The Dancer in Chains

Beneath the Blood Keep, deep within the forgotten veins of the ancient castle, a lone figure walked the dim tunnel that led toward the newly built prison chambers. In his right hand, he carried a rusted iron lantern, its flickering light casting restless shadows across the stone walls with every step he took.

He raised the lantern to light his way, but paused as a faint golden glow shimmered at the far end of the tunnel. Slowly, he lowered the lantern and continued forward, his footsteps quiet against the cold floor as he approached the distant light.

As he reached the entrance of the new prison wing, his appearance came into view. A man in his mid-thirties, tall and imposing—standing at six-foot-two. He wore a long, tattered black robe draped over the traditional Armor of the Centarious family. His short, tousled light-brown hair framed a face marked by war: hazel eyes that gleamed with quiet intelligence and weary strength, sharp features chiselled by years of battle.

He walked slowly through the corridor of the new prison, built after the fall of Aldric the Undying—ancestor of the Centarious family. That grim chapter ended when the Twelve Gods turned vampires into humans, and with their regained humanity came a desire to forget the horrors of the past. What Aldric and his Undying Court did to humans—and to the barbarian tribes of Old Celesto—remains a terrifying tale, whispered across the Astrion Imperium to this day. The night the Twelve Gods slew the Undying King and his council became known as The Red Supper—a tale that still haunts generations. To bury those memories, the Centarious family abandoned and sealed the old prison, raising this new one in its place.

From the entrance of the new prison, the tunnel led to a small hall. Above it, a layer of golden-yellow mana stones emitted a soft, perpetual glow. On either side of the entrance stood two empty guard posts—vacated due to the war. The long hallway continued until it ended at a plain wall flanked by iron gates. He passed the silent posts and approached a small room beside the gate, the only access point to the deeper prison cells and the dark chambers beyond.

He knocked on the door. For a few moments, only silence answered—then came the sound of a harsh cough. After a minute, a small window in the door slid open. An old man's voice rasped from within, "Come out—who is it?"

The man in the robe answered flatly, "One of Benjamin's men."

Though the old man opened the window, he could not see clearly. Age had taken his sight, worsened by years exposed to the underground's yellow mana stones. Though more durable than blue stones, prolonged exposure to yellow light gradually blinded those who dwelled beneath it.

Upon hearing the voice, the old man smiled faintly. "Has Lord Benjamin returned to the castle?" he asked, pushing a ring of iron keys through the opening.

Without a word, the robed man took the keys, turned away, and walked toward the iron gate, ignoring the old man entirely.

Unlocking the gate with a set of worn iron keys, he stepped into the long, dark corridor. At its far end stood a black stone wall, crowned by a single golden light—its glow soft and strange against the gloom. He paused for a moment, lantern in hand, then began walking toward the wall, his footsteps echoing through the silence.

On either side of the corridor stretched rows of iron-barred cells, cold and rusted with age. Most were empty, shadows clinging to their corners like cobwebs. But not all were silent.

Within some of the cells, twisted figures stirred—witches with hollow eyes, barbarian raiders, fallen Northern warriors, cutthroat assassins, and cursed souls long forgotten by the world above.

As he passed, they emerged from the dark.

Some begged for food, their voices raw with starvation.

Others pleaded for death, minds broken by years of solitude.

A few simply sat in silence, their empty gazes lost in madness.

But the man didn't look at them. He walked as if they did not exist, their cries washing over him like wind through the ruins of a forgotten temple.

Eventually, he reached the wall where the golden manna stone pulsed softly. Here, the corridor changed. The cells gave way to heavy iron doors—six on each side, twelve in total. These were the Dark Chambers, where the most dangerous prisoners were kept.

Ten of the doors stood open, empty. But two were sealed.

One held a boy known as Igor the Brave—a barbarian child who, according to legend, had stood his ground against William Centarious, a Rift Walker and Duke of the realm.

The other cell was more mysterious. Rumors whispered it held a mad woman, though none dared speak her name.

He knelt by the wall, placing the lantern at his feet. Then he pressed both hands to the stone and pushed with steady strength. Slowly, the wall groaned and slid aside, revealing a narrow gap. The golden manna stone continued to glow above the space where the wall had once stood.

Retrieving the lantern, he stepped through the opening. After four careful strides, its light revealed a towering black door veined with cracks and thick with ancient spiderwebs. He pushed it open with a grunt. The hinges groaned—a long, low sound that echoed like a death knell.

Beyond was a spiral staircase, carved from cold stone and dimly lit by torches embedded in the damp walls. Their flames danced like specters as he descended, step by step, deeper into the abyss.

At the bottom, he emerged into a vast and empty chamber, cloaked in stillness. Four heavy doors lined the walls—two on each side—sealed and untouched by time. He passed them without pause.

At the far end of the hall, he set the lantern down and placed his hands upon the stone once more. His fingers searched until they found the hidden mechanism.

A low grinding sound rumbled through the room. Dust fell like ash from the ceiling as the wall slid open, revealing yet another door, this one hidden in darkness.

He paused, then knocked twice—soft but deliberate.

A blinding white light burst through the opening, momentarily blinding him. He squinted and stepped forward. Pulling back the hood of his robe, he let it fall to his shoulders and placed the lantern by the threshold

Without hesitation, he stepped inside.

A vast, square hall stretched before him, its black stone walls cloaked in shadow and age—older than any other chamber in the castle. Torches lined the upper walls in neat rows, casting flickering light that barely pierced the gloom. Much of the hall remained drowned in darkness. The stench of bat and rat urine hung thick in the air, making each breath feel heavy and poisonous.

Two rows of towering stone pillars held up a magnificent ceiling, carved with a swirling mural depicting an ancient alliance of mythical creatures

Directly ahead stood a sacrificial altar—rectangular in shape, its crimson-stained surface cracked with age. At each corner stood a massive stone pillar, smaller than those in the two rows lining the hall, yet imposing in their own right. From these four pillars hung thick iron chains—new, untarnished by time. Each chain stretched toward the centre of the altar, but all ended the same way: snapped and broken, as if something once bound there had torn free.

He paused, a chill creeping down his spine.

Everything in this chamber was ancient, older than memory itself. But the chains were not. They gleamed like fresh-forged steel, cold and silent. Something had been bound here—and not long ago.

He pushed the thought away and looked past the altar.

Beyond it, atop a wide staircase stained dark red—like dried blood—stood a black throne, massive and foreboding. Above the throne, carved into the wall, was her image:

The chained Goddess of Night.

Mother of all living things.

She was etched in a grand relief, her face serene and unreadable, framed by flowing stone-carved hair. A halo of crescent stars crowned her brow. Her gown, sculpted with layered ruffles, flowed like liquid shadow. A fine net robe clung to her arms, melting into carved mist that pooled at her feet. Around her neck, a stone-carved chain coiled upward into the heavens, anchoring her mid-dance between divinity and despair.

She was grace and defiance—eternal and bound.

To the left of the ancient hall, a sealed door loomed, massive and motionless. A circle of carved moons adorned its surface, shimmering faintly in the torchlight.

The knight's gaze swept the room.

"Come out, you idiot," he barked.

From behind the throne of the ancient goddess, a girl stepped into view.

Chestnut-brown hair, dark eyes, pale skin. She wore the dust-stained maid's attire of House Centarious, daggers in hand. When she recognized him, the blades vanished with a flick of her wrists. Her expression twisted into mock delight.

"Brother!" she cried, darting toward him.

She leapt and wrapped her arms around him like an overexcited child.

He grunted and shoved her back. "Cut the act. I see right through you."

She smirked, unfazed. "You're no fun."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he snapped. "You tried to kill that moron on your first day! If I hadn't been here, that crazy bitch might've turned you into a wall ornament!"

Joan sighed theatrically. "I'd like to see her try. Besides, I already got what we needed. So why do I still have to play pretend as that jerk's maid?"

"Forget him," her brother said, lowering his voice. "I'll take it from here. Tomorrow is the Blood Moon. When it reaches its peak, the door will open. That's your chance—head straight into the Dark Forest and find the Goddess of Night's temple. Shift your form and vanish. I'll meet you there. We'll figure out the mission together."

Joan clenched her fists briefly, then forced a sweet smile. "Of course, brother."

His expression softened.

"You haven't eaten, have you?"

He reached into his robe and pulled out a crust of bread and a small pouch of water. She took them without hesitation, flopping down on the altar with a dramatic groan.

"You're feeding me on a sacrificial altar. How romantic," she quipped between bites.

He just shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he watched her eat.

When she finished, he rose and turned back toward the castle. His footsteps echoed through the haunted hall, swallowed quickly by the dark.