A year later, Riley found himself summoned for yet another task.
He walked beside his father in silence, the echo of their footsteps bouncing along the narrow corridor.
His father’s expression was carved from stone—grim, unyielding—and Riley didn’t need words to understand the weight behind it.
Whatever lay ahead would not be simple.
The corridor stretched on endlessly, its walls damp and cold.
Torches mounted on iron brackets burned weakly, their flas twisting in the stale air, casting warped shadows that seed to slither across the walls.
The sll reached him first—a rank, suffocating stench that grew stronger with every step.
By the ti they erged into the chamber, Riley was prepared, but the odor still hit him like a fist to the gut.
The hall was vast, circular, and oppressive. Darkness pooled in its corners like stagnant water, while the torches lining the periter offered only ager light.
The air reeked of sweat, urine, and rot, a foul concoction that spoke of bodies left too long in misery.
The stone floor bore stains—dark, irregular patches that told silent tales of violence and suffering.
Chains hung from the walls, their tal links rusted and sticky with gri, clinking faintly as if disturbed by unseen hands.
"Hmmph..." Riley wrinkled his nose, lifting his sleeve to cover it in a show of distaste.
He let his features twist, his posture tighten—the perfect imitation of a naive, pampered heir recoiling from filth.
It was a role he’d mastered long ago, one that made people underestimate him.
Inside, however, his mind was cold and calculating, dissecting every detail, every possible reason for being brought here.
His father halted suddenly and turned.
The dim firelight painted hard lines across his face, deepening the shadows under his eyes.
He studied Riley for a long mont, gaze like a blade, sharp enough to peel away pretense.
"Raise your head, my son," he said at last, his voice calm but edged with steel. "What you are about to face... will make this stench feel like a gentle breeze."
Riley lowered his arm slowly, forcing his expression into sothing between defiance and hesitation—just enough to maintain the illusion.
His eyes t his father’s, wide with feigned uncertainty, even as his thoughts churned beneath the surface.
What could be worse than this?
A low sound drifted from the far end of the chamber.
A groan—or perhaps a growl. Chains rattled faintly in the darkness beyond the torchlight.
Then, silence. Thick and heavy.
Riley’s father moved forward without another word, and Riley followed, each step sinking him deeper into the heart of sothing grim and irreversible.
"Bring the man in," Alexander commanded, his voice slicing through the heavy air like a blade.
The guards obeyed without hesitation.
One disappeared through a side door, which groaned on its rusted hinges as it opened.
From beyond ca the stench—foul, oppressive, clinging to the torches like a living thing.
It was the odor of filth and despair, of blood that had long since dried and sins that would never wash away.
Riley instinctively raised a hand to his face, masking his nose with his sleeve.
Disgusting...
He wrinkled his brow, careful to maintain the appearance of a naïve yet fastidious young heir.
The guard returned, dragging sothing behind him. Or rather—soone.
The prisoner was a brute of a man, his sheer size enough to make the chains binding him groan and rattle with every step.
His hair hung in matted ropes, and his skin, streaked with gri, glead with sweat under the wavering torchlight.
Old scars marred his body—evidence of countless battles fought and survived.
This was no common criminal; this was a predator in human flesh.
At first, his movents seed erratic, like those of a caged animal driven mad by confinent.
But then his eyes lifted—two sharp points of fire in a face full of shadows.
They locked first on Riley, then shifted to his father, and in that single glance, all madness vanished.
What remained was cold, deliberate malice.
Slowly, his cracked lips stretched into a grin, a cruel curve that promised nothing but blood.
Then ca the laughter. Harsh. Guttural.
It rolled through the chamber like thunder, echoing from the stone walls, making the torch flas quiver.
"This?" His voice was a serrated edge as he looked Riley up and down.
"Am I to be the blood sacrifice for your child, Alexander? Don’t make laugh!" His tone turned into a roar, each word reverberating in Riley’s chest like the pounding of war drums.
He lunged forward suddenly, jerking the chains so violently that two guards staggered with grunts of effort, boots skidding across the floor as they fought to hold him back.
"I’ll take the boy’s head," he snarled, spittle flying from his lips, "and make a cup of his skull! I’ll drink deep and dance my way to freedom! CO!" His laughter exploded again, feral and triumphant, his body trembling with barely-contained violence.
The hall rang with the tallic clink of chains and the harsh rasp of his breathing.
The scent of blood and rust seed stronger now, almost choking.
Through it all, Alexander did not move.
His expression was carved from stone, his hands clasped behind his back.
He did not so much as glance at the thrashing man.
His gaze rested solely on Riley, sharp and unyielding.
"Riley," he began, his tone calm—too calm—like a judge delivering sentence.
"This man... is no ordinary prisoner. He is a seasoned warrior of our Rice Clan. A great warrior. His strength on the battlefield was unmatched."
Riley’s eyes flicked to the man again.
The scars, the muscle, the sheer presence—it was obvious.
This was a predator honed by war.
Alexander’s voice hardened.
"But greatness ans nothing without restraint. His darkness rotted his honor long ago. Twenty won of our clan bear the scars of his sha. He raped them and killed them brutally."
Riley said nothing, but his stomach tightened. He already knew where this was going.
It was an ugly practice of this old dieval world.
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