Chapter nineteen

Chapter Nineteen – Beneath the Surface

The halls leading to the dungeons were cold, the flickering torches doing little to chase away the damp chill that clung to the stone walls. Elyra followed Draven in silence, her thoughts a whirlwind of questions. Who was this captive? And why had he survived when so many others had not?

The guards stationed at the dungeon's entrance straightened as Draven approached, their fists thudding against their chests in salute. Without a word, he pushed open the heavy iron door and stepped inside. The scent of damp earth and old blood filled Elyra's senses as she followed.

A single lantern illuminated the cramped cell at the end of the hall. Inside, a man sat shackled to the wall, his clothes tattered, his face married with bruises and dried blood. His dark eyes flickered toward them, filled with a mix of defiance and exhaustion.

Draven stepped forward, his voice devoid of warmth. "You have one chance. Speak, and I may grant you a swift death. Stay silent, and I will ensure you suffer before the end comes."

The man let out a rough chuckle, his lips curling despite his injuries. "Death does not frighten me, King."

Elyra studied him closely. He did not look like an ordinary soldier. There was something calculated about him, something that spoke of deeper knowledge. She stepped closer, ignoring the guards' wary glances.

"You were there," she said, her voice firm. "You saw what happened. Tell us what you know."

The prisoner's gaze shifted to her, his expression unreadable. "And who are you to demand answers?"

Draven's patience was visibly thinning. He crouched down to the prisoner's level, his voice dropping into something even colder. "She is the one standing between you and a painful end. I'd choose wisely."

A long silence stretched between them before the prisoner exhaled, shaking his head. "You do not know what you are dealing with."

Draven's eyes darkened. "Then enlighten us."

The man lifted his chin, resistance burning in his eyes. "It is not an army you are fighting. It is a force far older, far more dangerous. You think you can win by spilling blood? You are already playing into their hands."

Elyra frowned. "Who are they?"

The prisoner smirked. "You will find out soon enough."

Draven's patience snapped. He surged forward, gripping the man's collar, his voice low and lethal. "Enough riddles. Speak plainly, or I will make you."

The prisoner winced but did not waver. "Kill me, and you'll never know."

Elyra could see the frustration tightening Draven's jaw, but she also saw something else, like a flicker of hesitation. He was weighing his options, deciding whether this man's life was worth the information he might possess.

Finally, Draven released him with a shove and turned to Elyra. "We'll get nothing more out of him tonight."

As they stepped back into the corridor, Elyra cast one last glance at the prisoner. He was still watching her, a knowing glint in his eyes, as if he held a truth neither she nor Draven were ready to hear.

Something about this unsettled her.

As they climbed the stairs leading back to the main halls, Draven's voice was quieter, almost thoughtful. "He's not lying."

Elyra nodded slowly. "Which means whatever we're facing… it's worse than we thought."

Draven didn't answer, but his silence spoke volumes.