# The Prisoner
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The jungle wrapped around him like a beast with no face.Its humid breath clung to Skiller's skin, and the symphony of wildlife echoed faintly in his mind—lost behind the pounding of his heart.He walked with heavy steps, the eyes of Björn's men burning holes into his back.But the gaze that hurt the most… was hers.
Daesa.His wife.His anchor… and his curse.
Is this how it ends? Chained. Humiliated. Unable to protect those I love.
The thick air pressed down on his lungs. Every breath was a fight. The chains around his wrists were tighter than his will.
He scanned the terrain. No escape. No miracle untouched by blood.Doubt slithered through the underbrush like a venomous snake.
She needs me alive. The family needs me alive… but also free.
The thought repeated in his skull like a war drum, trying to carve out courage.He felt the presence of Björn's soldiers in the shadows, waiting—one spark away from igniting the whole forest.
With a deep breath, Skiller made his choice.It wasn't bravery.It was love—that wild, desperate love that held him together.
He raised his hands in surrender.And felt the cuffs snap around his wrists like the sealing of a fate with no return.
—I'll be back sooner than you think, Daesa, —he said, locking eyes with her.His voice was a promise... and a goodbye.
—No! —Daesa cried, racing toward him through the storm as tears blurred her sight.
She clung to him like her body could halt time.Her heartbeat slammed against his chest as if willing his soul to stay.
—I love you... —she whispered through sobs— We'll bring help. I swear it, Skiller.
—Don't forget our promise, —she whispered, pressing her forehead to his— The world can break us, but it won't tear us apart. Not this time.
Skiller swallowed hard. Her touch burned like ice and flame.
—If I die, don't mourn me. Go to the river. Plant jasmine.Tell them I fought till the end... for you. Or just walk away from this cursed clan.
She let out a sharp sob, holding him tighter, as if that embrace could fuse their souls before he was dragged away.
The click of the cuffs stole Daesa's breath.The future crumbled beneath them.The Ghali brothers were cornered—drawn into a crossroads where the true war had only just begun.
Björn watched with his usual cold, calculating gaze.No empathy. No rush.
—Move, Skiller, or your kin will pay with their heads.
—Ibo tecum, modo tui arma deponunt et conductos relinquunt, nihil ad rem habent, nihil sciunt.(I'll go with you. But your men must lower their weapons and leave the workers. They know nothing.)
His voice was steady. Dignified.Even in chains, he carried himself with pride.
Björn lifted one finger. The weapons slowly dropped.But peace never came.
—Spectaculum sane dignum es.(You're quite the spectacle.)
Daesa's eldest brother burst forward, rage burning through his words:
—You were one of us, Björn! You'll pay in blood for what you did to our family!
Björn smiled with the chill of a blade. Adjusting his leather jacket, he replied:
—Just following orders. Nothing personal.
Daesa collapsed into her brother's arms, her sobs spilling like rain, her body trembling as Skiller was dragged toward the darkness.
For a fleeting second, temptation bit into him.Darkness seduced him. Whispered like a cruel lover.
His jaw tensed.Fangs elongated with hunger.
One move—just one—and the hot flesh of a guard would tear beneath his teeth.
But then… her voice.
"We'll bring help. I promise, Skiller."
A strangled growl escaped him.He reeled himself back.
No. Not yet.
—Noli me spectare hanc scenam gravissimam et festinare.(Don't make me witness this pathetic display, Skiller. Move.)
Björn's voice cut through the air in ancestral Latin—detached and poisonous.
Present:
The stench of dampness swallowed the dungeon whole.Water dripped. Steel clinked. Pain echoed.
Skiller sat chained, every breath a reminder of the weight he chose to bear.Blood seeped from his wounds, painting the stone floor while the dark gnawed at his edges.
In his mind, the Amazon roared back.
The birds.The river's murmur.Sunlight filtering through green.
Home.
Now... just a ghost, replaced by this stone tomb.
I can't lose control... not again.
Thirst shredded him from the inside.A storm of instinct clawed to the surface.The vampire inside howled for release.
I won't lose anyone else.
Daesa's face appeared.So clear. So bright.
Like the first time I saw her.
That memory held him. Anchored him.
I have to resist… for her. For our family. I can't fall now.
The hinges shrieked.The iron burned into his wrists.Voices haunted him. Laughter scraped the stone.The dry blood cracked his skin. Every heartbeat was a knife.
A high-pitched ringing drilled into his left ear.
For a moment…He thought of surrendering.
What's the point of fighting when there's nothing left to hope for?
But then—
The face of his youngest son.
The one yet unborn when he left.As if his bloodline—as the first diurnal—had gifted him with the power to see what had not yet come.
—No... —he growled, like his voice alone could shatter the darkness—You won't take this from me.
Metal groaned.
A silhouette blocked the flickering torchlight.
Varek entered, footsteps slow, his violet eyes glowing with glacial indifference.
—Still alive, Skiller? Impressive. But tell me... how much longer can you really last?
His voice was ice sliding across the stone.
Skiller locked eyes with him.His body was shattered, but his will still burned.
—Love keeps me alive, Varek. Something you'll never understand.
Varek chuckled—short, bitter.
—Love. How poetic.Let's see how long that illusion holds... once I'm done with you.
—You think this is a war, Varek, —Skiller snapped, voice rising through pain—But it's not about power. It's love that holds us together.And you? You're just… empty.
Varek turned slightly, one eyebrow arched.
—Love is the prelude to pain. —His tone was calm, almost philosophical—And you, dear Skiller... are about to learn how much pain love can bring.
He turned and walked away.The echo of his steps faded into the stone.
But even in the dark, Skiller's gaze stayed fixed on the memory of Daesa.
For her… for us… I will endure.