Chains (4)

They gathered, with those who supported her arriving in seconds. Five had stalled, testing her limits.

Cynthia tapped her finger. With every tap, the weight of the air in the room rose. They scrutinized her as they ignored the pressure. If she acted out of place in front of them, they'd use it against her.

She released the pressure. "The Light Pantheon located one of our training worlds and one recruit. They imprisoned her in a Carcux Realm near Afeola's core."

"Afeola?" Viden chuckled. His eyes were vague and unfocused. Eighteen chromatic eyes floated, locking onto everyone in the room, with four focused on her. They all had vague and unfocused white irises. "Is that not within your jurisdiction? This recruit is Ayla, isn't it? Imprisoned in a Carcux Realm. Why ask us to come here when your negligence is obvious? To seek help for the recruit you have feelings for?"

Adjacent to Cynthia, Medoa, a petite brown-haired girl, trembled.

Viden always tried to outdo Cynthia and her faction. As a Seer, he peered into the future and the fates of all. A master of his craft. He had years of planning and changing fates to gain the position of leader of Asteria after her mother, but Cynthia snatched it. This peeved him, an ancient like Cynthia's mother, who took pride in his experience and talent, unlike her mother.

"It is." She said, ending her tapping. "But I'm not here to ask for help—"she scrunched up her fingers, creating a shadow that slithered through the table and reached for Viden—"I'm here to tell you, it's not a coincidence. When creating Asteria, my mother designated certain training worlds for recruits that would escape the eyes of the Light Pantheon. We did that for their full development into assassins."

"Did you perhaps overlook creating countermeasures in case they exploit loopholes in that plan?" Viden asked, raising his eyebrows. "You're too young to lead, and your mother's choice of you as a leader reflects poorly on her judgment. Youth is clouding your mind, and you are too naive. I..."

The shadow affixed itself to his leg.

No more Precognition.

He frowned as his swarm blinked repeatedly and faded to dust. His eyes returned to black. Despite claiming he was the most fit to be the leader of Asteria, he depended on the fickle nature of fate and the future to form every plan. Viewing the future was useful, but it had flaws. One of those flaws led him to not take account of Cynthia's mother's death, which had led Cynthia to be the leader.

"You're the Seer," she smiled, "and as the Seer, it's your duty to perceive and change our predicaments in our favor. Ensure the safety of all recruits, whether they are yours or mine. Having failed to ensure their safety, I'm punishing you with the responsibility to ensure that my recruit, Ayla, returns unharmed. If you attempt anything against Asteria and its recruits, action will be taken in accordance with Asterian Law. Once you return, you will spend a month in the void, dedicated to a Seer. After a month, I will assess if you completed your sentence properly. Am I clear?"

Viden's frown twitched at the corners.

"I said, 'am I clear'?"

"Yes."

"Good." Cynthia stood up. "Medoa, come to my living quarters."

Medoa jumped out of her seat, pumping her fists into the air. A smug grin flashed across her face.

Cynthia teleported away. Medoa followed a second later.

****

A faint rattling of chains woke Ayla, clanking at varying intervals, with its sound alternating between loud and soft. She wiggled her body, and chains rattled from above and below. A white cuff bound her wrists together, straining her arms as it suspended her on her toes. The handcuffs left burns on her wrists, like hot blades piercing her skin, as her demonic energy surged to heal.

Individual cuffs bound her ankles, connected by a chain to four stakes at the room's corners. She was naked, her armor, dress, and underwear all taken. Brisk air cooled her sweat.

She extended her right arm through the tight cuff, grinding her wrist against the inside while her other hand supported her weight. It burned. A scream surged up her throat, wanting out. She gritted her teeth and bit her tongue. She wouldn't let it. Quiet groans escaped. The moment her wrist broke free, she exhaled, taking a heavy, long breath.

Now that her wrist was free, she needed to break the cuffs. Cycling demonic energy, the collar stole half the energy as it passed, while the cuffs took the rest.

The collar hummed, seeming delighted at its feast, and tightened around her neck. As her heart raced, her breaths grew shallower. Within seconds, she panted, sweat dripping all over, as an aura broke out of the cuffs and latched onto her right wrist and hand. Then it constricted, encompassing and shrinking her hand. She screamed—an echoing scream that racked her ears.

Her scream stopped, her vision darkened, and she regained consciousness later. She lost track of time, but the pain from the constricting collar had subsided, leaving the poking of the cuffs. Her right hand had returned to normal, and her wrist slipped back into the cuff. She had lost the energy and desire to try again.

With a wheezy breath, she opened her status screen, which hazed with static before blinking out. She attempted to access Afeola's interface, but it did the same. Without a system or energy, she grasped the severity of her situation. But she wasn't hopeless. Not yet. She had one more thing to try.

Cynthia. She called. Maybe she would respond. She called again. Once more, once more. Her hope dwindled as her throat dried up after her 50th call. No answer. Had their connection been severed? Did this place cause?

The room was white, but it was not the Cathedral hall. It sparked a memory. A white bed against the wall, a white wardrobe across from it, and a white desk. On the desk, a white ink dip pen sat in a holder next to a stack of blank papers. A white door beside the desk opened into the bathroom. Behind her was another white door, but this one was different. Wider and thicker. It led outside. An exact white replica of her Inn room in the capital.

She bit her lip, and blood welled up in her mouth. From behind, a door clicked open. She tensed. Footsteps plodded, bumping into one of the chains anchored to the floor. It rattled. Was it Mya? Did she bring her into this room? Ayla winced. She was at the mercy of whoever it was.

Mya came into view, one white glove on. A smile spread from ear to ear. "I stripped you because it's a common torture procedure, but I'm sure you're"—her smile faded as her gaze rose to her chest—"fine."

Ayla shivered under her gaze and bowed her head, curling her lips. Those eyes. What were they? It wasn't lust. Not cynicism, hatred, or affection. What she found was cold—colder than winter snow. Colder than ice, it was incomparable and devoid of human empathy. The thought of a lack of empathy for enemies or former humans struck a disconcerting chord in her mind.

So this is it?

Mya's eyes returned to normal. "Anyway, eat this." She flicked a tiny demon crystal at Ayla, which bounced off her and clinked on the ground. "I forgot you were hooked up. I'll feed you."

Picking up the crystal, she brought it close to Ayla's mouth. "Now, open wide."

Ayla clenched her jaw while examining the crystal. Her system glitched, disappearing. Expected, but worth a try. The crystal contained a swirling cloud of demonic energy. Laying a trap while she was already vulnerable was pointless. Still, she refused to comply. It could have a soul-binding effect.

"You won't let me?" She frowned and then grabbed Ayla's jaw. Her grip was light, but the glove burned. She pried it open and tossed the crystal in. "It's best to be in top condition. Don't—"

The crystal melted on her tongue, releasing a surge of demonic energy that flowed down her throat and into her energy channels. As it reached her core, her essence slowed and unraveled, replenishing her energy reserves and leaving her breathless. Mya had left.