The Journey, Book 2: Chapter 36 - Previous Chapter
Chapter 37: Found
The cell was damp and cold, the stone slick beneath her fingertips. Shadows pooled in the corners like stagnant water, and the metallic tang of rusted chains hung in the air. She sat cross-legged against the wall, eyes closed, muscles coiled with tension. Her breathing was shallow, controlled, each inhale measured. Every sound mattered—the drip of water from the ceiling, the scrape of distant boots, the faint shift of wind through the bars.
A few days ago, she had felt it in the air: someone had discovered her name. A tremor had passed through the world, subtle and fragile, and it had set her nerves on edge. The thought of reaching outward with her mind terrified her; she could barely hold herself together as it was. She would not act yet. She could only listen, only observe, only wait.
Outside her cell, Matthious moved with predatory precision. His grey-green eyes scanned the maps and parchment spread across the table, calculating, plotting, hunting. Each line of blood, each surviving fragment of his family, each potential heir, it was all prey to him. His obsession with control and destruction blinded him to the world beyond his sight, and certainly to the elf quietly tucked into shadows.
She opened her eyes just enough to let them adjust to the dim light, ears straining to catch the faintest shift in sound. Footsteps, whispers, the distant hiss of the torches, each one told her more than a casual glance ever could. Fear pressed in on her from every angle, but it sharpened her senses, made her aware in ways she had never been before.
She remained still. Silent. Waiting. Every nerve screamed caution, every instinct urged patience. Matthious, grey-green eyes gleaming with the promise of annihilation, was too absorbed in his meticulous hunt to notice the quiet observer in his midst.
And though a change was approaching, a ripple she could sense but not yet define, she would not reach out. Not now. Not yet. For now, all she could do was listen, survive, and hide in the darkness that had become her only friend.
The female elf lay sprawled across the rough-hewn stone table, her wrists and ankles bound by thick, iron-cuffed chains. Every movement scraped her against the coarse surface, leaving small abrasions on her skin. Matthious’s grey-green eyes glinted with cold calculation as he moved deliberately around her, each gesture precise and merciless.
He began with her fingernails, one by one, the sharp tug of metal against flesh eliciting a stifled gasp from her lips. Each tiny shriek was music to his ears, a testament to his control. But he did not stop there, small cuts were drawn across her arms, legs, and torso, enough to sting and bleed but not enough to end her life. Pain, he knew, was the perfect tool to fracture the mind.
Hours passed like this, a twisted rhythm of agony and whispered threats. Matthious leaned close, grey-green eyes boring into hers. “Tell me,” he hissed, voice like gravel sliding over steel, “or this will continue until your mind breaks completely.”
Her breaths were ragged, shallow, but her eyes burned with stubborn defiance. A thin line of blood ran from a cut on her cheek, her hair plastered to her sweat-soaked skin, but her voice remained steady.
“Even if I told you… my name…” she whispered, voice strained but firm, “you wouldn’t remember it… at all.”
Matthious froze for a fraction of a heartbeat, his expression flickering. The dark obsession in his eyes tightened, shadowed by disbelief and fury.
“You dare…” he began, fingers curling into claws of frustration, but the female elf simply glared, pain and fear coiled together, her defiance sharper than any weapon he could wield.
Her body ached, every nerve screaming from the torment, but her mind remained hers. Matthious could inflict endless suffering, carve fear into flesh and spirit alike, yet the one thing he could not touch was the secret she carried within, the name that would remain forever out of his grasp.
And in that defiance, in that quiet, burning assertion of control, a small seed of hope sparked in the darkness of her captivity.
Matthious’s grey-green eyes narrowed, his breathing quickening, each exhale ragged with the effort of containing the fury that boiled within him. The female elf’s words had struck deeper than any wound he could inflict, her defiance, her calm certainty, were intolerable.
He picked up a small, jagged blade from the table, flicking it between his fingers, but the rage choked his movements. The chains clinked and rattled as he slammed a hand onto the table, making her flinch. “You will break! You will speak!” he hissed, voice low, grinding with menace.
Her gaze never faltered. Pain had made her body scream, but her mind remained sharp, defiant. “You can do what you like, Corrupter,” she whispered, hoarse yet steady. “Even if I spoke, you wouldn’t remember my name.”
That was it. The last thread of Matthious’s composure snapped. He threw the blade with violent force across the room, embedding itself into the wall with a harsh clang. The table’s other implements—tweezers, hooks, metal clamps, followed, clattering to the stone floor in a chaotic, echoing crash. The noise reverberated off the cell walls, a symphony of his fury.
He stalked in a tight circle, grey-green eyes glowing with wrath, fists clenched so tightly that the knuckles turned white. His usual meticulous, controlled cruelty was replaced by raw, erratic violence.
The elf lay there, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, bruises forming, cuts still stinging, but in her eyes there was no fear of his temper, only calculation, observation, and a sliver of quiet, burning defiance.
Matthious’s fury had given her a momentary edge. He was consumed, lost in his own rage, and for the first time in days, his focus wavered.
In that fleeting instant, she began to note the subtle shifts in his movements, the twitch of his fingers when angered, the way his rage made him unpredictable, tiny fissures in his otherwise absolute control.
And though the chains bit into her wrists and ankles, and the pain throbbed in every nerve, she realised something dangerous, and potentially powerful: even at his most enraged, Matthious had weaknesses.
He roared, pacing again, muttering curses through gritted teeth. The implements lay in twisted heaps around the floor, useless without his precise touch, while the elf waited, silent and watchful, letting his fury do more damage to him than to her.
The elf lay chained to the rough-hewn stone table, every nerve ablaze from pain, yet her eyes burned with unbroken defiance. Matthious’s grey-green eyes flicked over her constantly, his fury coiling and uncoiling like a living beast.
She had been subtly testing him, nudging at his anger with small movements, tiny smirks, even a quiet laugh that only reached him. Each act drew more fire from him, his hands twitching, fists clenching, his mind sharpening around her torment.
Then, when the moment was thick with tension and pain, she whispered, soft but deliberate, her voice carrying the weight of her identity:
“My name… Corrupter… is Dorianna.”
Matthious froze mid-step, claws clutching at the air as if to grab the thought itself. His mind recoiled violently, twisting and clawing, trying to hold onto the name, to force it into memory. But it was gone, vanished as if it had never existed. He gnashed his teeth, eyes widening in disbelief, grey-green irises clawing at his own skull.
He tried again, repeating it in his mind, his lips moving, voice hoarse with frustration. Dorianna… Dorianna…
But the name slipped through his mental fingers, mocking him. It clawed at him from somewhere deep in his memory, just out of reach, teasing him, leaving only the torment of knowing he could not remember it.
“Impossible…” he hissed, his voice low and strangled, a growl that seemed to scrape the stone walls themselves. He pounded the table with his fists, chains rattling and sparks of dark energy flickering from his fingers.
The elf’s chest heaved, every bruise and cut aching, but a spark of grim satisfaction burned behind her eyes. Even as Matthious raged and clawed at his own mind, she remained untouchable. Her name, her essence, was a secret beyond his grasp, an invisible barrier he could neither cross nor destroy.
He roared, a low, grinding sound that shook the cell, but the name stayed hidden, lodged forever in a place his fury could not reach. And in that moment, a terrifying truth settled in the air between them: even the Corrupter, for all his power and rage, could not claim what she had not given.
Matthious’s grey-green eyes flared with impotent rage, veins standing out across his temples as he clawed at his own memory. Every time he tried to grasp the name, it slipped further from him, like smoke running through his fingers. His hands shook, not from weakness, but from pure, searing frustration.
Dorianna’s lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. Her body ached, every nerve screaming from the torture, but her mind remained razor-sharp. She let a teasing, soft laugh escape her, the sound echoing cruelly in the cell.
“You… still can’t remember, Corrupter?” she whispered, tilting her head so her hair brushed the chains with a delicate rustle. “My name… Dorianna.”
He lunged toward the wall, striking it with a force that sent sparks of dark energy fizzing across the stone. “Impossible! I know it!” he growled, voice cracking like splintered wood.
She let him writhe for a moment before speaking again, loud enough for him to hear every syllable:
“Dorianna… Dorianna… isn’t it lovely when it escapes you?” Her tone was honeyed, playful, laced with venom. She leaned forward slightly, chains rattling, and let the words roll off her tongue, deliberately slow and clear, savouring the impact.
Matthious flung his arms, knocking over a pile of torture instruments. The room erupted in a chaotic clatter of metal, stone, and echoes of his own fury. Each time he tried to speak the name, it dissolved in his mind, leaving only a gnawing, maddening void.
Dorianna’s smile widened, though it was faint and worn with exhaustion. “I’ll say it again… just for you. Dorianna.” Her voice was calm, teasing, intimate, and relentless. “Try as you might, Corrupter… it will never stay.”
The air itself seemed to quiver with Matthious’s rage. Sparks of dark energy danced from his fingers, crackling and scorching the stone, yet he could not focus it on her. Every surge of power was misdirected, channelled into his frustration at the memory slipping away.
He staggered back, clutching his head, grey-green eyes wild, breathing ragged and uneven. “I will remember! I will! That wretched name…”
Dorianna chuckled softly, each laugh like a needle pressed against his obsession. “You won’t… and I’ll keep reminding you. Dorianna.” She whispered it again, rubbing it in, letting each repetition drive him closer to the edge. “Say it… remember it… oh, Corrupter, it’s so delicious watching you try.”
For a moment, Matthious’s fury became almost unhinged, all-consuming. Yet through the terror and pain, Dorianna’s mind remained untouched. She had turned his power against him, weaponized his obsession, and the knowledge that he could not claim even this tiny part of her gnawed at him worse than any torture could.
And so it went, a cycle of rage and teasing, chains and whispers, her voice a quiet, relentless torment, his mind clawing fruitlessly at the shadows where her name had been.
When she awoke, Dorianna’s head throbbed violently, every nerve screaming from the punch. Her vision swam and her thoughts staggered, slow and disoriented. She realised she was no longer on the torture table, rough stone walls pressed in on all sides, chains still biting into her wrists and ankles.
Her eyes were blurry, her chest heaving as she tried to orient herself. Every sound—the distant drip of water, the faint echo of movement in the cell block, seemed magnified, sending shivers down her spine. She tried to lift her head, to see if anyone else was near, but the room felt empty, silent except for her own ragged breathing.
Unseen, perfectly blended into the mud-streaked walls, a figure watched her. Human-like in form, its body smeared head to toe in grime, it remained motionless, every detail camouflaged against the rough stone.
She moved slightly, shifting her gaze across the cell, scanning for anything that might pose a threat, but her dazed state left her vulnerable. The figure in the corner stayed perfectly still, invisible, silent, a ghost in the stone. Not a single twitch or shadow betrayed its presence.
For now, she was utterly alone, unaware that eyes were upon her, silently observing her every movement.
Dorianna’s eyelids fluttered, a dull throbbing radiating from her temple as the fog in her mind began to lift. She shifted slightly, chains clinking softly, and drew in a shaky breath. Pain radiated through her body, but beneath it, a sharper awareness began to return—her senses slowly reconnecting to the room around her.
The air smelled damp and cold, stone pressing close on every side, yet she could hear more now: the faint scuff of boots echoing far down the hall, the distant drip of water from somewhere overhead, the subtle hiss of wind sneaking through cracks. Her muscles protested with every movement, but a spark of caution—and curiosity—pulled at her mind.
What she did not notice, however, was the figure in the corner. Every inch of the were-cat in human form was pressed against the mud-streaked wall, blending perfectly with the rough texture. Its breathing slow, careful, measured. It watched, assessing her, weighing her strength, her alertness, and her vulnerability. Not a single twitch betrayed its presence.
Dorianna slowly lifted her head, scanning the stone walls, the floor, even the shadows at the edges of her vision. She found nothing, no threat, no ally, nothing. The cell seemed empty. And yet, instinct whispered a quiet warning she couldn’t yet name, a shiver that hinted at unseen eyes.
The were-cat remained patient, silent. Every flick of its gaze followed her movements, noting the slight rise and fall of her chest, the subtle tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers fidgeted against the chains. It would not reveal itself yet; timing was everything. One wrong move, one premature gesture, and the delicate advantage it held could be lost.
Dorianna, for now, believed herself utterly alone.
Dorianna nibbled on the bread, her body still trembling, but her mind slowly untangling itself from the haze of pain and fear. She dared a glance toward the figure lurking just outside the bars.
“Who… are you?” she whispered, her voice hoarse and small, hoping for some answer, some reassurance.
The were-cat remained motionless, perfectly still, eyes tracking her with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. No words came. No hint of sound, only the patient, unwavering gaze of a silent guardian.
Minutes passed in heavy, tense silence, the kind that stretches time and warps perception. Dorianna’s eyes flicked away and back, trying to discern any movement, any indication that the creature might be a threat. But nothing. It simply watched, waiting.
Eventually, the were-cat shifted, scaling the corner of the wall with catlike stealth. Dorianna barely caught the movement, her heart thudding in her chest as the figure melted upward, slipping through some bars at the top of the cell and disappearing into the shadows beyond.
She blinked, unsure if it had really left. Then, suddenly, a head popped back into view, just above the bars. One clawed finger lifted to press gently against its lips.
Dorianna’s lips parted in a quiet breathless nod. No words were spoken, no sounds exchanged, just understanding, silent and complete.
The were-cat’s head vanished once more, leaving Dorianna alone in the dim cell, a small spark of reassurance lodged deep in her chest. For the first time in days, she felt… seen. And somehow, for the first time, she felt just a little less entirely alone.
Matthious stirred violently, jerking upright as if a dark current had struck through him. His grey-green eyes snapped open, sharp and calculating, and he moved with predatory speed out of his quarters. A single, loud clap of his hand echoed through the stone corridors, and the undgrolls shuddered, snapping back into motion as though the pause in their work had been nothing but a dream. The forges roared to life, crude weapons slammed against anvils, and the air filled with the harsh clamour of their industrious obedience.
The Corrupter stalked into the cell block, each step deliberate, his presence dragging a shadow of dread behind him. Dorianna, her body tense and stiff, shifted just enough to feign unconsciousness, her breathing slow and even, careful not to draw attention.
Matthious’s grey-green eyes swept over her like a predator circling its prey. He muttered under his breath, the words barely audible, yet seething with frustration and obsession:
“Why… can’t I remember her… fucking name?”
His gaze lingered on her, claws twitching in impatience. Every muscle in his body radiated barely contained fury, but Dorianna stayed still, letting the pretence of sleep hide her awareness. Her mind raced, forcing calmness over the rising tide of fear. Every subtle twitch of her eyes, every shallow breath, was carefully controlled, an illusion of helplessness in a storm of power.
The undgrolls, relighting fires and pounding metal, moved around them as if part of the background, deaf and blind to the silent battle of wills between the Corrupter and his prey.
Matthious began to pace the length of the cell block, claws dragging along the walls as he muttered and hissed to himself, words spilling in fragmented curses and snarled fragments of thought. His grey-green eyes darted, fever-bright, as though chasing something always just out of reach—her name, always slipping from his grasp.
The air around him thickened with his fury, the undgrolls keeping to their stations with a kind of dreadful silence, hammering softer, slower, as if afraid to draw his notice.
One of them, braver or more foolish than the rest, shuffled forward. Its frame was twisted, its movements jerky, and its voice carried a sickly, nasally tone. In its clawed hand it held a scrap of parchment, the ink smeared and dark.
“Master,” it croaked, bowing its head unnaturally low, “we may have the next heirs…”
Matthious snapped toward it in an instant, his claws curling. He snatched the parchment from the creature’s trembling grip with such violence that the edges tore. His eyes scanned the words, lips twisting into something unholy.
“Vivi… and Tivor…” he murmured, the names rolling off his tongue like venom. His voice dropped into a hiss, trembling with perverse satisfaction. “Hmm… yes… those are my kin.”
He lifted his gaze upward, toward the barred window where a thin shaft of light pushed against the gloom. His lips peeled back, and there spread across his face a grotesque, deranged smile, teeth bared, eyes alight with vile hunger.
Dorianna’s heart lurched at the sound of those names. Vivi. Tivor. The effort to keep her body still was agony. She forced her face into the slack mask of feigned sleep, every muscle screaming to recoil, every instinct to cry out. But she didn’t move. She didn’t breathe faster. She didn’t let her eyes flicker.
Every fibre of her being fought to hold that silence.
Matthious clutched the parchment in both hands, crumpling it until his claws tore through. His chest rose and fell in ragged, almost ecstatic breaths, each one laced with a low growl.
“Vivi… Tivor…” he whispered again, pacing the cell block like a wolf in a cage. His grey-green eyes gleamed with fevered light. “Blood of mine… little sparks of the line I thought snuffed out. Hiding. Breathing. Daring to keep living while I—while I—”
His voice cracked into laughter, hollow and jagged. He slammed his fists into the bars of Dorianna’s cell, the clang echoing like a hammer blow through the chamber. She didn’t flinch, though her every nerve screamed to recoil.
“They will not be heirs. No… they will be cinders. I will salt the earth they tread. I will—” He stopped abruptly, gripping his head in both hands, his claws dragging through his tangled hair. His muttering quickened, fragments spilling out:
“Her name—what is her name—why does it slip away—always—”
“Vivi, Tivor, Vivi, Tivor, mine to unmake…”
“Blood must be broken—roots pulled out—ashes scattered…”
He tore at the parchment again, shredding it into strips, then let the pieces fall, watching them scatter across the filthy stones. He began stamping them into the ground with wild, jerking movements, his laughter turning guttural, then breaking into a scream that made even the undgrolls flinch and draw back.
Dorianna’s pulse thundered in her ears, but she held herself still, eyes closed just enough to appear asleep.
Matthious spun suddenly, pointing at the undgroll who had delivered the message. “Bring me more. Find me more. Names. Traces. Bloodlines. I want every drop of that filthy kin torn out by the root.”
The creature bowed, backing away with grotesque reverence.
Matthious sank to his knees in the middle of the cell block, clutching at the stone floor with his claws, muttering again—Vivi, Tivor, Vivi, Tivor, her name her name her name—until the words tangled into a guttural, inhuman noise.
The undgrolls dared not move. The forges hissed and spat, but no hammer struck.
Matthious rocked on his knees, his claws raking long scratches across the stone floor. His muttering quickened, words tangling together until they were little more than snarls.
“Vivi… Tivor… heirs, heirs, heirs—mine to snuff out—her name—always gone—always slipping—”
His laughter cracked into a shout, then dropped into a guttural growl that made the walls seem to vibrate. The undgrolls shifted nervously, exchanging looks with their dull, sunken eyes, uncertain whether to continue their work or keep still.
Matthious’s head snapped up. He saw them hesitate.
“You stop when I speak?” His voice cut like a blade. He surged to his feet, pacing in quick, jerking strides. “You hesitate? You stare?” His grey-green eyes burned with feverish light as he lashed out at the nearest one, his clawed hand sinking into its flesh with a sickening rip. The creature screamed in a nasal, broken pitch before Matthious flung it aside like a rag doll, its body skidding across the stones.
The others trembled, pressing back against the walls.
“WORK!” Matthious roared, kicking over a brazier, sending coals spilling across the ground. “Hammer! Forge! Tear! FIND ME THE NAMES!” His rage exploded outward, every word punctuated by another act of violence—a hammer snatched from an undgroll’s hand and swung into its chest, a crude spear snapped over his knee and jammed through another’s throat.
The air filled with screams, sparks, the wet sound of breaking flesh. Dorianna kept herself curled in the corner of her cell, forcing her breathing slow, willing her trembling body to seem like one still locked in slumber.
Amid the chaos, no one noticed the faintest scrape of claws against stone high above.
Through the barred window, a shadow slid silently inward. The were-cat moved with impossible care, each limb folding and pressing flat, its mud-slick form melting against the wall until it became one with it. Only the faintest shimmer betrayed its passage as it climbed down into the chamber, blending into every curve of stone.
Matthious stood amid the carnage, chest heaving, blood dripping from his claws, the corpses of his own servants crumpled at his feet. His breath rasped through his teeth in uneven bursts, his mind snapping between obsession and blood-lust.
“Vivi… Tivor… her name… her NAME—” He struck the wall with his fist so hard his knuckles split, blood running down his arm.
The were-cat did not move. Hidden. Watching. Waiting.
Matthious stormed from the cell block, his cloak snapping behind him like the wings of some vast carrion bird. His boots echoed off the stone as he ascended the stairs, and soon the sound of a heavy stable door slamming carried through the halls. A moment later, the thunder of hooves pounded into the night.
Dorianna, though she did not dare open her eyes, felt his absence like the loosening of a vice. Only then did she allow herself a shuddering breath.
The silence stretched.
Then, slowly, the wall beside her shifted. Mud-dark skin melted into shape until the were-cat stepped free, moving with predatory grace toward her bars. Dorianna’s wide, bruised eyes fixed on him, heart hammering in her chest.
From his hand came another offering, a small bundle of Elven bread, its faint glow whispering of life and strength. He pushed it through the bars without a word.
She hesitated, then reached with trembling fingers. “Who are you?” Her voice was a rasp, little more than air.
The were-cat tilted his head. For the first time, his voice came, rough, low.
“Jeremy.”
Her lips parted in surprise. A name. A name willingly given.
Jeremy crouched, his golden eyes slitting against the gloom. With a careful twist of his clawed fingertip, he worked the crude lock of the cell. A dull click answered him, and the barred door sagged loose.
He fixed her with that unblinking gaze. “Eat,” he said simply. His tone held no softness, only certainty. “You will need every scrap of strength.”
Dorianna looked down at the bread in her hands, its light spilling faintly against her bloodied skin. For the first time in endless days, something like hope flickered at the edge of her despair.
Dorianna’s voice broke the quiet as she clutched the bread tighter. “Why are you helping me?”
Jeremy’s head tilted to the side, his mud-caked hair falling like matted reeds. His golden eyes narrowed, but not in malice.
“No-Name asked me to,” he said simply, as though the answer explained everything. “No one denies Snowy when she gets involved.”
The name struck her like a sudden bell. Snowy. Dorianna felt her chest hitch, a tremor running through her broken body. She flinched as if trying to cage the feeling before it escaped—but a smile, fragile and cracked, broke over her dry lips.
Snowy. Alive. Moving pieces. Still reaching for her.
She nodded once, sharply, as if anchoring herself back to purpose. “Ok, Jeremy,” she whispered hoarsely. “Let’s get out of here. Lead the way.”
The were-cat’s ears twitched at her words. Without reply, he rose to his full height, his movements silent as shadow. He walked towards the corridor like water finding a crack, pausing only long enough to glance back at her with those unblinking eyes. Then he beckoned her with a single, clawed finger.
The cell door creaked open.
Chapter 37: Found
The cell was damp and cold, the stone slick beneath her fingertips. Shadows pooled in the corners like stagnant water, and the metallic tang of rusted chains hung in the air. She sat cross-legged against the wall, eyes closed, muscles coiled with tension. Her breathing was shallow, controlled, each inhale measured. Every sound mattered—the drip of water from the ceiling, the scrape of distant boots, the faint shift of wind through the bars.
A few days ago, she had felt it in the air: someone had discovered her name. A tremor had passed through the world, subtle and fragile, and it had set her nerves on edge. The thought of reaching outward with her mind terrified her; she could barely hold herself together as it was. She would not act yet. She could only listen, only observe, only wait.
Outside her cell, Matthious moved with predatory precision. His grey-green eyes scanned the maps and parchment spread across the table, calculating, plotting, hunting. Each line of blood, each surviving fragment of his family, each potential heir, it was all prey to him. His obsession with control and destruction blinded him to the world beyond his sight, and certainly to the elf quietly tucked into shadows.
She opened her eyes just enough to let them adjust to the dim light, ears straining to catch the faintest shift in sound. Footsteps, whispers, the distant hiss of the torches, each one told her more than a casual glance ever could. Fear pressed in on her from every angle, but it sharpened her senses, made her aware in ways she had never been before.
She remained still. Silent. Waiting. Every nerve screamed caution, every instinct urged patience. Matthious, grey-green eyes gleaming with the promise of annihilation, was too absorbed in his meticulous hunt to notice the quiet observer in his midst.
And though a change was approaching, a ripple she could sense but not yet define, she would not reach out. Not now. Not yet. For now, all she could do was listen, survive, and hide in the darkness that had become her only friend.
The female elf lay sprawled across the rough-hewn stone table, her wrists and ankles bound by thick, iron-cuffed chains. Every movement scraped her against the coarse surface, leaving small abrasions on her skin. Matthious’s grey-green eyes glinted with cold calculation as he moved deliberately around her, each gesture precise and merciless.
He began with her fingernails, one by one, the sharp tug of metal against flesh eliciting a stifled gasp from her lips. Each tiny shriek was music to his ears, a testament to his control. But he did not stop there, small cuts were drawn across her arms, legs, and torso, enough to sting and bleed but not enough to end her life. Pain, he knew, was the perfect tool to fracture the mind.
Hours passed like this, a twisted rhythm of agony and whispered threats. Matthious leaned close, grey-green eyes boring into hers. “Tell me,” he hissed, voice like gravel sliding over steel, “or this will continue until your mind breaks completely.”
Her breaths were ragged, shallow, but her eyes burned with stubborn defiance. A thin line of blood ran from a cut on her cheek, her hair plastered to her sweat-soaked skin, but her voice remained steady.
“Even if I told you… my name…” she whispered, voice strained but firm, “you wouldn’t remember it… at all.”
Matthious froze for a fraction of a heartbeat, his expression flickering. The dark obsession in his eyes tightened, shadowed by disbelief and fury.
“You dare…” he began, fingers curling into claws of frustration, but the female elf simply glared, pain and fear coiled together, her defiance sharper than any weapon he could wield.
Her body ached, every nerve screaming from the torment, but her mind remained hers. Matthious could inflict endless suffering, carve fear into flesh and spirit alike, yet the one thing he could not touch was the secret she carried within, the name that would remain forever out of his grasp.
And in that defiance, in that quiet, burning assertion of control, a small seed of hope sparked in the darkness of her captivity.
Matthious’s grey-green eyes narrowed, his breathing quickening, each exhale ragged with the effort of containing the fury that boiled within him. The female elf’s words had struck deeper than any wound he could inflict, her defiance, her calm certainty, were intolerable.
He picked up a small, jagged blade from the table, flicking it between his fingers, but the rage choked his movements. The chains clinked and rattled as he slammed a hand onto the table, making her flinch. “You will break! You will speak!” he hissed, voice low, grinding with menace.
Her gaze never faltered. Pain had made her body scream, but her mind remained sharp, defiant. “You can do what you like, Corrupter,” she whispered, hoarse yet steady. “Even if I spoke, you wouldn’t remember my name.”
That was it. The last thread of Matthious’s composure snapped. He threw the blade with violent force across the room, embedding itself into the wall with a harsh clang. The table’s other implements—tweezers, hooks, metal clamps, followed, clattering to the stone floor in a chaotic, echoing crash. The noise reverberated off the cell walls, a symphony of his fury.
He stalked in a tight circle, grey-green eyes glowing with wrath, fists clenched so tightly that the knuckles turned white. His usual meticulous, controlled cruelty was replaced by raw, erratic violence.
The elf lay there, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, bruises forming, cuts still stinging, but in her eyes there was no fear of his temper, only calculation, observation, and a sliver of quiet, burning defiance.
Matthious’s fury had given her a momentary edge. He was consumed, lost in his own rage, and for the first time in days, his focus wavered.
In that fleeting instant, she began to note the subtle shifts in his movements, the twitch of his fingers when angered, the way his rage made him unpredictable, tiny fissures in his otherwise absolute control.
And though the chains bit into her wrists and ankles, and the pain throbbed in every nerve, she realised something dangerous, and potentially powerful: even at his most enraged, Matthious had weaknesses.
He roared, pacing again, muttering curses through gritted teeth. The implements lay in twisted heaps around the floor, useless without his precise touch, while the elf waited, silent and watchful, letting his fury do more damage to him than to her.
The elf lay chained to the rough-hewn stone table, every nerve ablaze from pain, yet her eyes burned with unbroken defiance. Matthious’s grey-green eyes flicked over her constantly, his fury coiling and uncoiling like a living beast.
She had been subtly testing him, nudging at his anger with small movements, tiny smirks, even a quiet laugh that only reached him. Each act drew more fire from him, his hands twitching, fists clenching, his mind sharpening around her torment.
Then, when the moment was thick with tension and pain, she whispered, soft but deliberate, her voice carrying the weight of her identity:
“My name… Corrupter… is Dorianna.”
Matthious froze mid-step, claws clutching at the air as if to grab the thought itself. His mind recoiled violently, twisting and clawing, trying to hold onto the name, to force it into memory. But it was gone, vanished as if it had never existed. He gnashed his teeth, eyes widening in disbelief, grey-green irises clawing at his own skull.
He tried again, repeating it in his mind, his lips moving, voice hoarse with frustration. Dorianna… Dorianna…
But the name slipped through his mental fingers, mocking him. It clawed at him from somewhere deep in his memory, just out of reach, teasing him, leaving only the torment of knowing he could not remember it.
“Impossible…” he hissed, his voice low and strangled, a growl that seemed to scrape the stone walls themselves. He pounded the table with his fists, chains rattling and sparks of dark energy flickering from his fingers.
The elf’s chest heaved, every bruise and cut aching, but a spark of grim satisfaction burned behind her eyes. Even as Matthious raged and clawed at his own mind, she remained untouchable. Her name, her essence, was a secret beyond his grasp, an invisible barrier he could neither cross nor destroy.
He roared, a low, grinding sound that shook the cell, but the name stayed hidden, lodged forever in a place his fury could not reach. And in that moment, a terrifying truth settled in the air between them: even the Corrupter, for all his power and rage, could not claim what she had not given.
Matthious’s grey-green eyes flared with impotent rage, veins standing out across his temples as he clawed at his own memory. Every time he tried to grasp the name, it slipped further from him, like smoke running through his fingers. His hands shook, not from weakness, but from pure, searing frustration.
Dorianna’s lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. Her body ached, every nerve screaming from the torture, but her mind remained razor-sharp. She let a teasing, soft laugh escape her, the sound echoing cruelly in the cell.
“You… still can’t remember, Corrupter?” she whispered, tilting her head so her hair brushed the chains with a delicate rustle. “My name… Dorianna.”
He lunged toward the wall, striking it with a force that sent sparks of dark energy fizzing across the stone. “Impossible! I know it!” he growled, voice cracking like splintered wood.
She let him writhe for a moment before speaking again, loud enough for him to hear every syllable:
“Dorianna… Dorianna… isn’t it lovely when it escapes you?” Her tone was honeyed, playful, laced with venom. She leaned forward slightly, chains rattling, and let the words roll off her tongue, deliberately slow and clear, savouring the impact.
Matthious flung his arms, knocking over a pile of torture instruments. The room erupted in a chaotic clatter of metal, stone, and echoes of his own fury. Each time he tried to speak the name, it dissolved in his mind, leaving only a gnawing, maddening void.
Dorianna’s smile widened, though it was faint and worn with exhaustion. “I’ll say it again… just for you. Dorianna.” Her voice was calm, teasing, intimate, and relentless. “Try as you might, Corrupter… it will never stay.”
The air itself seemed to quiver with Matthious’s rage. Sparks of dark energy danced from his fingers, crackling and scorching the stone, yet he could not focus it on her. Every surge of power was misdirected, channelled into his frustration at the memory slipping away.
He staggered back, clutching his head, grey-green eyes wild, breathing ragged and uneven. “I will remember! I will! That wretched name…”
Dorianna chuckled softly, each laugh like a needle pressed against his obsession. “You won’t… and I’ll keep reminding you. Dorianna.” She whispered it again, rubbing it in, letting each repetition drive him closer to the edge. “Say it… remember it… oh, Corrupter, it’s so delicious watching you try.”
For a moment, Matthious’s fury became almost unhinged, all-consuming. Yet through the terror and pain, Dorianna’s mind remained untouched. She had turned his power against him, weaponized his obsession, and the knowledge that he could not claim even this tiny part of her gnawed at him worse than any torture could.
And so it went, a cycle of rage and teasing, chains and whispers, her voice a quiet, relentless torment, his mind clawing fruitlessly at the shadows where her name had been.
When she awoke, Dorianna’s head throbbed violently, every nerve screaming from the punch. Her vision swam and her thoughts staggered, slow and disoriented. She realised she was no longer on the torture table, rough stone walls pressed in on all sides, chains still biting into her wrists and ankles.
Her eyes were blurry, her chest heaving as she tried to orient herself. Every sound—the distant drip of water, the faint echo of movement in the cell block, seemed magnified, sending shivers down her spine. She tried to lift her head, to see if anyone else was near, but the room felt empty, silent except for her own ragged breathing.
Unseen, perfectly blended into the mud-streaked walls, a figure watched her. Human-like in form, its body smeared head to toe in grime, it remained motionless, every detail camouflaged against the rough stone.
She moved slightly, shifting her gaze across the cell, scanning for anything that might pose a threat, but her dazed state left her vulnerable. The figure in the corner stayed perfectly still, invisible, silent, a ghost in the stone. Not a single twitch or shadow betrayed its presence.
For now, she was utterly alone, unaware that eyes were upon her, silently observing her every movement.
Dorianna’s eyelids fluttered, a dull throbbing radiating from her temple as the fog in her mind began to lift. She shifted slightly, chains clinking softly, and drew in a shaky breath. Pain radiated through her body, but beneath it, a sharper awareness began to return—her senses slowly reconnecting to the room around her.
The air smelled damp and cold, stone pressing close on every side, yet she could hear more now: the faint scuff of boots echoing far down the hall, the distant drip of water from somewhere overhead, the subtle hiss of wind sneaking through cracks. Her muscles protested with every movement, but a spark of caution—and curiosity—pulled at her mind.
What she did not notice, however, was the figure in the corner. Every inch of the were-cat in human form was pressed against the mud-streaked wall, blending perfectly with the rough texture. Its breathing slow, careful, measured. It watched, assessing her, weighing her strength, her alertness, and her vulnerability. Not a single twitch betrayed its presence.
Dorianna slowly lifted her head, scanning the stone walls, the floor, even the shadows at the edges of her vision. She found nothing, no threat, no ally, nothing. The cell seemed empty. And yet, instinct whispered a quiet warning she couldn’t yet name, a shiver that hinted at unseen eyes.
The were-cat remained patient, silent. Every flick of its gaze followed her movements, noting the slight rise and fall of her chest, the subtle tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers fidgeted against the chains. It would not reveal itself yet; timing was everything. One wrong move, one premature gesture, and the delicate advantage it held could be lost.
Dorianna, for now, believed herself utterly alone.
Dorianna nibbled on the bread, her body still trembling, but her mind slowly untangling itself from the haze of pain and fear. She dared a glance toward the figure lurking just outside the bars.
“Who… are you?” she whispered, her voice hoarse and small, hoping for some answer, some reassurance.
The were-cat remained motionless, perfectly still, eyes tracking her with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. No words came. No hint of sound, only the patient, unwavering gaze of a silent guardian.
Minutes passed in heavy, tense silence, the kind that stretches time and warps perception. Dorianna’s eyes flicked away and back, trying to discern any movement, any indication that the creature might be a threat. But nothing. It simply watched, waiting.
Eventually, the were-cat shifted, scaling the corner of the wall with catlike stealth. Dorianna barely caught the movement, her heart thudding in her chest as the figure melted upward, slipping through some bars at the top of the cell and disappearing into the shadows beyond.
She blinked, unsure if it had really left. Then, suddenly, a head popped back into view, just above the bars. One clawed finger lifted to press gently against its lips.
Dorianna’s lips parted in a quiet breathless nod. No words were spoken, no sounds exchanged, just understanding, silent and complete.
The were-cat’s head vanished once more, leaving Dorianna alone in the dim cell, a small spark of reassurance lodged deep in her chest. For the first time in days, she felt… seen. And somehow, for the first time, she felt just a little less entirely alone.
Matthious stirred violently, jerking upright as if a dark current had struck through him. His grey-green eyes snapped open, sharp and calculating, and he moved with predatory speed out of his quarters. A single, loud clap of his hand echoed through the stone corridors, and the undgrolls shuddered, snapping back into motion as though the pause in their work had been nothing but a dream. The forges roared to life, crude weapons slammed against anvils, and the air filled with the harsh clamour of their industrious obedience.
The Corrupter stalked into the cell block, each step deliberate, his presence dragging a shadow of dread behind him. Dorianna, her body tense and stiff, shifted just enough to feign unconsciousness, her breathing slow and even, careful not to draw attention.
Matthious’s grey-green eyes swept over her like a predator circling its prey. He muttered under his breath, the words barely audible, yet seething with frustration and obsession:
“Why… can’t I remember her… fucking name?”
His gaze lingered on her, claws twitching in impatience. Every muscle in his body radiated barely contained fury, but Dorianna stayed still, letting the pretence of sleep hide her awareness. Her mind raced, forcing calmness over the rising tide of fear. Every subtle twitch of her eyes, every shallow breath, was carefully controlled, an illusion of helplessness in a storm of power.
The undgrolls, relighting fires and pounding metal, moved around them as if part of the background, deaf and blind to the silent battle of wills between the Corrupter and his prey.
Matthious began to pace the length of the cell block, claws dragging along the walls as he muttered and hissed to himself, words spilling in fragmented curses and snarled fragments of thought. His grey-green eyes darted, fever-bright, as though chasing something always just out of reach—her name, always slipping from his grasp.
The air around him thickened with his fury, the undgrolls keeping to their stations with a kind of dreadful silence, hammering softer, slower, as if afraid to draw his notice.
One of them, braver or more foolish than the rest, shuffled forward. Its frame was twisted, its movements jerky, and its voice carried a sickly, nasally tone. In its clawed hand it held a scrap of parchment, the ink smeared and dark.
“Master,” it croaked, bowing its head unnaturally low, “we may have the next heirs…”
Matthious snapped toward it in an instant, his claws curling. He snatched the parchment from the creature’s trembling grip with such violence that the edges tore. His eyes scanned the words, lips twisting into something unholy.
“Vivi… and Tivor…” he murmured, the names rolling off his tongue like venom. His voice dropped into a hiss, trembling with perverse satisfaction. “Hmm… yes… those are my kin.”
He lifted his gaze upward, toward the barred window where a thin shaft of light pushed against the gloom. His lips peeled back, and there spread across his face a grotesque, deranged smile, teeth bared, eyes alight with vile hunger.
Dorianna’s heart lurched at the sound of those names. Vivi. Tivor. The effort to keep her body still was agony. She forced her face into the slack mask of feigned sleep, every muscle screaming to recoil, every instinct to cry out. But she didn’t move. She didn’t breathe faster. She didn’t let her eyes flicker.
Every fibre of her being fought to hold that silence.
Matthious clutched the parchment in both hands, crumpling it until his claws tore through. His chest rose and fell in ragged, almost ecstatic breaths, each one laced with a low growl.
“Vivi… Tivor…” he whispered again, pacing the cell block like a wolf in a cage. His grey-green eyes gleamed with fevered light. “Blood of mine… little sparks of the line I thought snuffed out. Hiding. Breathing. Daring to keep living while I—while I—”
His voice cracked into laughter, hollow and jagged. He slammed his fists into the bars of Dorianna’s cell, the clang echoing like a hammer blow through the chamber. She didn’t flinch, though her every nerve screamed to recoil.
“They will not be heirs. No… they will be cinders. I will salt the earth they tread. I will—” He stopped abruptly, gripping his head in both hands, his claws dragging through his tangled hair. His muttering quickened, fragments spilling out:
“Her name—what is her name—why does it slip away—always—”
“Vivi, Tivor, Vivi, Tivor, mine to unmake…”
“Blood must be broken—roots pulled out—ashes scattered…”
He tore at the parchment again, shredding it into strips, then let the pieces fall, watching them scatter across the filthy stones. He began stamping them into the ground with wild, jerking movements, his laughter turning guttural, then breaking into a scream that made even the undgrolls flinch and draw back.
Dorianna’s pulse thundered in her ears, but she held herself still, eyes closed just enough to appear asleep.
Matthious spun suddenly, pointing at the undgroll who had delivered the message. “Bring me more. Find me more. Names. Traces. Bloodlines. I want every drop of that filthy kin torn out by the root.”
The creature bowed, backing away with grotesque reverence.
Matthious sank to his knees in the middle of the cell block, clutching at the stone floor with his claws, muttering again—Vivi, Tivor, Vivi, Tivor, her name her name her name—until the words tangled into a guttural, inhuman noise.
The undgrolls dared not move. The forges hissed and spat, but no hammer struck.
Matthious rocked on his knees, his claws raking long scratches across the stone floor. His muttering quickened, words tangling together until they were little more than snarls.
“Vivi… Tivor… heirs, heirs, heirs—mine to snuff out—her name—always gone—always slipping—”
His laughter cracked into a shout, then dropped into a guttural growl that made the walls seem to vibrate. The undgrolls shifted nervously, exchanging looks with their dull, sunken eyes, uncertain whether to continue their work or keep still.
Matthious’s head snapped up. He saw them hesitate.
“You stop when I speak?” His voice cut like a blade. He surged to his feet, pacing in quick, jerking strides. “You hesitate? You stare?” His grey-green eyes burned with feverish light as he lashed out at the nearest one, his clawed hand sinking into its flesh with a sickening rip. The creature screamed in a nasal, broken pitch before Matthious flung it aside like a rag doll, its body skidding across the stones.
The others trembled, pressing back against the walls.
“WORK!” Matthious roared, kicking over a brazier, sending coals spilling across the ground. “Hammer! Forge! Tear! FIND ME THE NAMES!” His rage exploded outward, every word punctuated by another act of violence—a hammer snatched from an undgroll’s hand and swung into its chest, a crude spear snapped over his knee and jammed through another’s throat.
The air filled with screams, sparks, the wet sound of breaking flesh. Dorianna kept herself curled in the corner of her cell, forcing her breathing slow, willing her trembling body to seem like one still locked in slumber.
Amid the chaos, no one noticed the faintest scrape of claws against stone high above.
Through the barred window, a shadow slid silently inward. The were-cat moved with impossible care, each limb folding and pressing flat, its mud-slick form melting against the wall until it became one with it. Only the faintest shimmer betrayed its passage as it climbed down into the chamber, blending into every curve of stone.
Matthious stood amid the carnage, chest heaving, blood dripping from his claws, the corpses of his own servants crumpled at his feet. His breath rasped through his teeth in uneven bursts, his mind snapping between obsession and blood-lust.
“Vivi… Tivor… her name… her NAME—” He struck the wall with his fist so hard his knuckles split, blood running down his arm.
The were-cat did not move. Hidden. Watching. Waiting.
Matthious stormed from the cell block, his cloak snapping behind him like the wings of some vast carrion bird. His boots echoed off the stone as he ascended the stairs, and soon the sound of a heavy stable door slamming carried through the halls. A moment later, the thunder of hooves pounded into the night.
Dorianna, though she did not dare open her eyes, felt his absence like the loosening of a vice. Only then did she allow herself a shuddering breath.
The silence stretched.
Then, slowly, the wall beside her shifted. Mud-dark skin melted into shape until the were-cat stepped free, moving with predatory grace toward her bars. Dorianna’s wide, bruised eyes fixed on him, heart hammering in her chest.
From his hand came another offering, a small bundle of Elven bread, its faint glow whispering of life and strength. He pushed it through the bars without a word.
She hesitated, then reached with trembling fingers. “Who are you?” Her voice was a rasp, little more than air.
The were-cat tilted his head. For the first time, his voice came, rough, low.
“Jeremy.”
Her lips parted in surprise. A name. A name willingly given.
Jeremy crouched, his golden eyes slitting against the gloom. With a careful twist of his clawed fingertip, he worked the crude lock of the cell. A dull click answered him, and the barred door sagged loose.
He fixed her with that unblinking gaze. “Eat,” he said simply. His tone held no softness, only certainty. “You will need every scrap of strength.”
Dorianna looked down at the bread in her hands, its light spilling faintly against her bloodied skin. For the first time in endless days, something like hope flickered at the edge of her despair.
Dorianna’s voice broke the quiet as she clutched the bread tighter. “Why are you helping me?”
Jeremy’s head tilted to the side, his mud-caked hair falling like matted reeds. His golden eyes narrowed, but not in malice.
“No-Name asked me to,” he said simply, as though the answer explained everything. “No one denies Snowy when she gets involved.”
The name struck her like a sudden bell. Snowy. Dorianna felt her chest hitch, a tremor running through her broken body. She flinched as if trying to cage the feeling before it escaped—but a smile, fragile and cracked, broke over her dry lips.
Snowy. Alive. Moving pieces. Still reaching for her.
She nodded once, sharply, as if anchoring herself back to purpose. “Ok, Jeremy,” she whispered hoarsely. “Let’s get out of here. Lead the way.”
The were-cat’s ears twitched at her words. Without reply, he rose to his full height, his movements silent as shadow. He walked towards the corridor like water finding a crack, pausing only long enough to glance back at her with those unblinking eyes. Then he beckoned her with a single, clawed finger.
The cell door creaked open.
The Journey, Book 2: Chapter 38
Chapter 38: Ghostly In the middle of the Delphinian Swamps, a camp lingered where no camp should be. Captain Jason Moore and his men had been trapped there for two decades, bound by a curse none of them understood. If they strayed too far from the rough circle of their makeshift settlement...
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