Chapter 11: Chains of Uncertainty

The rhythmic pounding of hooves against the dirt path echoed through the dense, darkened forest. Clip-clop, clip-clop--faster. Valen gritted her teeth, as the wind howled past her ears. The scent of damp earth and wild flora filled her lungs, but beneath it, she could feel the charge in the air.

"Estrilda!" she called out over the rush of the wind. "How much farther?"

Riding beside her, Estrilda closed her eyes briefly, sensing the disturbance in the air. The silver lines, the very essence of mana, fluctuated violently ahead. She opened her eyes and answered, her voice steady. "Not far, my liege. However, we need to take a detour—cut through the forest. It will be the fastest route to reach the source."" 

"Then we take the detour," she muttered under her breath, yanking the reins to veer off the paved road and into the dense wilderness. A grin spread across Valen's face as she gripped the reins with one hand and unsheathed her sword with the other. Adrenaline surges through her body. Her grip tightened. This was it. Her opportunity. If she could uncover the source of this discrepancies and slay whatever monstrous being lurked within, none would dare challenge her right to the throne.

She snapped the reins, her voice low with determination. "I can't let that sister of mine have the glory. I need to find and finish it before they arrive."

The horses leapt over fallen logs. Their hooves striking down with renewed urgency. Clip-clop, clip-clop--the pace quickened. The forest around them grew eerily still, as if holding its breath in anticipation. Shadows stretched unnaturally beneath the trees, twisting and curling like unseen hands grasping at the edges of reality.

Then, they reached a wall of thick intertwined vines. Valen wasted no time, she raised her sword high and sliced through them in one swift motion. The severed vines fell away like withered limbs, thus revealing what lay beyond.

A boy.

He was sprawled in the middle of the clearing, his arms spread wide as if he had collapsed from exhaustion. His orange shirt was torn from the waist up, his skin marred with scratches and faint burns, yet his breathing was steady. Estrilda's brows furrowed. "A beggar? Out here in the woods?"

"No." Valen's sharp gaze assessed him. "If he were a beggar, his clothes would be filthy. But they're not." Her voice dropped into suspicion. "Check for mana. Are you certain we've reached the source?"

Estrilda concentrated once more. The silver lines still pulsed heavily through the air, flowing and dispersing. She focused on the boy, then blinked in surprise. "This is the place. There's no doubt about it. And… the boy also seems to have some mana. He's no ordinary child." She paused. "Could he be a noble?"

Valen exhaled slowly, a new thought forming in her mind. Regardless of his origins, they couldn't just leave him here. And if he was tied to the mysterious mana radiating through the forest lately, then there is no doubt he was valuable. Perhaps even the key to uncovering the strange events that have been going on lately.

"Take him with us," she commanded.

With that, they turned back toward the road, the boy's unconscious form draped across one of their horses as they rode toward the palace.

A dull ache pulsed through his body as he stirred awake. Cold iron clamped around his wrists, the heavy chains dragging against the floor as he shifted. His orange shirt was torn and frayed at the edges, exposing his bruised skin. He tried to move his arms, but the weight of the shackles made even the simplest action exhausting.

The cell was small. It was barely enough space to stretch out. The iron bars, thick and rusted, stretched from floor to ceiling. Their edges sealed into the stone like prison bars forged by time itself. A solid iron lock hung on the bars, ensuring no chance of escape. The walls were a bleak shade of gray, rough and uneven, built from greyish stones that gave the air a damp suffocating scent. The only source of light came from a small, square window near the ceiling, its iron bars crossing over it in jagged patterns. Dust floated through the dim light creating an eerie stillness. A white bed, that was as rough as stone and bolted to the wall by thick chains, was the only piece of furniture in the cell. It was from this unwelcoming slab that he had awoken. He listened closely, but there was no sound, no voices, no footsteps, no signs of anyone else. He was alone.

His breathing was shallow and his mind foggy. He tried to remember. How had he gotten here? Why was he here? But his thoughts were jumbled, fragmented like a puzzle missing half its pieces. He had vague recollections... a fight, a monstrous tree, a slime? A strange unease settled over him as he sensed the silver lines in the air, their presence oddly familiar, like something just out of reach. He raised a trembling hand, straining against the chains, reaching towards the unstable presence. The moment his fingers brushed against the silver lines, his body reacted instinctively absorbed them as if welcoming an old friend.

A rush of memories surged through him, as blurred images of a bouncing orange blob rushed toward him, a sensation of warmth, a voice calling a name he couldn't quite grasp. But it was still unclear as if he was looking at reflections in a broken mirror.

The sound of clinking keys snapped him out of his trance. A figure loomed outside the cell; a guard dressed in dark armor. He sorted through a massive ring of keys before selecting one and sliding it into the lock. The heavy creak of the door echoed in the empty prison.

"Where am I?" the boy rasped, "What do you want from me?"

The guard ignored him, stepping forward with a firm grip on his chains. "Get up."

The boy struggled against the weight of his shackles. "At least take these off—"

"No talking."

As they walked through the dim corridor, the boy's persistence and curiosity grew. "Who brought me here? Is this a mistake?"

The guard remained silent with his grip firm.

"Come on, at least tell me who I'm supposed to be meeting," the boy tried again, shifting his wrists in frustration.

The guard exhaled sharply through his nose. "You'll find out soon enough. Now walk."

A tense silence followed. The boy clenched his jaw, then muttered, "This place is empty… Am I the only prisoner?"

The guard's steps didn't falter. "You ask too many questions."

"So that's a yes," the boy mused, mostly to himself.

The guard's grip on the chain tightened in response, yanking him forward with just a bit more force than before. Still calm, still composed, but now irritated.

After a short walk, they arrived at another room. Inside, two wooden chairs sat across from each other with a single wooden table between them. One chair was noticeably taller than the other.

"Sit down," the guard ordered, his voice sharp with command.

It was obvious which chair was meant for him. With difficulty, he sat in the smaller one, his chains clinking against the chair's arms. The guard said nothing else. He merely stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind him. The heavy slam sent a shudder through the air, followed only by the fading sound of retreating footsteps.

And then, silence.

He was alone once more. Waiting.