside, a hulking brute, one of the few who had survived the recent skirmish, sat hunched over a table, a half-empty tankard of ale clutched in his massive hand. He looked up as Seren entered, his eyes widening in surprise.

"You came," he rumbled, his voice thick with a mixture of awe and fear.

"I came for answers," Seren replied, her voice low and dangerous. "What happened to the girl?"

The brute shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting around the room. "We were attacked," he stammered, his voice laced with fear. "Some warriors. They came out of nowhere. We didn't stand a chance."

"And the girl?" Seren pressed, her voice sharp as a shard of ice.

"They took her," the brute admitted, his eyes filled with a primal fear. "They took her, and they slaughtered the rest of us. I was the only one who managed to escape."

Seren's lips curled into a thin, cruel smile. "A failure," she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. "You were entrusted with a simple task, and you failed me."

The brute's eyes widened in terror as he realized the danger he was in. He tried to speak, to plead for his life, but Seren cut him off.

She raised her hand, her fingers outstretched, and a faint green glow emanated from the emerald ring she wore. The brute's eyes widened in horror as he felt his life force being drained away, his skin withering and drying like parchment. He gasped, his body convulsing, before collapsing to the floor, a wizened, desiccated husk.

Seren stepped over the corpse, her expression devoid of emotion. "A waste," she muttered, her voice cold and dismissive.

She stepped out of the room, her hood still concealing her face, and addressed the burly guard standing outside. "Clean this up," she commanded, her voice sharp and authoritative. "And make sure no one sees anything."

The guard, accustomed to her ruthless efficiency, nodded without question. He entered the room, his expression grim, and began the grisly task.

Seren exited the tavern and climbed into a waiting carriage, her movements fluid and graceful. Without waiting for a word the carriage started to move.

As the carriage rumbled through the darkened streets, Seren's mind raced. The loss of Arin was a significant setback, a complication she had not anticipated. She needed to reassess, to formulate a new plan.

The carriage arrived at the Packhouse, a sprawling, imposing structure that exuded an aura of power and authority. Seren stepped out after pulling off her hood to expose her beautiful heart shaped face with its feline features and arresting green eyes, and walked towards the entrance.

But as soon as she stepped a foot inside, a voice, sharp and commanding, stopped her in her tracks.

"Seren," the voice echoed through the grand entrance hall, "where have you been?"