“Oh, all right. If you insist.” His smile widens, but his red eyes are utterly void. “Let’s make it three.”
At his nod, they release me. I scream as I plummet. The fall lasts forever. When I land at the bottom, I feel my wrist snap. The pain of it pales in comparison to the crossbow bolts, which tear my flesh as they jar loose, widening my wounds.
Breathless, I gape up at the faraway sky.
It reminds me of being at the bottom of the beacon back in Hylios. Staring up that endless obelisk toward a remote circle of light.
“Welcome to Dymmeria, Rhya.” Efnysien’s voice floats down to me. “We are so very happy to have you with us.”
With that, the light disappears as an iron hatch slams shut.
I lie in the utter darkness. There is no light. No sound. No air. I am at the very depths of the earth.
I will die down here,I think, mind fracturing into pure panic.I will desiccate and decay.
I will never be found.
I will fade away into nothing.
As though I never existed.
“Let me out!” I scream to no one, voice cracking like glass.“Let me out of here!”
But he does not.
And there is no answer from the endless dark.
At first, Ihold on.
To hope.
To memory.
I push through the pain that persists even as I work the bolts from my flesh. Through the torment that remains even after my snapped wrist stitches itself back together. Through the clawing panic that never wanes, a constant reminder of my confinement. Through the muddling haze of the obsidian cuffs that make me question my own sanity.
I try to remember life before.
I try to keep the good things close.
Pretend you are in the clouds,Soren whispers in my opaque mind.Feel the wind on your face, in your hair.
You are not here. You are flying free.
Breathe, skylark. Just breathe.
I want to weep, but I have no moisture left in my body for tears. It dried up long ago, sucked out of me by the desert heat that, even down here, seems to wick every bit of water from the earth. Dehydration is a distant state; my very bones feel dry as tinder.
I am given only enough food and water to survive, delivered by guards who never show their faces or speak to me. There is no rhyme or reason to their schedule I can discern. Occasionally, they will toss down a moldy bit of bread, so hard I can scarcely gnaw through it. Other days, the hatch opens and a bucketful of water is dumped unceremoniously down the shaft. I slurp it from puddles off the floor before it runs into the drain in the corner where I relieve myself, tasting dirt and grime and blood with every desperate sip.
We’ll be out of here soon,a familiar deep voice promises, rumbling like water over a bed of stone.Back in Hylios. Back in the sunlight. Think of that, not this place.
After a time, no amount of memories can warm my heart. My damaged body has healed itself as much as possible, but there is no cure for my ravaged soul.
A friend once expressed to me her wish for death. I can no longer recall her name, but I can conjure her face when I focus intently. Her red hair, blazing in the dark.
Do not wish for death,I told her.Not ever. No matter what. Life is the most precious gift we are ever given. To squander it would be a waste. To stop living in the face of loss…it does a disservice to those who are no longer here with us.
What a hypocrite I was.